Chapter 14:

"It's official," Katniss announces, flinging the letter down on top of Haymitch, who is snoring on his filthy couch. He starts.

"Whuzzat?" He grunts, his hand on his knife.

"Get up," she says impatiently, prodding his thigh with the toe of her boot. I have the fleeting hope that he doesn't decide to pin it to the couch out of disorientation. His eyes fly open and they look wild at first. I wonder if he's always trapped in some bad dream; if he ever gets any restful sleep at all. When he sees it's us, he groans and closes his eyes.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he mumbles.

"Yeah. It's 11." I tell him reproachfully.

"That's exactly what I mean," he mumbles, but does force himself up with some effort, causing the letter to tumble to the floor. Katniss and I stand and wait. I notice with some amusement that we both have our arms crossed. When he sees the letter fall, he bends to pick it up and squints trying to make it out in his hungover state. It takes him longer than it should to read, but I'm patient. Katniss is never patient.

"Hurry up," she snaps. "We need to know what the plan is."

"Plan," Haymitch almost chortles. "Let's see. Don't give an inch, and get out as soon as possible." This much is obvious to all of us, and consequently unhelpful. I also find it highly unlikely that there's not going to have to be some kind of compromise, regarding his first point, in order to accomplish the second. The longer we battle it out, the longer we'll have to stay around, I reason. I'd rather compromise on some points if we can. But I inwardly groan, because I happen to be going in with three people who not only distrust the Capitol as much or more than I do, but are intractably unwilling to back down given a conflict. Johanna and Katniss are both stubborn and Johanna's sarcasm is so acidic it can probably melt walls.

Katniss is incensed. "That's not good enough!" She snarls. Haymitch laughs cynically at her for a minute, but then, seeing her obvious frustration, he caves and his face grows more serious. "We present a united front." His lip curls up in a half-sneer. "Which means, sweetheart, that you better put your temper on ice for awhile."

"Can you elaborate?" I ask diplomatically.

He nods. "I don't think we should get too in-depth until Johanna's here, though. In fact, it might be simpler to agree on a few points and keep it at that, and not go too in-depth at all. Things are likely to happen rapidly and maybe unexpectedly. These people are not politicians by accident. They know what they're getting themselves into, inviting us there. It might be polite, it might be cordial, it might even be appealing…" He can't disguise his look of contempt at the word, though… "But we're there for a reason. We're there because they need good publicity. We're there because they can't move ahead on major decisions like execution without at least explaining why their Mockingjay hasn't been a part of the scene at all." This is a lot of words for Haymitch. I realize he must have been devoting a substantial amount of time already to all this.

"So what do we do about all that?" Katniss asks pointedly.

"We'll nail down some major points on the train, but let's remember that we'll probably need to flex, too. And also…" Haymitch's face grows serious. "Take care of each other," he says. Katniss and I are very still.

"And not just each other, Johanna too. You'll need each other."

"What about you?" I ask reflexively. He shakes his head. "I'll be okay," he says. I can't help but notice that he looks away from us when he says it.

The week moves too fast. Katniss confirms by phone the date with Johanna and Gale. Katniss has never gotten used to the phone line, and doesn't particularly seem to like using it if she can help it, even under the best of circumstances, which this isn't. I'm not eavesdropping, but since there's only one phone in my house and it's located on the bottom floor, it's hard not to overhear. Katniss' sentences are short and clipped, right to the point. Our train will come in the morning of the coming Wednesday. It will pick up the three of us, move towards Johanna's district to scoop her up, and proceed straight into the Capitol. There's no avoiding that we'll have to face the station, but they've managed to put us up in what used to be a boardinghouse for travelers in another neighborhood of the Capitol—one that we didn't have to run through on our nightmarish final trip to Snow's mansion. It's not within sight of their HQ or the mansion. We'll each have our own rooms. Notably, Katniss doesn't mention to Gale on the phone that she and I will be sharing one. But I wait on that. They've invited us to a welcome dinner the night we arrive, and meetings will start the next day. Problematically, their major technological bases, the control rooms in which they usually meet, are located too far into the city for Katniss' liking. It doesn't sound as though this has been resolved, from what I catch. The conversation is short. I'm assuming the finer points will be worked out once we arrive.

