A/N: Not sure what I'm feeling for this chapter, but here it is. Also, I switched titles around on the chapters, not that it's super important. I'm tired you guys. Lol. Enjoy!

Review Response:
xxVisionGirlxx: Thanks and thanks for reviewing!
Rigal: Thank you!
brady1119: Thank you. It's always hard spotting my own mistakes, so I'm glad they aren't all over the place.
KatnissMellark: What can I say? I'm actually an evil mastermind. Besides, you know you love it more if you have to wait a lil for it. :P
skittlesgirl99: *runs from angry mob*
iam97: I'm glad it was very Katniss. And no comment on the deal, 'cause most of it gets answered in this one I think.
AriadneO: Haha, progress is relative. x) And the way I have it set up, you probably won't know all the details until the end and yeah.

CHAPTER 7: DELILAH'S DEAL

Today was the day. Individual scoring. Meeting the Game Makers in person. Sorta. At least having them judge the tributes carelessly and heartlessly. Peeta could barely even choke down the food that was placed on his table by the woman who would never speak.

Avox, Katniss had told him and would say no more.

"You need to eat more than that," Katniss told him, but it was lacking her usual harshness. She knew what day it was.

He managed to swallow the toast coated in sweet jam, but he wasn't sure his stomach would cooperate with anything more.

"Just show them you're strong," she reminded him. "They like a show of strength, and we know you have that."

She leaned over the table and rested her hand over his. "You don't have to impress them, Peeta."

His skin tingled where her hand touched his, and he swallowed again. He liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Liked it more each time he heard it.

"At least we don't have to worry about me doing that," he joked with a cracked smile. He squeezed his large hand around her small fingers finding comfort for just one moment. But it was a short moment, because her fingers slipped away when she sat back.

"Never sell yourself short."

Self-depreciation was Peeta's strong suit. Too bad he couldn't just belittle himself in front of the judges for several minutes.

Peeta managed to down some orange juice and a few more pieces of toast. When they left it remained unsettled in his stomach. They took the elevator down to the lower level training area. All of the tributes gathered there, loosely paired off by district, though they would all go in alone.

Madge was already there, sitting at a table staring at her hands resting on the flat surface. Peeta glanced once at Katniss to see that expression of pain on her face once more. It was enough that Peeta didn't even ask for permission; he just went over to sit next to Madge.

"Ready?"

She shook her head. "Never."

"Me neither."

And they began the wait as twenty-two tributes would go before them.

…

Katniss had told him how they were basically ignoring her. That she was the very last tribute to have gone into that room to exhibit her talents before them and garner a score that would earn her sponsors. She had had to do the unthinkable—threaten the Game Makers—to get their attention, and for her brass, she earned herself a score of eleven.

No one got an eleven.

She had told Peeta to not be like her. To not let them get to her. To just go in there and be mediocre...

But this wasn't like what she had described. The judges weren't drunk on wine and food, sleepy and even irritated at having to do something. Instead they were leaning forward, attention firmly on Peeta as he entered. He was the center of their attention, and they awaited his performance with bright eyes.

They were excited and it made him pissed.

Katniss' performance had evidently changed the way the Game Makers viewed District 12 tributes. They would forever pay close attention to the coal mining community, because once—just once—they had produced a terrifying tribute.

One who wasn't afraid of defiance.

Although Peeta was angry and wanted to flaunt a little of that defiance, he remembered what Katniss had told him. With a deep, steadying breath, he made his way to the weights and lifted them up. He started out small, ten pounds, then twenty.

The Game Makers, whose initial focus had been intent, was shifting ever so slightly back to their meal.

Thirty, forty pounds.

They poured more wine, began to chat a little amongst themselves.

Fifty, sixty pounds.

Laughter started to fill the room as they drank and ate still more. No one was looking at Peeta anymore, no one cared.

Seventy, eighty pounds.

Peeta wasn't tired, though he began to perspire from the effort of tossing eighty pounds worth of weight across the room. Not that anyone noticed besides him. Not that anyone cared beyond him.

The hundred pound weight bounced off an invisible wall that separated Peeta from the Game Makers. It sizzled before flying outward to land at Peeta's feet. Finally, they were paying attention to him again. And it wasn't the silently exciting attention he had initially received. There was something darker in their eyes now and Peeta knew he had done it.

He should have listened to Katniss.

…

They gathered together for dinner, something they did rarely. Peeta sat next to Madge, Katniss next to Haymitch, and Portia next to Cinna. Effie sat on the other side of Madge with an empty chair beside her. She was chatting happily, but it was mostly to herself, because no one else was in a talking mood. They were too busy being preoccupied with the scores that would be announced shortly, televised for all of Panem to see.

Peeta hadn't said much since his trial. When Katniss had asked how things had gone, he had shrugged and told her that it had been about as good as he could have hoped for. She had frowned at him, unconvinced by his expression and he hadn't had the heart to tell her what his antics had entailed.

