Author's Note:

Thanks to everyone again for reading! I want to apologise in advance, as the next update may be a little slower - I have other (admittedly less-fun) obligations requiring my attention at the moment. I will try my hardest to be timely, though.

Edit: Myriad embarassing typos have been fixed. So sorry about that.

This morning, it is my mother that I find waiting for me when I'm ready to leave for the woods. I freeze when I see her, not sure what to expect, dreading the conversation to come. She sits at the kitchen table, much like Rory did the past two days, but she looks tired. Worried. She nudges the chair nearest her out from the table with one foot in invitation. It is understood that I do not have the option to decline. I take the offered seat silently.

"What happened with Rory?" she asks patiently.

The lack of anger in her voice puts me slightly more at ease, but I know it won't really make this any easier. "What did he say?" I ask evenly, hoping for some clue as to how much she already knows.

She shakes her head, shrugs. "Nothing. But, he didn't really have to."

I press the palms of my hands into my eyes, as if I could erase the entire situation by not being able to see it. "He wanted to go with me to the woods. Yesterday and the day before."

She is quiet for a moment. When I look at her again, I see that her features are carefully set, the way they are when she is deeply worried about something and she doesn't want me to know that she is troubled. But I know. I do the same thing. "And you said no."

I nod. "He didn't like it. We got into it pretty good yesterday."

I'm pretty sure that my mother knows that we got into it actually means something closer to I ripped him a new one, but she lets that slide. "That explains it then," she says softly.

"He hates me right now," I say, "but I'm fine with that, if it means he's safe."

"I don't fault you for refusing to take him – I'm glad you did," she answers, "and I understand what it means to not care if he hates you for something like this. More than you know. But don't let Rory think that you hate him. Make sure he knows that you love him, Gale." With a weak smile she rises from her chair and heads back to the bedroom.

I had known for a long time that that an exchange like this would happen between me and my mother about Rory, where I would have to tell her that he wanted to hunt or that the time had come that I needed to teach him. It was inevitable, even though I hoped that it might not have to happen; I know that she worries about me, and that the last thing she needs or wants is to worry about another one of her children more than she already does. But I had expected it to be more of a battle.

I mull it over as I walk to the fence, and decide that this felt worse.

Once I'm in the forest, I try not to think too hard about how I am here alone, because now it not only makes me think of Katniss, but also my brother. The woods have become uncomfortable again, and it makes me angry because it is the one place where I have truly enjoyed spending my time. In some way or another, whether directly or indirectly, the Capitol has taken even that from me. I hope for a good haul from my lines, so I can spend less time hunting – I'm back to where I started, to the days following the Reaping, and I'll have to work my way back to the ease that I used to have here. I wonder how many times this can happen before I can't find it anymore. I pray that I never find out.

I get a trio each of rabbits and opossums, a raccoon, two muskrats and a grouse from my snares. I am surprised by the bird – it is not typically caught by this type of snare, but I'll still take it any day of the week. It's worth money, whether caught with skill or dumb luck. I can get away with just trapping for today with this much to take to the Hob, and I'm glad that at least something small has turned out the way that I wanted it to. On my way back, I strip a plum tree of almost more fruit than I can carry, just as an added bonus.

At the Hob, there is nothing but talk about the new rule allowing two Victors in the Hunger Games. I can't deny that it's good news, and I try my hardest to play along, to appear happy. But I can't shake the notion that Katniss winning means that I lose. Whatever brings her home safe, I remind myself.

At school I skate through my morning classes with blatant disinterest (what's the point?) and wait for a chance to check the lunchroom televisions for news. When I get it, I pass by the cafeteria and find my eyes drawn to Madge instead. Like they always are, anymore. She chews the end of her pencil while she sits alone and reads a book, her ponytail askew as usual. I still don't quite get what it is that has me so intrigued. Maybe it's that once I'd finally gotten a few of the pieces part, what I had found inside was so unexpected. Like if one day I opened the box containing our monthly Tesserae rations to discover that someone had replaced our allotment of coarse-ground grain with jelly beans. Quite a shock, but once you realize you're not imagining it, it's not an altogether bad thing to have guessed wrong. Except Madge's contents seem far more substantial than jelly beans, which is all the more enticing. More like….

The pitch of the lunchroom chatter changes, making me aware that I have been thinking way too hard about all of this, and a few people get up from their chairs to get a better look at the screens.

Yes. Those. The reason I am standing here.

