Katniss

I can't believe how unfair this war is going to be! Here I am, the victor, and though I usually don't approve of parading myself and boasting around, I'm most likely one of their best shots! Why, then, does anyone in their right mind think that I need to be primped up and put in front of some dumb camera, just so people see I'm fighting?

I'm almost sure Gale can feel my anger seeping through my pores as he lays curled up next to me. I doubt it matters to him, though; if he heard anything of what I just said, I can imagine he is probably elated right now. Honestly speaking, I sort of surprised myself! I hadn't realized that I felt that way until just then, when he'd started the ball rolling. My chest tightens as I realize that he'd probably been waiting, hoping, for that answer for over a year. No matter, I tell myself, trying to close my eyes and get some sleep, you've already told him how you feel, and that is enough for now.

For now. The phrase echoes in my head for the longest time, depriving me of a good half hour of sleep as I try to decipher what I meant. I'm eighteen, he's twenty. In the Seam, we'd be given just a couple of years before it's time for us to get married, or engaged or pregnant at the very least. Of course, pregnancy out of wedlock is probably not the best way to go about things, but one of those three options would have to be chosen by the time I'm twenty-one, the age my mother was when she married my father.

Are you seriously thinking about marrying Gale? a question popped up from the back of my mind. I winced, and Gale tightened his arm around my waist, nuzzling his face into the back of my neck and exhaling hot breath into my skin. Gale, who's been my best friend—no, so much more than my best friend—he's been my companion, my confidante, my soul split into another body. I feel the corners of my lips twitch up contentedly as I came to the realization of how perfect this was. I almost feel like one of the town girls back in 12, when they felt that their lives were perfect.

I shake the feeling off immediately. My life right now is too far from perfect, and God forbid I begin to think like a town girl.

The night hours pass dreadfully long, each one extending farther into the horizon than the one before. I lay, practically unblinking, unmoving, the entire time the sky is still dark, eagerly waiting for the light to set the clouds on fire. I suddenly envy Gale, who can sleep so soundly next to a body with internal turmoil as I try to devise a plan that would put me directly on the battlefield. Suddenly I feel myself become increasingly frustrated as it dawns on me that there are more than two sides to this rebellion.

Before I know it, the sky is bursting into color ranging from orange to peach to pink to blue. I groggily sit up, careful not to wake up Gale—who, despite everything that has been going on, still somehow manages to get himself a few hours of peaceful slumber—and glance around, processing, in the light of day, the room.

It's a basic room, not unlike the ones back home, and so different from the ones I've been subjected to for the past two and a half years in the Capitol and on its train cars. There's a low, wide gray bed, in which Gale is tangled with the dreary white bed sheets, a mirror where I can see myself, due to my height, from my neck up to a few inches above my head, one night table and desk and chair, and a cupboard with exactly three miniature shelves. It's definitely more conservative, with less personal space than is considered luxurious…

Yet at the moment, it's exactly what I need. How could I fight for equality and justice for all of Panem whilst sleeping on silk beds and being attended to my every whim?

There is a simplistic window across the room from us, on the opposite drab gray wall. However, instead of having a view to the outside world as is customary of windows such as this, all I can see is darkness at the other side, signaling yet another chamber to be attached. I decide against seeing who is staying on the other side, and rather occupy myself with digging through the closets to grab hold of something to wear—the temperature underground is much colder than up above.

Unfortunately, the only things occupying the closet are several identical gray uniforms, with only stains distinguishing one from the next. There are uncomfortable-looking leather shapeless combat boots on the floor, looking dull and worn out from years of combat training.

"Makes you miss your fire dress, doesn't it?"

I turn around abruptly, surprised by Gale's thick, gravelly morning voice. I hadn't often woken up to that voice, nor had it usually been one of the first sounds I'd been made aware of in the morning, but the voice was comforting, as if it was a blanket that I could simply hang around my shoulders and cover myself. "Gale," I breathed, "you're up."

He flashed me a half smirk before running his fingers through his thick dark hair, which was sticking up in all directions on his head. "Yeah, well, not all of us are heavy sleepers. I heard you," he explained after I stared at him a second too long after his first sentence. Honestly, I wasn't asking for an explanation. I was awestruck by the fact that he couldn't even sense my grogginess, thanks to a full night of not getting so much as a blink of an eye.

"Oh. Sorry," I mutter, trying my best to stifle a yawn. Unfortunately he catches it, and looks at me with an odd expression across his face; still, he makes no comment. I reach blindly into the closet and pull out a uniform, which turns out to be a gray jumpsuit with a dark brown belt at the waist. I excuse myself into the bathroom, where I discard my old clothes into a basket and stare at myself in the mirror.

