Your Own Kind

by Seta Suzume

What comes after. Mags as a mentor; Mags as a victor. [sequel to Save Yourself]

11. Part III, Chapter I

Part III - Show Me That and Destroy Me

Apple meets me that morning with a tabloid magazine in hand. This is the regular issue. Silk and her victory will, of course, have an entire special issue devoted to them. There has to be something else to write about though. Something else to see. I am kissing Jack in the largest picture on the front. "Mags!" Apple demands, "Explain this!"

I smile sheepishly. It is no great feat to predict lots of this in my immediate future. It won't work for anyone else, but I have a good line for Apple in this situation. "I watched his birthday recording for me," I explain.

"Can I watch it?" Aulie blurts out enthusiastically. Since he heard of the thing's existence, I think he's been hoping for the emergence of an appropriate moment to put in this request.

How can I be embarrassed about that with last night's development hanging over me? …Well, I still sort of am, but if he wants to watch it on his own, that's fun. "Go have fun," I allow, "It's sitting on my dresser."

He heads off at a jaunty pace, leaving Apple almost as exasperated with him, I think, as she is with me.

"Look," she sits down across from me, "It's not that I want to be mean or controlling. It's just…I really like you, dear. I don't want to see you get hurt and I think a romance with someone like Jack is a bit over your head."

"I know." Really, I do. I mean, I'm not sure I understand all of Apple's reasons for thinking that Jack is too, uh, something for me. Too sophisticated? He's definitely more worldly than I am. Is it that he's older? There are roughly eleven years between us.

It doesn't feel so big.

Of maybe I like that part a bit. I like it how Jack isn't visibly flailing around like me. I like how he seems to be, not exactly in control, but how he knows what he's doing. It's like with boats. No one can control the sea, but some can sail it better than others.

"I don't think we're going to have 'a romance' anyway," I say.

Apple plucks a folded piece of stiff, fancy paper out of her pocket and shows it to me. There are four-leafed clovers painted on her fingernails. I don't comment on how that seems funny to me. "He invited you to come have lunch at his place before you leave for home."

I take the card from her. It's worded much more casually than Apple put it, more in Jack's own voice. His handwriting is tall and scratchy, at odds with the pretty paper. "Well," I smile, "He did invite you along too. …I mean, Aulie can come if you'd rather not."

"I am most certainly the one who will accompany you!" Apple is adamant.

I set down the card. "Yeah," I laugh, hopefully not in a way that offends her, "I thought so. …Hey, tell me, do you know where Jack lives here?"

"He has an apartment, I gather. Someplace picked for convenience to the television studios."

"That makes sense."

In light of the invitation I decide to change my clothes to wear the t-shirt Jack gave me. …Or is there something weird about that? Maybe it's good. Maybe it establishes me as just a fan of his. A dumb kid, even if I have technically passed the first threshold of adulthood by crossing the eighteen-year-old reaping mark. (Even if I crossed it when I killed or when I survived)

The shirt runs a bit large. I am even smaller than Jack guessed I was.

I look at myself in the mirror. I think I look good in green.

"Change of plans," Aulie informs me when I come back out of my room, my meager traveling kit and clothes repacked in preparation for the journey home. It's going to be a glum one, so I have some extra appreciation for the gift Jack is giving me with a last activity that's relatively disconnected from the Games (there's that thing about the "relatively" part - there will never be anything between Jack and me that doesn't have some connection to the Games).

"What?"

"Lunch is off. The whole travel schedule got bumped up."

"Oh…" I'm disappointed. "Did we say anything to Jack yet? Should I call him and apologize?"

"I took care of it," Apple says. "I assumed it would be faster and easier that way. Of course, he understood completely. He'd heard about the schedule adjustments and was aware of the effect they might have."

"Okay," I agree. There's nothing else productive I can add.

Aulie accompanies us to the train station, but stays behind in the Capitol. Where I once traveled home a dazed and tired "winner," I now make the same journey with the physical reminder that my best will never be good enough. My best may not even be half good enough.

Jack Umber is nothing more than a diversion. A funny one. A handsome one. But still.

There's no fanfare for my return. There is Papa on the platform. There is Mayor Current and his wife and his son. There is Mrs. Chavez and her mother. Mrs. Mirande is also there. And 'Lito. His arms are raised above his head and he clutches a cloth banner, stretching it between his hands: "Viva D4."