She at least laughs once or twice when talking to Johanna. Johanna's so animated I can hear her voice pouring through to Katniss' ear periodically even without being in the room. I feel a surge of gratitude that she's rising to the occasion. Katniss hands over the phone to me at the end for only a moment.

"Peeta, you ready?" Her roguish voice inquires.

"Ready as I'm going to get," I respond.

"That's what's up," she says, and the line goes dead.

We notify our work crews about our impending absence, and as anticipated, they don't look surprised or put-out by the news. In fact, they wish us luck. We tell Delly, who has agreed to keep an eye on Buttercup, and we tell Greasy Sae and the few that monitor us on a semi-regular basis. Word spreads fast, and in the last couple of days I find random people watching me sympathetically, or coming up to clasp my hand. Many of these are people we've known for years, people that are on our side, people that have at least tried to understand what the two of us have gone through. We've long since noticed the approving looks that follow when we're together in public. Whatever Katniss thinks about her guilts or flaws, these people don't share it.

The last night before we go, Katniss has hauled out her old leather bag, the one that was once her father's, and begun to scan her scant drawers for anything she might want to bring along. She spent that day in the woods, and she didn't even pretend to hunt, as far as I know. I've never heard Katniss use the word "meditate"—she'd probably hate it—but I've come to understand that my worry over her going into the woods will have to be replaced with some kind of acceptance. She seeks out what she knows. She seeks out her father. She reconnects with the things that she was away from for so long. Katniss needs her space—even if she can never get away from herself, she needs to get away from the world. I've noticed that when she's gone all day, she seems even gladder to see me at the end of it, if sometimes sapped of energy. That day she looks particularly tired coming in, but not shaken, not unhappy the way she used to so often.

We pack together. Being as how all my possessions were destroyed in the bombing, I have no choice but to resort to one of the brand-new, expensive looking valises that someone had stocked our hall closet with. It feels unnatural, stiff and with that new-cloth smell, but it'll do fine for what I need it for. We pack side by side in silence, throwing in some sleeping clothes and our usual cadre of denim pants, flannel shirts. We know they'll have clothes for us once we get there, but it's equally important that we bring our own. Capitol clothes will always be Capitol clothes. At the last minute, Katniss includes one of her more formal dresses from Cinna—a light-blue number that crosses under her breasts and ties in the back. The fabric is impossibly soft. I almost hope they'll be some kind of occasion for her to wear it, because I can only imagine how lovely it would look on her. I haven't seen her dressed up in ages.

Katniss refuses to leave her weapons behind, even though I can't imagine where she would wear them. With much persuasion from both Haymitch and I, she reluctantly packs her Mockingjay outfit, which was returned to pristine after the bombing by a team assembled for that sole purpose. I feel terrible persuading her because I know how sick she must be of the outfit and all its connotations, but it's likely they'd prefer her to bring it, even if she doesn't agree to wear it. She handles it as though it were made of glass, touching it as little as possible as she adds it to my valise, since hers won't fit it. Hopefully, I throw a handful of condoms in mine when she's not looking.

It's pathetic how little we actually have to pack. Katniss and I haven't really needed many possessions to have a happy life here—not even that many clothes. Growing up in 12 left the indelible impression on all of us that we don't need that much to survive, and experiencing the excesses of the Capitol left us even more averse to accumulating any kind of unnecessary trappings. I stare at our quilt longingly and wish I could bring it along, think how much comfort we'd garner from it, but it's unrealistic. I satisfy myself with the thought that we'll appreciate it that much more once we're back.

