A/N: Thanks so much to my new Beta, SubtleSpark! I feel much better about submitting this. Yes, it's short, but you'll get another chapter pretty quickly here. Thanks for everyone reviewing!
Review Reply:
brandy1119: thanks! And you get a tiny smidgen of Katniss' Games here, but the juicy stuff comes later. x) Hopefully this can hold you off for a bit though.
graceinclouds: Haha, thanks. Glad everyone's seeming pretty in character. :) And I'm tellin' you, those phones are becoming disastrous! Way too easy to check on things, lol.
Serafina Sky: Squee! Thanks. :) Don't get me wrong, I totally want Peeta's confession... But it'll be better later on, lol. And I so just want to get to the Games! That way I can dish on everything that's going to happen... *sigh* soon, I promise. :)
Ems: thank you!
Funkypurplehino: Yep. I had to make her young enough to put some distance between her and the Games so that she's already had a chance to mentor, but still make her old enough to be able to volunteer for Prim. So 13 it was! Thanks for reviewing! :)
Schmii: Why thank you! I try to keep them in character as much as I can, but what fun is it if there's nothing new, right? x)
SubtleSpark: OMGNEWBETA! Lol, thanks for reviewing and betaing for me. :)
KatnissMellark: Strangely enough, you get your wish! Lucky you! Lol, and I'm debating whether or not I want to show what's the what from someone else's POV. I think it might mess with story flow, so meh, we'll see.
XoLovelyWonderXo: I'm just glad you're still reading! (Though, not gonna lie, I love reviews. x)) I'm glad you're keeping in mind that it's the Quarter Quell. I haven't talked much about that, but don't worry, I have evil plans. x)
INTERMISSION: katCAM 2
I was sitting in the common room. It was late; Peeta was already in bed, theoretically asleep like I told him to. And though I listened subconsciously for his desperate cries, my mind was, for once, not on him. Because tonight I was reliving a private pain that had been taped and televised for all of Panem to see.
The tapes of the 70th annual Hunger Games played on the large, flat TV screen. I watched with the rapt attention that the Games always demanded, even though I already knew how this Game would end.
Because it had been my Game. I had won. I had lost. Gale had died.
I watched his young, clean face, always unsmiling, always serious. It was the night of the interview—Peeta's own aired program had inspired the trip down memory lane. I had already gone, twirling like some Capitol doll, beautiful because Cinna had made me that way. A trained show dog, jumping through hoops and rings of fire even though my hair singed.
Gale's face was hardened in determination. He looked older than he was, aged by the death of his father, of taking the weight of his family's survival on his shoulders, of hunting illegally—with me—in the forests outside of Twelve to keep his siblings from starvation.
Peeta had gone up to Caesar, all innocence and blushing charm, wistful for a girl back home... But Gale had gone with an agenda, a purpose. A careless strength that earned him respect and appeal when normally it would have lost him sponsors.
They were so different. Gale had been stronger than Peeta... But he still had... lost. If Gale hadn't been able to win, how was I ever going to save Peeta?
I paused the screen, staring at the boy who had once been my best friend. I tried not to think of Madge going into the arena, so unprepared, so innocent. My last true friend. I tried not to think of Peeta, sitting on stage with a curious, adorable blush on his cheeks, looking for all the world like a sweet, sweet child. I tried not to think of how the Games were taking everything from me.
Because I couldn't think like that. I had Prim, and there was nothing I could ever do to jeopardize her life.
"Gale..." I whispered to an empty room.
At least, I thought it was empty. But apparently my favorite mentor was there, leaning against the doorway, watching me like the creepy old bastard he was.
"Still thinkin' 'bout him, eh?"
I didn't answer. It wasn't any of his business. Because as much as maybe Haymitch could understand what I was dealing with, I could never let him in again. I still blamed him. I had to.
"People die, sweetheart," he told me mildly. "It happens to everyone. Even the damn Capitol citizens."
I still didn't respond. He considered me for a moment. "Think the boy's got a chance?"
I don't know what it was about that statement, but it set me off. "Leave him alone. There's no room for your damn deals anymore."
Proving that Haymitch and me shared more in common than either of us liked to admit, he matched my outburst with one of my own.
"Let it go!" he finally hollered at me angrily. "He ain't here; you are. Live with it. It's about all you can do."
I fumed at him, if only to hide the slowly shattering pieces of my heart. "That's because you agreed to help him die!"
It wasn't that simple, I knew that, but it was still true. Gale had made a plan with Haymitch behind my back. They made a deal that if there was to be a victor from District 12, it would not be Gale Hawthorne. It would be, me, Katniss Everdeen, the thirteen-year-old girl whose sister depended upon her, whose mother would fall apart without her, whose family was struggling as it was.
Never mind that Gale had a family, too.
And regardless of how their plan played out, of the other tributes, of the inevitable slaughter, their intent had succeeded. Haymitch was right about one thing at least: I was still here. Gale wasn't.
"He thought he loved me," I couldn't bring myself to even consider that he did, completely and wholly. It would drive me over the edge. There had to be at least the chance that it wasn't real love. That I hadn't killed the only man in the world who would ever look at me like that. "He thought he loved me and you used that against him! You manipulated him!"
"The only one I manipulated was you," Haymitch replied with a smirk, that dangerous look in his eyes, the one from the Games, set in place.
"Lets not debate your long list of mistakes, Haymitch," I growled back. "How low do you have to be to use love as a means to an end?"
"That wasn't love, sweetheart," Haymitch said sourly. "You wanna see love? Look at that little blonde tribute of yours. It's written all over his face."
With that, the man—looking older than I had ever seen him—left me standing in a mixture of seething anger and bewilderment. I would never have to ask what Haymitch's price had been to win the Games. I would only ever have to ask what Peeta's was going to be. Because I had already decided that he was going to win.
Madge's blonde smiling face popped into my mind. I stroked the bronze pin that had been a gift and my token, trying not to think.
Now I knew. I understood. My guess had been correct. The reason why Peeta had been trying so hard to sacrifice himself for Madge was because he was in love. Just like Gale had claimed to be.
My mind flashed back to his interview.
He had agreed wholeheartedly that Madge was incredibly beautiful, that anyone would be lucky to have someone like that. That he wasn't so lucky to have that to return home to.
Peeta Mellark was in love... and I couldn't explain why that made my heart sink into my stomach like a rock.