I am not sure if I am relieved or reluctant as I step from the train. I am poised between two worlds at the point where they intersect. I hover there a moment.

Both feet find the ground. I am back in District 4.

Cue the tears.

I wonder why Mrs. Mirande came. She is the one who rushes up to hug me. And then, as I peek over her trembling shoulder at the families of my first pair of dead tributes, I wonder if she's here to protect me.

Apple pats my back and tells me goodbye while I am still in Mrs. Mirande's arms. She isn't crying, but I can tell she's sad anyway. She'd rather not be here.

When the train pulls away, I can see the blond Avox put her hand up to the glass of a window in her own goodbye to me. I wish I knew her name.

Papa, Mrs. Mirande, and 'Lito walk home with me. Salvador's family joins Shaya's in transporting the plain coffins containing their bodies.

The next day the cliffside cemetery hosts a double funeral. Everyone is dressed in somber colors. There's some black, but also lots of gray and dark blue. I keep my head down. I can't bear to look anyone in the eye. Papa keeps his arms around my shoulders.

Old Padre Tino speaks. The words I shared with Shaya and Salvador the night before the Games recur. "I am the resurrection and the life."

Salvador's mother and grandmother are relatively stoic. Shaya's mother appears about ready to throw herself down into the sea. I wonder, for the first time, if our dead are buried up here for precisely that purpose. (It's because the sea rises, I know that. It's because of the chance of flooding in the lowlands of the district- which are most of them.)

Papa and I are among the first ones to leave. I'm sure the Current and Chavez families prefer it that way.

"Keeping the old god talk to a minimum, I hope," Peacekeeper Benett remarks to us as he passes us on his way up to the cemetery to make sure the rules about public assembly are followed. He's not going to kick out the families, but everyone else has a finite time before they're allowed up there before the gathering is too large for too long and in violation.

"Everyone is in compliance, Peacekeeper," Padre Tino addresses him, hobbling along behind us.

"Oh," I turn back toward him, "Mr. Neska. Let us help you."

Papa takes his former teacher's arm.

I am part of the last group of children who even think of him as "Padre Tino." No one can call him that publicly since the revolt was quelled. And, understandably, kids can't be trusted not to slip up and say it. In any case, Peacekeeper Benett has been here five years and knows basically what kind of person Padre Tino is now, just like he knows that Papa is just about the same type, but Benett lives up to his title. He doesn't want any trouble. He has to receive official orders from higher-up the chain of command before he'll instigate anything.

"I'm sure no one is in compliance more than you, Tino Neska," Benett laughs, "And now, while you know I don't take bribes, I am hoping that I might receive an Exchange Day gift from you this winter."

"It's a bit early for plans, but I think I'm giving out herb wreaths this year," Padre Tino wheezes.

"You're my witnesses," Benett has to look down to make eye contact with all of us and now he catches my eye, "You'll hold him to that, won't you, Miss and Mr. Gaudet?"

"Well, if I remember it," we part from him, "I have a lot of things on my mind, you know."

"You're too young for men from other districts!" Benett calls after me.

"What's this now?" Padre Tino asks.

"Nothing at all," Papa dismisses it.

We walk the padre home and I stop at Michella's flower stand and arrange for condolences bouquets to be delivered to the bereaved families. "Win or lose, you're good for business," Michella remarks.

I already paid for the flowers at the funeral. Whatever flowers were employed in the celebration of my victory, someone else covered the costs. Either way, Michella is doing good business.

Papa is his typical understanding self. He listens to me talk, but he doesn't ask much. Nothing about Jack beyond remarking on the shirt he gave me. "Do you think they'll make these of everyone now?"

"Maybe?" I didn't give it much thought before. "If there's a demand, I suppose."

"Hmm."

Other people aren't going to be the same as him.

"So," 'Lito says, and somehow I'm sure that he's said these exact words to me before, "Jack Umber."

If he wants to press on further with that, he's going to have to be the one who does it. "Yep, Jack Umber," I echo him. This part of the weaving I'm working on is particularly tricky, so I keep my head down and eyes on it.

"Y-you like him that much?" 'Lito's voice cracks.