Our dinner that night is simple, designed to use up the remainder of the perishable foods that hang around the kitchen—bread, milk, cheese, some early greens that Katniss has been collecting in her woods. Simple but good. We're both lost in our own thoughts. I'd invited Haymitch to come along, but he merely grunted.

"I'll be seeing enough of your lovely faces over the next few days," he said.

It's better this way. When I lean in to kiss Katniss' cheek, she closes her eyes and I see the dark circles just forming underneath them. I know that both of our sleep has gotten restless, but the familiarity of them twists my stomach a little. I haven't looked at myself in awhile, but I suspect I might have them too. I yearn for this to be over. The first trip is going to be the hardest, I think. At least next time we'll have some idea of where we are.

We go to bed early that night. There's nothing left to prepare; our things stand by the door. There's no use dwelling on it, thinking about it constantly. When Katniss undresses and the waves of her hair spill across the pillow as she lies down, my hands want to find her body in the dark, make her breath come heavy, encourage those tiny sounds she makes, make her forget, make both of us forget. But I hold back. She's clearly tired and it might be better if I give her a chance to sleep. She curls her tiny form into my arms, but I don't feel her drop off, accompanied by the deep, even breaths that usually signal deep sleep. I don't speak, just in case, but I'm sure she's not sleeping.

Surprisingly, I'm the one who drifts off first. But not for long.

When I wake up, the first thing I see is the moonlight filling Katniss' eyes like pools. Her eyes are wide, like the eyes of some watchful forest creature. I'm drenched in sweat. I feel cold all over. My leg is tangled in the blankets and I'm struggling frantically to free it. I feel disoriented, my heart is pounding, and I'm anxious the second I come to, before I even know where I am. I can see Katniss' lips moving but I can't seem to hear anything. Am I deaf? I think, panicked. I try to focus on her mouth, see what's coming out. My hands grip her shoulders hard and as soon as I realize, I drop them immediately, ashamed.

She pushes my sweaty bangs back from my head. "Peeta!" she says insistently. "Peeta, it's okay. You're safe. It's okay. It's okay." As soon as I let her shoulders go, she immediately shames me even more by pulling me in close to her, pulling my sweaty face down to her chest, stroking my hair. I don't want to touch her because I'm afraid of hurting her, terrified that I already have, but she gently pries one of my hands free and guides it around her. After that, I hang on tightly. I need something to anchor me back to this world as the room slowly comes into focus. I'm not deaf. I can hear just fine.

"It's okay," she whispers to me, rocking me gently. "It's not real. Not real. It's not real, baby." It's the first time I've ever heard her call me anything but my name, and this, more than anything else, is what calms me down and brings me back. This is my Katniss. Not the Katniss in my dreams. Not the mutt. That's not real.

"Do you remember what happened?" she asks softly, once she realizes I'm calming down. She kisses my hair over and over.

"Yeah," I say. My eyes are still downcast. I'm afraid I might burst into tears if I look up to her. I'm angry with myself for losing it again when I've been doing so well. I'm angry that I couldn't stave it off to let her get the sleep she needs. Mostly, I'm angry that I probably hurt her again. "I don't want to…I don't want to talk about it though."

She nods. She knows enough…she's heard enough…about my nightmares and my disassociations that she can deduce. I know she knows she was the mutt haunting the back of my mind again. She doesn't take it personally anymore, though.

"Are you hurt?" I can barely bring myself to ask the question. I force my eyes to meet hers and predictably, I can feel my lip shaking. "I'm so sorry, I…"

"It's NOT your fault," she says immediately. "No. It wasn't that hard, Peeta."

I force the next question out, and it makes bile rise in my throat. "Will you bruise?" This is something I'd rather ask now than confront in the morning.

She hesitates, and I know the answer. "….Yeah. Maybe. But I'm not hurt, Peeta. I was hurt way worse many times, you know that. It's not your fault." She emphasizes the last four words, slowly. I cling on to the hope that maybe this is true, that I didn't mean it. My heartbeat slows and I lean in to plant one shaky kiss on her forehead.