The camera shows Katniss kneeling next to a sickly, debris-covered Peeta Mellark, at the bank of a stream. Concern furrows her brow as she looks him over, and I consider walking into the room so I can get a better view. I think of how she looked last night when they announced the rule change, and wonder what she will look like now that she has found her fellow Tribute. The Tribute who proclaimed his love for her. The Tribute that saved her life.

I decide that I'd rather not know, so I walk away. Simple and easy.

….

The clips shown during the lunchtime hour are usually never live – just highlights from recent Hunger Games events to keep everyone up-to-date – unless something of special interest happens to occur. Today, just that has happened: the Star-Crossed Lovers of Twelve have been reunited. And though I'm elated (first because poor Peeta Mellark will finally get some much-needed help, and second because they are playing this out exactly the way we need them to), it's not something I want to watch during my midday meal. Simply put, Peeta is in bad shape, and Gamemakers do not shy away from gore.

When Katniss begins digging tracker-jacker stingers out of Peeta's arm, I can't help but think of Gale. Okay, so maybe Peeta isn't exactly a genius – why wouldn't he have pulled them out right away, like Katniss did? I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt, partly because I think he deserves it and partly to have an argument ready should Gale ever bring it up. He was likely too addled by the venom to think to do it, and then, by the time the effects wore off, too delirious from fever. I watch as she does her best to treat the wounds, and I have to say she improvises pretty well given the circumstances, her limited resources, and her apparent lack of interest in all things medical (I can see Prim shaking her head now, saying how she should have paid more attention). The ugly boils left by the wasps look less angry by the time she is done with them.

An awkward, unintentionally-comical debate follows as it becomes clear that the treatment of the worst of Peeta's injuries – the gash in his leg – will require the removal of his pants. Once Katniss comes to terms with this, I find that I have to look away. I was rather proud of myself that I withstood the ordeal with the tracker-jacker wounds, but this… this will be a different kind of horror, I know it. Please don't let there be maggots, I think, there's rice on my plate today…. When I finally muster the gumption to look, I see that no, there are no maggots, but it doesn't really matter because my appetite vanishes anyway at the sight of the bone-deep, oozing chasm in his thigh. After so many conversations with Katniss' seemingly fearless sister, I find my squeamishness embarrassing. A quick glance around the cafeteria makes me feel a little better, though; I'm hardly the only one pushing my tray away.

At least they've found each other, I tell myself as I go back to my homework assignment in an effort to banish the image of Peeta's leg, and they're allowed to be on the same team.

The reporters will love this, no doubt, which makes it even better. Because it plays right into our hands. The Capitol itself asked for this, after all, even though anything Anti-Hunger-Games is considered treason. And if Seneca Crane endorsed a rule that changes the very nature of the Games, that makes him a traitor. I have to admire the simple brilliance of it, creating a scenario where the Capitol turns against the very institution that allows it to rule through fear, and thereby giving itself good reason to execute its second most powerful man in office. Who is set to be succeeded by one of our own.

The media team is probably arriving right now, as a matter of fact. I have not been looking forward to it, but knowing that they are happily, blindly facilitating the rebel cause makes putting up with them a little easier. Worth it, even.

The afternoon flies by, mostly because I know I'll be going home to a house full of Capitol Slime and wishing I could put it off only seems to make the time move faster. On my walk home, I wonder if we'll be getting the same group of reporters again or if we'll be treated to a new batch of bottom-feeders for the end of the Games.

It turns out that it is a little of both; Rose informs me the moment I walk in the door that Lima Bean has returned for a second assignment, but with a different somewhat-more-obnoxious partner and a new camera crew.

"Great. Now I have to come up with a whole new set of nicknames," I grumble.

"Oh, I've already nicknamed the new girl," she says shortly.

"Oh? What?"

"It isn't something that would be appropriate for me to say aloud," she says.

It kills me not to ask at least what events inspired this impolite name, but I figure that knowing will just make it harder for me to be nice later, and I have to be nice. So I let it go for now.

I check on my mother, and am pleased to see that she is up and about this afternoon. She is even changed out of her nightdress, her hair is pinned up neatly, her blue eyes are alert. She smiles at me when I peek into her room, but her lips twitch as if she is trying not to weep. I soften suddenly, hoping that I have not caused her any more pain, and rush across the room to throw my arms around her. She feels breakable against me, though, and I wonder how long it will be before she begins to crumble again.

….

It's not long after dinner, while we are all gathered around the Everdeens' television, that it happens. She kisses him. It was bound to happen, I suppose, but I guess I didn't expect it to be so… ambiguous. I know Katniss well, and I expected it to be forced, uncomfortable, done with a hint of disgust, and above all things initiated by Peeta Mellark. Instead, it is Katniss who gives the kiss, and though she appears self-conscious and uncertain, she is not exactly disgusted. For the first time, I actually wonder if it is all an act. Because she seems to be wondering. And let's face it, Katniss has never been a very good actress.