My ribs are now protruding prominently, my pale skin sagging slightly under my eyes and on my legs. I would love nothing more than to blame my torment on the evils of the Capitol, whom have been refusing food and payment to the citizens of 12 since I came back from their stupid Quarter Quell—yet I know that I am partly to blame. If I hadn't gone off the deep end with Peeta's death and everything, I would have been eating more healthy meals. Now that I think about it, I would have been hunting more often as well, in turn ensuring that Prim ate well too.

Stupid, I mutter, shutting my eyes and trying to distract myself from my family. I haven't heard anything about them, though Haymitch and Gale assure me that they have been rescued from the Peacekeepers in 12, along with the Hawthornes, the Mellarks, and a few other families. Not many from the merchants were saved, because the rebels figured that they would all be spared due to their excessive feeding and producing.

12 is a coal mining district, I think unhappily, zipping up my jumpsuit at the front as I try to simultaneously figure out the belt buckles. Why would they keep around a handful of merchants when what they really need is coal?

I reluctantly wash my face, the small sink not nearly large enough to catch all the random droplets of water dripping from my chin and elbows. I turn around, ready to grab my old clothing and hang it or something, only to realize that the basket has been emptied.

"Thirteen's big on recycling," Gale's voice pipes up from the doorway, where apparently he must've been standing on the other side. "Don't be too surprised if your shoes or clothes go missing; Haymitch says that they simply use them to fabricate more."

With a horrible feeling in my stomach, I look down at my feet, finding that I've also lost a perfectly good pair of combat boots, courtesy of the rebels. I get a nasty sensation that the worn ones inside my closet won't be anywhere near as comfortable.

"Sounds interesting," I tell him absentmindedly, walking over to the closet and trying to cram my feet into the too-tight boots. "Since when do you and Haymitch talk so much?"

"You were knocked out longer than I was when we got on the hovercraft," he told me, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. I smile, glad to have my joking best friend back again. "Besides, I like to know who I'm dealing with."

"Are you talking about Haymitch, or the rebels?" I ask cautiously, careful to keep my voice at a certain level. I don't want any citizens of 13 eavesdropping on my confession that maybe these people are a force to be dealt with, not to deal along with.

A sad emotion fills his eyes, but his smirk only grows wider. "I don't know anymore," he answers truthfully. Hearing it from him is so raw, so vulnerable, that I am honestly surprised at how plaintive he sounds. Suddenly though, all the sorrow vanishes from his eyes, and he's looking at me with a goofy grin plastered across his face. "Do you know what's on the agenda for today?" he asks me. I make it a point not to answer, since, until just now, I wasn't aware that there was even an agenda at all. "Coin said we had the day to ourselves. She's calling it our adjustment day. You know, to become used to everything here."

"Then let's go…adjust," I tell him, braiding my hair and twisting it back into a bun to keep it from swatting behind me. I walk out, trying to hide the limp caused by the extremely uncomfortable footwear, every once in a while glancing behind me to make sure Gale hasn't suddenly turned back or gone the other way.

"Good morning, Soldier Everdeen," say two guards stationed outside my room. I nod at them politely, returning the greeting, and blushing sheepishly once I realize how it must seem to them, to see Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne exiting the same bedroom in the morning.

"They ignored me!" Gale hisses from behind me, but his smile is practically audible.

"Effie would be appalled," I reply, hardly able to hide my grin as well. The underground of 13 is a complicated labyrinth; if it wasn't for the fact that Gale and I constantly spend our days memorizing snare routes, only to return a day or two later trying to follow our exact footsteps, it would be right next to impossible to try and replicate our path.

We come across a door stamped CAFETERIA, and push through the entrance. Hardly anyone is eating at the time, which I suppose only turns out to be better for us, since at least we get more food. Oh, boy, was I ever wrong.

We did get more food, all right, not that the quality was any better. It was worse than much of Greasy Sae's stuff back in the Hob when it was still in business, which is certainly saying something. The stew, or whatever is in the ugly ceramic bowl, is lumpy, bubbly—two adjectives that I'd never use jointly to describe absolutely anything—and a hideous shade of gray. I look over wistfully at Gale's platter, only to realize we're all being served the same thing.

"Is there anything else to eat?" I mumble, trying to cover up the evident disgust in my eyes. I take a seat across the table from Gale, picking up my spoon. As soon as it makes contact with the surface of the 'food', a small crack appears in the stew, and slowly chunks of it start to detach from the rest. Feeling like my stomach has already begun training, I dip the rest of the spoon into the bowl, pushing it away from me.

"I seriously doubt it," comes his reply. We're silent for a few seconds before he adds, "I doubt it goes along with their recycling policy. Wonder what the hell they recycled to cook this up."

"My boots, probably," I remark sullenly, remembering my ridiculously well-fitting boots. Why have I never fully appreciated them until now? I look up at Gale, who is seriously fighting hard to keep a straight face, which makes me crack a small grin.

Suddenly I hear him clear his throat, more as a preparation method rather than an actual 'clearing the throat' move, and I cringe mentally. Please don't mention it, please don't mention it, please don't—

Too late.

