Katniss

It's several hours until I start to see the familiar sights of vast wheat fields, with numerous watchtowers stationed at an even distance from each other, maintaining visual contact with each and every worker. I suddenly remember what Rue told me, about her whistle signaling the end of the workday, and I wonder if someone has taken over that job. Thinking back to the little uprising last year, with the old man getting shot for whistling, I get the sense that nobody's been too eager to replace her.

Gale's and my outfits for the day aren't anything too extravagant, something I take as a sign to lay as low as possible on the Peacekeepers' radars for this trip. My dress is a lovely pale yellow that brings out small bronze strips of my hair—sunburnt, is what Octavia tells me—with thin straps and a smooth, puffy skirt. There's a sash around my waist, tucking in the dress to add some extra curves. Portia ignores my complaints about this as she goes and brings Gale out from the other room.

If I'd found him handsome before, in the woods with the sun glistening on his hair or as he said goodbye to me for my first games, then there are no words to describe how he looks. His hair, rather than being slicked back as Peeta's was for every public showing, was tousled and messy, leaving his natural woodsy look about him. His outfit consists of a white suit, a gray shirt and a tie that matches my dress perfectly.

"The idea," whispers Portia as Venia works hastily to comb through my hair, which Flavius then intends to curl, "is for you two to look sweet. Not a couple, but two cousins raised in a small, poor district, who still can't believe the grandeur of this situation."

"So, gushing," I say flatly. I thought Haymitch and I had previously established that I couldn't gush. At all. I wince in pain as the curler accidentally touches my cheek, which Flavius responds to by flicking my ear and reminding me not to move.

Portia shakes her head, then quickly steps back to examine me. "No, not gushing. You're mourning, but awestruck."

"Sweetie, stop with the moving!" Flavius exhales finally, totally exasperated. He throws up one hand in the air dramatically, before tucking a strand of my hair around the iron.

I nod, as if absorbing his instructions; really, I'm trying to piece together Portia's comment. The stress of knowing I have to mourn Peeta, somehow pull together a plausible miscarriage story, all the while anticipating at any moment a rebel break-in into the district, is too much to bear. Add that to the fact that Snow's finger is probably lingering over some large red button programmed to make me explode, and I'm practically in tears by the time they're through with me.

Gale is standing in front of the mirror, trying to figure out his tie—we don't typically dress men up in ties in 12, seeing as 8 never bothers importing to such a poor district—when I walk over and straighten it out for him. Whenever there would be a major event, Madge would always invite me to her house beforehand so we could do what I was so desperately bad at: dress up. She was in charge of fixing her father's ties, as he was hopeless at it and her mother couldn't stand for long. After a while, she taught me to do it too, with all the times I watched her do it.

"You look handsome," I say, resting my hands on his broad shoulders. It's not a lie, either. I can see some stubble on his chin and cheeks, and automatically wonder what made the prep team not get rid of it. Still, I'm secretly ecstatic that he hasn't had a full body polish. At least one of us has more scars outside than inside.

He snorts, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. The way he looks in the mirror, with eyes full of anguish and disappointment, makes me feel so guilty inside for having forced him to come with me.

My mouth opens finally, and I come up with what I think are the right words to say. "Gale, you don't have to do—"

He shakes his head before I'm able to finish, and finally breaks his gaze away and looks down at me. "No, I…I want to. I want to see how things are, here," he tells me, but still tugs at his collar self-consciously. I'm sure he wasn't expecting to look Capitol-made. Now he's probably trying to take back his words to Madge about her beautiful white dress for the reaping two years ago.

I press my lips together and narrow my eyes, examining his face. Maybe it's because I'm usually not this close to him, or maybe because it's actually occurred, but he looks so much older than before, with worry lines permanently dug between his eyebrows, over on his forehead. The small crinkles at the corners of his eyes, which are often referred to as smile wrinkles, can only be described as melancholy. In a risky motion, I let my hand caress his cheek, comfortably feeling his rough skin under my perfected hand. "Surprise," I whisper. I can tell he doesn't fully process what I mean, or even what I say. Not that it matters, because Effie and Haymitch arrive just then.

"Alright, everybody," Effie squeaks, pulling on her glasses and checking the omnipresent clipboard once more. "Let's go over our entrance one more time, shall we? As always, Flavius, Octavia, and Venia"—this she says with pointed glances at each one of them—"shall go out first. Then it'll be—"

"Me," Portia volunteers, but she looks more eager to be done with this review than to be contributing.

Effie nods and points at Haymitch with her pen, connecting herself to him in a back and forth motion. "Then you and I will exit, and Gale will escort Katniss of course."

"We'll leave at the same—?" I begin.

"Escort?" Gale asks at the same time.

"Yes, now hush!" Effie sniffs, putting away her glasses. She narrows her eyes at us, taking in our impeccable makeup, our clothes, and then she waves at the prep team, signaling for them to go forth.

"One, two, three, four…" she counts under her breath, all the way to fifteen. Gale readies himself by taking a deep breath and taking my hand. I glare at this movement, not too obviously but enough so that he realizes what he's done. Cousins don't do that type of thing, especially not when one of them has just lost her husband and the supposed father of her supposed baby.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly, instead linking my arm in his. "Habit." I glance at him questioningly—habit? Since when has it ever been a habit for Gale to take a girl's hand?

We stand side by side, waiting for the rest of the group to move out. Just before our fifteen seconds are up, after Effie and Haymitch have gone out, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me, just as quickly as our first time in the woods. "You ready?" he asks me, studying my face.

I gulp anxiously—no, I'm not ready—and manage to stammer out, "I don't think it matters." Then the fifteen seconds are up, and we're walking out into the blinding lights of the town square.

It takes me only a second to see the hovercraft waiting outside.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Aah, a cliffhanger! Don't kill me please! Anyways thank you all so much for reviewing and for giving me your votes and opinions about which fanfiction I should finish first. I am so, so sorry to say that IT IS A TIE. I was completely awestruck when I realized this! For better or worse, I will be updating equally for both stories!

Now for the sad news. I won't be updating as often because this week is review week, and the week after that is exam week. Then I'll be going to a summer camp (Georgetown, anyone?) for a month so, unless they have free wi-fi (which I am just praying that they do), I'll only be writing. But don't worry, I'll try to update as soon as possible! Thank you, and I love you all!

-TGBW