I look up. He's blushing. "Uh…" I hesitate. I'm not going to lie, but I have no desire to treat my friend's heart roughly either. It's hard to talk about feelings.

"N-nevermind," he waves a hand through the air and dismisses it, "I know you do. It's okay. We-we're still friends."

"Of course, 'Lito." He and Faline have been the closest to me and the easiest to interact with within my age group around home ever since my Games. I have no desire to spoil that.

He stands up and looks toward the horizon. "You want to go out in the dinghy?"

"…All right." "The dinghy" is a beat-up rowboat one of his father's customers let him have a few months ago. 'Lito and some of his friends made it seaworthy again, but just barely. Papa's out on his own boat now, working. I write him a note in case he beats me home "Out in the dinghy with 'Lito. See ya later."

We row out of the harbor toward the glades, taking it easy without any particular destination in mind.

"You looked really pretty on TV at that Eight girl's party. I like it when you wear those stars."

"Thanks."

"We all missed you while you were gone during the Games."

"I thought about everyone here." Papa mostly, but Faline and others too. "Anything interesting happen?"

"Not that you weren't part of. Everybody was real worked up about Salvador. Since he made if so far, you know. We thought he…you and he might do it."

"However hard they said on TV that Pal worked, he really worked even harder." I lean on my oar. We drift with the tide.

"You like him pretty well too, huh?" 'Lito reflects.

"We're friends. Pretty much all the other victors and I."

"…The guy with the huge glasses?" 'Lito presses me, "…Wacky Emmy Pollack? The sleepy guy from Six?"

"Beto and Emmy and Teejay," I concur, "In their own ways."

He grins. He thinks he's got me now, I can tell. "Luna Vetiver," he allows her full name to trip luxuriously off his tongue.

Yeah, he's got me. "No, not that one."

'Lito laughs. "Ha ha ha, aww, even Mags can't win 'em all, I guess."

I'm not sure if Papa told my youthful hangers-on to leave me alone for a while or if the depressing reality of returning to another year of losing both our tributes has chilled their regard for me, but no one comes around that first week back who wouldn't come around anyway (just 'Lito, just Faline).

When Faline comes around she brings a funny piece of bamboo bent into a circle and some colored twine she's trying to wrap around and stretch across it like a net pulled taut across a frame. "I thought maybe you could help me," she offers her supplies to me.

"What is it?" It seems a little big to wear as a piece of jewelry- though if she's copying something she saw from the Capitol size is probably a moot point.

"Well, it's supposed to be something called a 'dream catcher.' According to the show, they're from District Nine? It was that Sophie lady in One talking about it. On Style Spot. The president's daughter was wearing one as a hairpiece at Silk's party. They think it's going to get popular, along with whatever District Eight stuff shows up on the new victor."

We go upstairs and sit on the floor of my bedroom. The sun's strong influence is mitigated somewhat by the pale green curtains. "My mom says they were popular here once before. Around when she got married," Faline continues. "They called them "nightmare nets," she said. You're supposed to put it over your bed so none of the bad dreams can get in." She pauses there, significantly, and just looks at me with her pretty, round eyes.

"I'm not sure I can do this if I don't know what it's supposed to look like," I admit, though I have managed to wrap Faline's strings a bit tighter around their frame.

"You do it the way you like," she encourages me. She pulls her knees up to her chest and leans her head on them, looking at me sideways. "After the net, it should be decorated too. With feathers and beads. I think I want to put some sea glass beads on it."

"Silk, you know, she asked me about you."

"Huh, really?" Faline wrinkles her nose.

"Yeah, I was surprised too. She seems really nice."

"They showed you sitting with her at the big table with the president."

"When she comes here for her Victory Tour, I'll try and see if you can meet her," I grin. It seems like it would be a pleasant encounter for both of them.

"…I won't be upset if you can't. I know you're not promising. You can't do half the lovely things you want to. Even though you're a victor."

My face falls a bit. But I can see it was mainly false bravado in the first place once I stop and examine it. I'm going to have to force smiles for a while to get through the worst of it. "Thanks, Faline."

"You're welcome, Mags."

I hold up the dreamcatcher. "…Uh, how's that?"

"Well, if you're happy with it, then I am," she straightens back up, "I was making it for you."