"So, Catnip," he begins smoothly, but I can tell he's trying to keep his voice under control, "I, uh, I've been meaning to speak with you…about last night, I mean…" I refuse to volunteer anything on my part, deciding instead that, since he brought up the subject, he should be the leader of this conversation. Luckily, or unluckily—nuance, really—he's fully prepared about what he is going to say. "Did you, uh, mean it?"

I have to admit, the question surprised me. There I was thinking he's trying to figure out where we should move from this; instead, as he is always so full of surprises, he is asking me for reassurance. Suddenly a new thought enters my mind: did he expect it? Or was he seriously surprised? "I think so," I answer shyly, quietly.

This apparently is not the answer he was hoping for. His gray eyes cloud over with an emotion I don't recognize. "Catnip," he chokes out in a forced laugh, though there's no trace of humor in his expression, "you just think so?"

"Gale—" I begin, worried that already he's retreating back to his shell. And that, if he does, it'll be a challenge to lure him out again."

"You're supposed to just know, aren't you?" he asks slightly incredulously. I look around the cafeteria, but thankfully there are no other people present. He's starting to raise his voice a little bit.

"But I don't," I challenge him. "Gale, you have to understand—"

"Understand?" he cries out in a pained voice. "I try to understand! I understood when you became Panem's love interest to save your life, and I understood when you were the mourning widow! So tell me, what don't I understand?"

I feel a little bit of anger flare up inside me; no, he didn't understand! Not when had to run away with him, and Peeta and Haymitch and our families! The way he says it, he makes me sound like an awful, cold harpy—not that he's far off the mark, exactly, but it would be even more unfair if I was with him just pretending that I was sure I loved him. That is what he deserves; it's also what I can't give him yet. "I'm sorry I don't have my feelings filed under neat little categories so I can just check which ones I have for you!" I tell him, an oddly calm tone to my voice as I try to nonverbally tell him to lower his own voice.

"I'm not asking you for anything!" he retorts, sitting back into his chair. "But you said something, and I'm just trying to see if it's true. I don't mean to put any pressure on you."

"Yes, you are!" I snap at him, incredulous to his claims of innocence. If he wasn't trying to put pressure on me, why insist? Why not just live by what I told him last night? "You're expecting me to give you answers that I'm sorry I don't have!"

He rolls his eyes in frustration and crosses his arms. "You shouldn't have said anything,"

"Neither should you."

We both glare at each other in silence for a few cold seconds, where the tension in the air was practically palpable, before Haymitch appears in the cafeteria, Effie's arm linked with his. "…and no doorman," I hear Effie complain as she glances around the cafeteria. "And where, please tell me, where am I supposed to hang my purse?" She sniffs before adding, "If I still had one."

Haymitch groans, annoyed, before his eyes rest on us. He looks quickly from me to Gale, who still refuses to turn away from me, and realization crosses his face. He sits Effie down at a two-person table before making his way over to us, and looking at me with a sad expression. "Hawthorne," he says, turning to look at Gale, "can I have a word with Katniss?"

"She's all yours," Gale replies indifferently, standing up and storming out of the cafeteria without so much as nodding in Effie's direction, even though she saw him and would—most likely—be livid from the lack of manners.

"What is it?" I grunt, not in the mood of talking to Haymitch, even though he just potentially saved me from another groundbreaking argument with Gale. I lean forward and rub my eyes.

Haymitch hesitates, but I can see a glimmer of excitement in his eyes. "I wasn't supposed to tell you this," he whispers in as low a voice as he can muster," because it's your adjustment day, according to schedule. But, you have the right to know. They're here."

I look up at him, with what must look like confusion etched across my face. "Who's-?" I ask, before the situation hits me. And I feel my stomach fill with an excitement and anticipation I'd only felt on the beaches of the Quell's arena.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I AM ALIVE. AND I AM SO, SO, SO RIDICULOUSLY SORRY. Long story short (not particularly), I finally read the Harry Potter series. (Don't judge me for not reading them before.) Actually, I started up two fanfictions for it! Just if y'all wanted to check them out, you know what my profile is. (:

Anyway, I was also at camp, so I had little time to even update those two. But now I'm back at school, and this was made a priority because I have kept you guys waiting way too long!

Now anonymous review:

noname: Thank you so much! And I was on an airplane but they were only showing that one, not The Last Song (sadly). But that's okay because on the flight back to (insert my location here) I watched The Hunger Games! (Well, half of it. I hadn't slept in 48 hours and was tired as hell.) Yayy, a cookie! I hope this one gets a cookie too!

As for those of you following my Finnick/Annie story, that one will have to wait a bit longer because I'm facing the longest writer's block I've ever faced.

Thanks for staying with this story, guys! And I will update faster for reviews (: hint hint.

Love,

Andee