Madge was similar, but that wasn't unusual. She had always been a soft-spoken, quiet girl. And since Haymitch didn't seem to care that much one way or the other, she didn't divulge much.

If Peeta hadn't been so absorbed by his own stupidity, he might have asked her quietly and gently, told her that she did her best and there was nothing more they could do about it now. That it was best to just let things go.

After a meal spent mostly in silence—with Effie's tinkling, weird-accented voice as noise in the background—they gathered around the large television in the lounge. Nervous energy filled the room as everyone took their seats.

Peeta took a seat on the large couch with Haymitch, but Katniss stood, arms folded. Madge was in a chair by herself. Cinna and Portia, who had decided to stay for the announcement, took the small loveseat together.

The announcement seemed unnecessarily long, because twenty-two scores with twenty-two faces attached were shown first.

Pharon, from One. A solid eight. Maceon and Elsea, from Two. Got matching sixes. Buggette, from Three. A surprising seven. He was only fifteen and rather scrawny looking. Dryn from Four had the highest yet with a nine, but Four's female tribute only got a six. Seven was hard to watch. Keeter was only twelve years old and she earned herself only a four in training.

Katniss looked away as her picture appeared on the screen. Everyone knew the girl couldn't last long in the arena and no one wanted to think about it.

Tessarind from Ten got an eight. Her face appeared weathered from sun, hair lightened to the color of grain. She was unsmiling and Peeta wondered what she did to get an eight. Jengal, the boy from Eleven, appeared on the screen with a seven next to his name. He looked serious and very much dangerous.

Finally, it was District 12.

Madge's face appeared on the screen, looking pale and blonde and beautiful. And next to it was a number that made everyone turn to look at her. She didn't look up from the spot on her hands that she apparently found so interesting.

The number two flashed before their eyes and no one had it in them to ask how she could have done so poorly.

Since the day of the reaping, Madge had had everything set against her.

When Peeta's score appeared on the screen, he too attempted to avoid the others gazes.

Eleven was a little higher than anyone was expecting.

…

It was just the two of them, wandering the halls in silence. It was late, close to the time where they would return to their rooms and attempt sleep, hoping against hope that there would be no nightmares of the days to come.

Madge and Peeta's time together had been scarce—Katniss and Haymitch were making it pretty clear on either end that the two of them needed to understand that their friendship had gone out the window the day of the reaping. Mostly it was lunch time in the training areas, or occasionally finding themselves at the same booth, tying knots or painting flowers that surely wouldn't disguise them in the arena.

Now, their mentors elsewhere, their stylists gone for the night, Effie probably off readjusting that strange blue wig...

It was just them for this moment and they enjoyed the brief company in companionable silence. Neither spoke of the scores. Silence, until they heard a yell.

"Damnit Haymitch!"

Katniss' angry voice traveled down the hall to reach their ears. Their mentors were arguing. Glancing at each other, Peeta and Madge silently agreed to move towards the heated voices and listen in.

"We had a deal!" she yelled at him, and as they rounded the corner it was just in time to see her snatch a half-empty bottle of white liquor from Haymitch's shaky grasp.

This obviously made him angry and he made a grab for the bottle, but slipped and tumbled to the floor instead. The disgust on Katniss' face was plain to see. She made no offer to help him up.

"No liquor," she told him through clenched teeth. "No liquor during the Games, that was our deal."

"Deals," he muttered from the floor. "Always deals with you. 'No more choosing which tribute to bet on.' 'No more sacrifice.' 'No more alcohol.' I'm tired of your deals."

He might have made more of an impression if he hadn't been slurring his words.

"I'm tired of yours," she shot back. "You had no right!"

It was obvious they were have an age old argument at this point. Something that had been tirelessly debated between the two of them, time and again.

Haymitch didn't even bother looking at her when he replied, "I did what I had to to get one of you out alive. That's the rules, sweetheart."

The term of endearment was sickly sweet and went down like a choke hold of molasses. Katniss looked as though she was familiar with the petname and none too happy with it.

"You made the wrong choice."

"I made the only choice."

"That doesn't make it right."

"Ain't nothin' right about the Games, sweetheart."

Silence fell between them. Haymitch had crawled across the floor and now had his back resting against the wall. Katniss still had her arms crossed, but no longer seemed angry. Instead she just looked tired, defeated. As though Haymitch—the Games—had sucked all the fight out of her.

"No drinking," she told him again, voice softer this time. "Someone has to give their all for Madge and she chose you. I can't give my all to two tributes, Haymitch. You of all people know that."

He didn't say anything in response, just sighed. She walked away still gripping the clear bottle. Although he gave it a wistful stare, he made no move for it. In fact, he didn't move at all.

Peeta and Madge remained there, letting the exchange sink into their heads as they realized what had always been there, but they had never wanted to accept. They were from the same district, they were even friends, but in the Games, they could never be Victors together.

After that, they finally took their mentors' advice and stopped eating lunch together.