"I should probably sleep in the other bedroom," I say.

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps. "I wouldn't let you do that."

Despite all this chaos and the emotions flooding into me, I have the space for one amazed thought to arise through this: Things really have changed.

When, still trembling, I'm persuaded to lie down again, Katniss moves behind me instead of to her normal place in front. I open my mouth to protest, but before I can, she rests her lips against the soft place at the back of my neck and slides her arms under mine, pulling me in close. I surrender without a second thought, and let her hold me. It's only this, I know, that lets me, after a long time lying awake, sleep again. Like before, I know Katniss is still awake when I begin to slide.

In the morning my eyes are barely open before I'm apologizing. Katniss waves them away, pulls me in for a tender, lingering kiss. It has the desired effect. I cup her face in my hands, looking away from the delicate purple shading coming in on her shoulders, and whisper to her, still sounding like an apology, "I love you."

"I know," she whispers back, kissing me once more. It's still early, so for awhile, we just lie in our bed, dreading the day to come, our noses touching as my fingers find the downy hairs at her temple and smooth them back again and again, our feet entwined under the covers.

Later in the day, after a quick breakfast, Haymitch, haul bag slung over his shoulder, greets us at the station. I can hear the bottles inside clanking when he moves, which makes me smirk. I wonder if he's even added any clothing to the mix, or if it's just the essentials. Katniss is holding my hand tightly, for me or for her, I can't tell. The Peacekeepers herd us respectfully onto the waiting train, and when the three of us walk abreast into the main room, I can almost feel our collective shoulders relax. This is not the same train they used to collect the Tributes during the Games, or to ferry us to the different districts on our tour. In my cynicism, I even wonder if they explicitly ensured that it was not that train, fearing that we'd see it and immediately about-face off it. This train is also simpler, with more discreet trappings—though no less nice—than the overwrought finery Effie was so fond of. She never made it out—or, we've never heard anything about her, so we assume she didn't. I feel sorry about that. Effie, for all her affectations and ignorance, never truly meant us harm, and sometimes wished us well.

Haymitch, predictably, retreats to his room, though not before snagging a couple of bottles of various brightly-colored liquors propped on the sideboard of the dining room. "I'll be back when Johanna comes," he mumbles.

Though Katniss and I are assigned separate compartments, they're arranged adjacently to each other and a door connects them, which we swing open. Whoever's designed this is savvy enough about the realities of our life now, unsurprisingly perhaps given the ruse that we spent so much time maintaining during our celebrity period. We dump our things on the floor, but then merely look at one another. Lunch isn't for another few hours, and Johanna won't be picked up until after that. The train is almost eerily silent—wherever the attendants are, they're not making their presence known. The bed in my room is almost identical to the one we shared the first times we ever shared a bed at all, on the train heading towards our second Games. I look at it, lost in memories. The very first night Katniss shocked me by finding me in my room and without a word, sliding into bed with me. When I look down at her, I know she's remembering.

"Remember?" she asks me, as though on cue. I nod.

"Yeah," she says, as though I've asked a question, and then she reaches for me, tugs the hem of my shirt over my head, stretches up to kiss my collarbone. I pick her up and she smiles as I carry her over and lie her down. The beds could never be complained about; they're divine. I lie beside her and she leans into me, resting her head on my chest. This time I feel her drop off, and I'm humbled by the trust she must have grown for me in order for her to acquiesce to her exhaustion, even after what happened last night. The love I feel for her rises into my throat, and I tighten my arms gently around her sleeping form. We've come an awful long way. The rocking of the train must soothe me in some way, because before I know it, there's a respectful knock on the door, and when I regretfully stir Katniss awake and move to open it, an attendant, dressed in pale green with straight, even chestnut hair, greets me politely.