I try not to advertise that I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach.

"Awww…." Prim gives a little sigh as if it is the most adorable thing she has ever seen, and Rory looks at her as if her reaction is the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

Vick makes a gagging noise and wrinkles his nose (girls and kissing are still icky), and Prim swats at him playfully for being a spoil-sport.

I don't look to see my mother's reaction, because I have the unsettling feeling that she is looking to me for mine.

"Oh, look, they sent them food!" says Prim joyfully. "The sponsors must be loving this!"

A silver parachute floats gently down onto the rocks near the cave where the Star-Crossed Lovers have taken shelter. I think of the donations I've been making to the collection at the Hob. I hope none of my money paid for that. Then I remind myself that it's one more thing helping keep her alive. I'm not allowed to not like it.

Katniss retrieves the gift and finds a pot of steaming broth, which she carries back into the cave. She begins the arduous task of trying to coax Peeta to eat, and a fair amount of arguing ensues. This rouses Prim's and Mrs. Everdeen's concerns, because if he has no appetite – especially after going so long without a meal – it means that he is deathly ill. Finally, Katniss resorts to kissing him again, which makes him a little more compliant. And then, after a few spoonfuls of broth, she does it a third time.

How much of this do I have to watch?

No sooner than the thought crosses my mind, the screen flickers, dies, lights up for a few seconds, and dies again. Never have I been so grateful for our inadequate, poorly-maintained power grid.

….

My mother does remarkably well for the evening; she lasts through dinner with our media team and even watches a little of the Games with us without incident. It helps immensely that the most important event of the day was not a violent death, but Peeta's and Katniss' first kiss. While everyone gossips about it as we sit around the television, I wonder what Gale must think of this. He disapproves, of course. He is protective of Katniss. But could he also be jealous? He had never seemed interested in Katniss in that way, nor she in him (which had always baffled me), but I was hardly there for all of their friendship. Could it just be that I'm jealous?

After enduring more than enough time of Lima Bean's annoying mannerisms, and his partner Livia's snooty comments (I'm beginning to guess at Rose's choice of nicknames) she excuses herself, explaining that she has been ill of late and is feeling rather tired. I can't blame her, but I find it a little unfair that I don't have a good excuse to escape myself. I regret mentioning that I'd already finished my homework earlier in the afternoon. Putting up with them is exhausting, especially when they aren't telling us anything of value at the moment.

Eventually, I offer to start a pot of tea to share just to get myself away from them for few minutes. I feel bad leaving my father alone with them, but not bad enough to go back into the parlor and listen for the teapot to whistle. Instead, I take my time setting cups and saucers on the tray, getting honey from the pantry, slicing a lemon. Tasks that usually take me less than a minute or two. I listen to them talk in the next room, and admire my father's patience. I'm learning it myself, but there are days when it seems an insurmountable task.

I take everything back to the parlor, feeling refreshed from my break until Livia takes a sip from her teacup and makes a face. "You call this tea?" she asks, as if I had given her a cup of mud by mistake.

I bite my tongue and remind myself to be gracious. "Would you like something different?" I ask as I get up from my seat.

She waves her hand at me. "No. I'll just put more honey in it," she says as she reaches for the dipper. "I don't want to wait. At home I can just push a button, and it's there."

"It's quite different," says Lima Bean, "takes some getting used to." He is annoying, but at least he's not usually rude on purpose. I reluctantly appreciate his upside-down, Capitol attempt at politeness.

We are thankfully interrupted by the sound of knocking at the back door. "I'll get it," I offer, eager to get away again. So much for feeling refreshed. "I'm already up." Rose probably forgot something when she left in a huff after making dinner. I hope she's not coming back to turn in her resignation….

I open the door to what is perhaps the greatest shock of my short life. It's not Rose. It's Gale.

He straightens himself from where he was leaning against the rail, and his pretty gray eyes meet mine. "Power's out early," he says. "Wanna go for a walk?"

Footnote: I feel obligated to insert a bit of an explaination regarding Gale's success as a trapper. If 'my' Gale doesn't quite seem to get the rate of return that S.C. implies in THG, it is because I've written his experiences in the woods to be more realistic. 'Today's' haul would be excellent. An especially skilled trapper may get 1 catch for every 10 snares or so, and even then not consistently. Just in case anyone was wondering.