"Oh," I lower my hand.

"But I still want to decorate it," she smiles, "I think I can make it really pretty."

She's wonderful. Maybe I have already done the best thing I will do in my life by saving her. Maybe it's ridiculous to think that I can manage anything else. …But even if my moment has passed, it doesn't excuse me from continuing to try. "I look forward to when you're done then," I hand the dreamcatcher back to Faline.

She gets some thicker colored thread from her basket and begins wrapping it around the outside of the frame. "So, is he nice to you when you're together?" she asks me about Jack. "Sometimes when I see you on TV or when he's talking about you, it seems like he's making fun of you."

"He doesn't mean it to be cruel, I think. It's just what he's like. Or, uh, what he wants people in the Capitol to think he's like."

What I said, or maybe how I said it, brings a funny smile to her face. Her lips quirk up in a way that only partially reveals her teeth. "Oh, you do like him then."

"Sort of inexplicably, but yes."

"I want to meet him then too!" She considers the possibilities, "But, of course, I suppose I probably can't. …He'd have to mentor a winning tribute to come out here, wouldn't he?"

"I imagine."

"Of course, if there were a good television reason for him to come here, you never know!" I imagine she still considers it improbable, but the idea amuses her.

Jack would probably enjoy the way she thinks.

"I'll try and make you a dream catcher too," I decide. "Victors certainly aren't the only ones who have bad dreams."

Rodrigo is the first of my…group? Class? Clueless admirers society?- to come back around. And is that telling? I'm sitting on the porch working on the dreamcatcher for Faline when he shows up. I think about telling him how Gerik and Hector guessed he's going to volunteer next time around, but decide against it.

"Hey…" he sits down on the step below the one I'm situated on, "Che and I were wondering if we were still allowed to come around sometimes and stuff. You know, if you don't mind."

"If you still want to come, you can still come." Somehow I think their number will be reduced, but it's not going to hurt any of them.

"Oh, good. Good."

I carry on looping the thread over and around the reed frame I wove to make a pattern. Rodrigo watches my fingers at their task.

"Salvador was really great out there," he says, testing to see how I'll react to this statement.

"I'm proud of how he held together under such tough circumstances. He went really far. I…had a lot of hope."

"We were all rooting for him."

The front door opens loudly, when it can open quietly. "Hey, Rodrigo," Papa greets him.

"Hi, Mr. Gaudet."

Papa stretches his arms over his head and groans at some unpleasant sound from one of his joints. "Aaah," he sits down beside me, "I'm starting to get old."

"You're not old yet," Rodrigo laughs, "Maybe you want to say that so your daughter will have pity on you, but he let some of us come over and watch at your house, Mags, and when it got late and he thought we were getting too rowdy, he came downstairs hitting a fishing rod against a frying pan and scared us all out."

"Papa!" I regard him incredulously.

"It's not like there are any neighbors to upset out here," Rodrigo notes.

Not now. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

"I told you kids I was going to try and get some sleep. I couldn't be expected to let you sit up making noise over the endless commentary and statistics and updates all night."

"Your dad is so much like you," Rodrigo grins at me.

"Meet me on the beach below the victor houses tomorrow morning," I tell him, "You and Che and whoever else wants to come. It'd be nice to go swimming."

"Hmm," he gets up, "Sounds good. I'll let everybody know."

"Oh, wait," I think of an additional detail. "Hang on a minute," I put down my current handicraft project and go in the house. I come back with a bit of cash in hand. "Give this to your mom to buy some of her sandwiches for our lunch."

Rodrigo counts the money. "How many? The lunch stand might owe you some change."

"Ten, I suppose," I shrug. I am down one former comrade. I can't say that I'm sure ten people are going to show up, but I am sure there won't be more than that. If there are leftovers, I don't doubt someone will be willing to take them home though.

"There's still going to be a little-"

"Tell your mom to keep the change."

He accepts this judgment and puts the money in his pocket. "See you tomorrow, Mags."

I don't sit back down into he's several yards off down the main path that runs between the empty victor houses. Papa is looking at the dreamcatcher. I wonder if, in light of their supposed popularity here a while back according to Faline's mother, he knows what it is. "So…a fishing pole and a frying pan?"