"Miss Johanna Mason will be boarding, soon, Sir," she says. It's so disconcerting to find an attendant that isn't an Avox and can speak, that I'm momentarily thrown. I shut my mouth in embarrassment a moment later. I resolve to remember to ask Paylor about this; about the new attendants and where the Avoxes have gone. I'm hopeful that they've been given a free selection of jobs now and that this is representative of the fact that they've chosen not to fulfill this task anymore.

"Call me Peeta, please," I ask her, as politely as I can manage. "Thank you very much." She smiles and bows her head and turns to, I can imagine, attend to Johanna's room. Katniss is sitting up and yawning.

"She wasn't an Avox," she notes, too. "That's interesting."

"I thought so too," I tell her. "Nice, though. I always felt so weird not being able to talk to them. It's so dehumanizing." This is grim, because of course, this was the point.

"Johanna's here?" she asks, still a little groggy. Our clothes are rumpled all over the place, not that Johanna will notice. I tug on my shirt. "Soon," I say.

We make our way out to the dining car, and to my surprise, we reach it just as the car begins to slow and see a full buffet lunch set out.

"Excuse me," I ask the attending server, "Please, I thought that we missed lunch by now. We were supposed to be picking Johanna up afterwards?"

This server is a young man, with close-cropped hair that includes a variety of beautiful patterns shaved into it. His eyeliner is pink but otherwise, he doesn't resemble, for instance, the members of our prep team. He's dressed in an identical green outfit to the girl, but the fabric, upon closer inspection, is carefully sewn and looks expensive. He looks healthy, too, and it's clear they're being treated well. He smiles to me.

"You and Miss Everdeen and Mr. Abernathy were asleep, Mr. Mellark," he says. "We decided it would be best to wait until you had awakened to serve."

Mr. Mellark? I think. Lord. Katniss' eyebrows are raised. We'd been pandered to in the Capitol, but that could be another lifetime, it feels like so long ago.

"Thank you very much. And it's Peeta, please," I say. "Are we in District 7?"

"Yes, Sir, we are approaching their depot at the moment," he responds. I give up on the monikers for now. Katniss is peering around him out the window as the train slows. I take her hand and we walk on through the hallway towards the Peacekeepers who wait by the sliding door to greet Johanna. Slowly, we glide to a halt. There is a pause and I wonder where Haymitch is, if it's likely that he'll show up for lunch at all. Then suddenly, the electronic door begins to recede with a whoosh. The first thing I hear is Johanna saying, carelessly, "Well, that's not MY fault. They know he's coming."

Her dog beats her onto the train, and I see the Peacekeepers look slightly taken aback as he begins backing them against the walls, sniffing their white uniforms excitedly. Just behind him, Johanna herself bounds into view, hair sticking up in all directions, battered valise slung carelessly over one shoulder. I look down to Katniss and see her smiling.

"HEY!" Johanna greets us, and flings her arms around Katniss. Katniss laughs. Johanna, eyes glinting mischievously, pulls back and then plants a kiss on her, full on the mouth. I see the shock come into Katniss' eyes, and I know perfectly well that this reaction was undoubtedly the one Johanna anticipated with glee. I start laughing. I can't help it. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Katniss raises one eyebrow.

"It's good to see you too, Johanna," she manages. Mutt is wagging his tail so hard I feel it may fall off as the train door whooshes shut again and with a slight shudder, we begin to move. He's all over Katniss now, licking her hands as she tries to pet him, shaking yellow fur on everything. I wonder how the Capitol will like their train once he's done with it.

"Peeta, oy!" she greets me, and I ruffle her hair as she leans in to hug me. I hug her tightly. "Hey," I say, still smiling, "How are you doing?"

"I'm chipper," she announces, passing off her valise to the nearest Peacekeeper without giving him a second glance. "Where's Haymitch?"

"Sleeping?" I wager.

"We can't have that, now, can we?" she snorts, her eyes glinting again. She wriggles her eyebrows up and down at Katniss and I shake my head as they look conspiratorially at one another. We all head back towards the dining room, but it's only me who collects a plate from the buffet when we reach it. The girls stop.

"Aren't you coming?" Johanna calls over her shoulder.

"I think you've got it," I tell her, sliding up a metal lid to the marvelous smell of bacon beneath. She smirks and they move away.

One. Two. Three. I count.

Right on cue.

"HAYMITCH!" Johanna's voice makes the attendant jump, booming amplified through the narrow corridor. Katniss is giggling. The sound, so young, is gladdening. One of the things I like about Johanna is that her messing around with people so often makes Katniss laugh. "WHAT THE HELL? IT'S RUDE NOT TO GREET YOUR GUESTS, YOU KNOW!" She's being loud enough to break glass. I can almost feel the vibrations from her fist banging on the door of his compartment.

Jesus Christ, I think, She'll be lucky if he doesn't come out swinging and disembowel her.

Katniss is laughing even harder as I hear the click of the lock swinging open. Haymitch's voice is almost whiny, and despite myself, I begin laughing too.

"Johanna," he says reproachfully, like a parent, "Why don't you yell a little louder? I think there are people in 3 who didn't hear you." He sounds like she definitely woke him up. He has a soft spot for Johanna, though. I know it's hard for her to make him angry.

"Sorry," she says in a stage whisper. And then we're all laughing. It feels wonderful.

Over lunch, a vast variety of cheese, puddings, whole roasted chickens stuffed with lemons, poached and scrambled and hard-boiled eggs, great bowls of fruit (heaven only knows where they got this so early in the season, but none of us are complaining…we consume about six bowls of berries together), and on and on, we talk strategy. I feel a little lazy in comparison to Haymitch and Johanna, who seem to have already come up with questions for us to all vote on regarding the expected variety of topics that might arise. Johanna's dog lies at her feet looking thrilled as we all throw him bits of food in turn.

"Executions," begins Johanna summarily.

"Yes," says Katniss immediately.

"Dissenters?" Johanna asks. Even I am not going to come up against this. I know there are some complete pacifists, even among Victors, who would reason that it is never okay to take another human life, not even, and perhaps especially, if sanctioned by a government, but all of us are too battle-hardened. All I remember of those who held me prisoner in the Capitol are voices, body shapes, blurred silhouettes, but if they can track down who was responsible, I will not deny that I wish them dead.

Haymitch and I nod together. "Who?" Haymitch asks. This is a harder question, both because we don't know who they'll ask us about, and because here is where we begin to draw lines between who deserves death and who deserves imprisonment.

I begin, but slowly. "All those directly involved in sanctioning or carrying out inappropriate punishments to District citizens, including torture, mutilation"…I'm thinking of the Avoxes… "murder, or murder by neglect. Head Peacekeepers not exempt." Here I'm thinking of Thread's heartlessness.

Johanna adds her thoughts to the mix. "Gamemakers, too. Past and present, who are still alive. And all high-ranking government officials who didn't come out explicitly against Snow. Ministers, Department Heads, and military Generals."

"They were carrying out orders," says Haymitch neutrally, devil's advocating.

"It doesn't matter," says Katniss. "The actions were the same. Fair and just imprisonment where prisoners were not abused, that's fine. Minor punishments like fines and reprimands, fine. No torture, no death. That's not too much to ask from a government." Her voice is already rising, and I lie one hand reassuringly on her knee, which is bouncing up and down.

"Everyone subject to a trial by full court," I say. "Judge and jury recommendations need to be taken and passed on to us. Our opinions should be weighted with the theirs, maybe one-third each, or something else equitable." I see approval on the faces around me at this.

"Acceptable?" Johanna asks. We nod. "And…" she adds, "Are our consciences okay with suggesting that people be put to death?"

Katniss nods, surprisingly savagely. Haymitch nods. I hesitate a fraction of a second, and then nod. If the people, the court and us can all agree to put someone to death, I have faith that we're making the right choice. Johanna nods too.

"Okay," says Haymitch, moving in as smoothly as though they'd orchestrated this in advance. "Resolutions we want to advise them to make a part of the code of law?"

"I move we table that until we hear from them what is being put in place and what they're considering," says Johanna. "We have no real information about that except what we get through the television, and I'd rather hear it straight from them."

"Dissenters?" Haymitch asks. We shake our heads.

"Okay," he says. I'm shocked by how fast he and Johanna move through this.

"Now," he says. We know what's coming. "76th Hunger Games." This is not a question, just a phrase that drops like a rock through the air. I am silent on this matter. I know that I'm the only one who really should be. I voted no all along, and I'm not about to change my vote now. Executing those who were directly responsible for carrying out atrocities is one thing. They were adults who made their own decisions, same as the rest of us. Executing their children is not something I'm prepared to do. Children aren't responsible for atrocities, and they can be taught to do better than those who raised them. But all three of the others who sit around the table with me had voted in the affirmative when asked this same question months ago.

"Paylor might not even make this an issue," Johanna says, "That was Coin's idea, not hers." This is true, even if Gale had alluded to the fact that this wasn't definitive.

"But," Haymitch counters, "It's better to know now what we're going to say and have it not be an issue than the other way." Johanna nods in such a way that I know she was devil's advocating, like Haymitch. They should run the country, I marvel.

"Katniss?" Johanna asks. Her eyes are even and hold neither her own opinion nor any judgment for ours, but she holds them levelly to Katniss'. Katniss meets them for a minute, but then looks down at her lap. I suspect that she feels ashamed of disappointing Johanna in this, but I still know what her response will be.

"I can't condone it," Katniss says, quietly. "I'm too far away from it now, and from the anger. I have no problem paying them back for every drop of our blood that they spilled, those unimaginable bastards, but not their kids. That's just perpetuating the same damn thing that we lost everybody trying to eradicate. Could you really watch another Games on television, more kids killing each other?" She's raised her eyes to meet Johanna's again.

"Yes," says Johanna without hesitation. "Snow did what he did the way he did it for a reason. It gets to people much deeper when you kill their children than it does if you just kill them. We're doing them a mercy by executing them. We should let the parents and friends of the Tributes who died pull them apart like packs of mutts." The humor has dropped from her voice entirely; it is flat and murderously angry.

"You don't mean that," I say.

"The hell I don't," she replies.

"Do you really want us to make our decisions based on what Snow would have done?" I ask.

"It was effective, wasn't it?" she sneers. "I didn't say we should do it forever, I said we should do it one last time to give them their grand finale. Imagine, after watching that they'd be begging us to execute them." There's pleasure in her voice underneath the anger, and I have to remind myself that this Johanna, the Johanna that's suffered so many and had so many die, the Johanna whose full story we've never even heard, is a part of the Johanna we love. She's not even being particularly irrational. This was, after all, the vote that carried the day the first time around: yes. They deserved it. But it'll never be me who has the heart to say it.

"Okay, Katniss. You and Peeta vote no. Johanna says yes. Is that right?" Haymitch asks neutrally. The three of us nod. "Can you respect each other's opinions?" he asks.

"Yes," Katniss and I say in unison. Johanna nods again. We're friends, and this won't change that. But all three of us look expectantly towards Haymitch, and he sighs.

Haymitch speaks carefully, and he looks only at Johanna when he does. Neither Katniss nor I can wipe the surprise off our faces in time when he speaks, though, so this is probably for the best.

"Johanna, I feel everything you're saying," he says, and his tone makes me believe it without a doubt. "And I understand completely. It's hard…" His voice falters, the only time in recent memory that I remember it doing so. He clears his throat. "It's hard to make decisions about things like this, and I hope that we won't need to."

"But." Johanna says.

"But, I was loyal to the Mockingjay as a symbol of resistance and community. And I remain loyal to her now. I feel that personally, I have to stand with her in her choices, that we have to create as much of a united front around her that we can, especially now."

Only then does he turn to look at Katniss. Her eyes are soft.

"Because I have to believe that you will do what's right, irrespective of government, the way you always have, by making your choices independent of their plans and with the best interests of those around you in mind." This is, maybe, the nicest thing Haymitch has ever said to Katniss.

It also lays a burden of responsibility on her, but it's one she's shouldered many times before. I remember her risking her life to feed her family. I remember her risking her life to save me in the first Games, in the second Games. I remember her risking her life in the war, many, many times, to bring hope and comfort, to build a better life for all of us, to defeat a relentless enemy. I remember her stance against blowing up the Nut in 2 and condemning innocent people to death, things I was told about only after I recovered my strength and sanity. However gruff and stubborn and difficult she may be, whatever shell she tries to put up, however hard she tries to maintain it, Katniss has fought for those she loves, for justice, for peace, as hard as anyone could ever have expected to fight, to the bitter end, when she slew a President she knew would replace dangerous policies with other, equally dangerous and irresponsible policies. Haymitch is not placing his faith blindly. He must truly believe that she knows what's right. There is no higher compliment.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

Haymitch turns back to Johanna. It's a mark of the strength that defines her, what happens next. "Can you accept that, Johanna?"

"Yes," she says, and nods, almost gently, to us, as though to assure us that she loves us still. "But I can't agree with it, here or anywhere else. Can you understand that?" She speaks to all of us, but Katniss is the first to answer.

"Yes," she says simply. Haymitch and I nod.

"Is that going to be problematic?" I ask apprehensively. We are, after all, talking about a united front.

"Not if we present it with the greatest respect we have for each other," Haymitch says, "I don't think that will be a problem. It might even teach them something." We all smile.

A server appears at the side of the table to take away our plates, but before she reaches for them—this one wears an identical uniform but has shocking, bright, long curly red hair—she announces quietly, "Excuse me, sirs and misses, but we will be approaching the Capitol shortly." This train has been faster than the old ones, I note. They must be acting in all haste to reel us in before we can change our minds. We thank her.

"Two more things," says Haymitch. "We should plan a time each day to meet and talk things over and make decisions together. And despite differences in opinions, I think we should make it clear to the others in words and actions that we are acting as a team and looking out for one another. There's strength in numbers. As I tried to tell you once, Katniss." He smirks.

Katniss can't muster annoyance though, after what he's said to her, so she merely rolls her eyes halfheartedly. I smile at her.

We set a time for the next day to coalesce just as the first walls and towers of the Capitol begin to roll by the windows. I turn away. I don't need to see any more of it than I have to. We all rise to return to our compartments and dress. Just before Katniss and I turn the corner, Haymitch looks back.

"One last thing, Katniss," he says. She stops. "Start thinking about what you're going to say and do when they ask you to shoot propos. Because they will." He looks a little grim. But she only nods and turns back again. As we both change into something cleaner and less wrinkled and Katniss re-braids her hair, I realize that my hands are shaking, and press them together in hopes of stopping it. I take a deep breath, and as Katniss steps into my arms and hugs me, the train slows to a halt.

"Are you okay?" I ask her, holding her tightly to me. I feel her head move…up, down…against my chest.

"Are you?" she queries. I suspect she feels as far removed from okay as I do answering this question, but for the sake of the other, we both answer the same way. And so I nod. She leans up on her toes and my mouth meets hers halfway. The kiss lasts a long time, and by the end, I'm grateful that my hands have stopped shaking. I kiss her nose, her forehead.

"I'm here for you," I say.

"I know," she says. She takes my hand and we step out into the hall. Johanna, leash in hand, is waiting for us. In the dining room, Haymitch meets us, and the four of us, just as planned, line up in front of the doors. And when they open, all four of us, side by side, step out into the waiting light, and the waiting chaos.