"I had to hit the pan with something that would make a lot of noise."

"If we had neighbors, you'd be bothering them more than any visiting kids."

"I can't wait until we do."

Just because I know what he means doesn't stop me from indulging in a little joking. "Because you never bothered the neighbors back in town, wanting to save it for bothering some other victor all this time. …Of course."

"Of course."

I am the first one down on the Victors' Beach the following morning. There's nothing really surprising about this. I live above it. Everyone else has a bit of a trip.

There's a nice breeze. I walk barefoot in the sand and do some stretches.

'Lito arrives next. This is also unsurprising. "Oh," he observes, walking a circle around me, "He signed your shirt."

"He sent it to me like that." To me, at least, my not having asked makes a difference. There's still a lot I don't understand about Jack. There are lots of things I don't know about 'Lito, but I don't think understanding is so much of a problem there. "…I think you've grown a bit since these past Games."

He smiles. "It's just I suddenly straightened up after that last reaping- so much weight was taken off of me."

I start laughing. That's a good one. "I suppose then that serves as only more proof that I'll always be short."

When Rodrigo arrives with Che and the sandwiches and Faline follows soon after I'm glad but not surprised. Five of us. And Che wasn't previously promised. This is okay. This is about what I expect.

I get more. I receive an overabundance of trust and kindness. There's the sound of young laughter above the beach and then of sandals flapping against the wooden steps leading down from the elevated area of the victor houses to the associated beach. Jerrick and Estelle and Maria have returned- and there's a fourth with them, another boy.

It's Zeno Icaro. Peterzeno Icaro, to be more precise. He's one of Padre Tino's students. The youngest one. He's thirteen, I think. Or fourteen now?

One member of the group is lost to us through death. If I try, I can imagine him still here. Strange that I probably got to know him best in his last few days. Salvador's ghost clings to me now. And Shaya's. Beanpole's. And no matter how many ghosts wrap around me, they will not keep me warm.

Two prior members of the group, Slip and Tack, haven't returned. Tack turned eighteen, which might've done it for him. For Slip, just fifteen, the reasoning must be different.

"Hello, Mags! Where do I pledge my official sign-up?" Zeno greets me.

"There aren't official sign-ups, Zeno," Faline tells him. "You just feel like hanging around so you do."

"Oh," he nods thoughtfully. He has blue eyes. There aren't a lot of blue eyes in 4. I can't remember back to a time when he had parents, but one, or both of them perhaps, probably had roots in another district. "I came because it sounded fun," Zeno says next. I sort of doubt it, but if anyone here is going to know how to dance around the edges of matters to avoid Capitol scrutiny, it's bound to be Zeno, heir to an illegal study (under Padre Tino) that he is.

"Happy to have you here, Zeno," Rodrigo shakes his hand.

We pointedly avoid talking about Salvador and have a fairly pleasant time, swimming and playing a ballgame in the water and eating the sandwiches Rodrigo's mother provided. The addition of Zeno to the group seems good for other spirits besides mine. With him arrive other topics of conversation. He thinks he might have a friend or two who'd like to come play around as well.

After lunch we disperse for the day. Since it's not a school day they may be free to come around for a while, but my friends still have homework and chores and work in several cases. Rodrigo helps his mom run her stand. 'Lito is almost a full employee now at his father's boat shop. Estelle does extra studies with Dr. Haddock as she means to become a nurse ("Maybe a doctor," she says sometimes, "Maybe if that's not too much harder" - there is, of course, no medical school in 4- before the fences our people went to study such things in 3 or 6 or the Capitol; now they must apprentice like the majority of us).

Faline stays behind with me. "I finished my homework early so I could," she explains.

"Thanks." I'm glad. A week out from the Games and I'm not ready to be alone for long yet.

We got back up to the house. Papa is working. We turn on the TV and poke fun at the Capitol's number one soap opera, currently running a plot featuring a thinly veiled Jack Umber caught up in a romance with the president's daughter. The fake president's daughter is played by the real president's daughter. I wonder if it means anything.

Sophie Varen's program comes on. We won't be snide about that. Since meeting her, I am rather fond of it. It's a special edition today. "Oh," Faline observes quickly, "She's in the Capitol."

"Today, a surprise guest and I will be visiting some of the Capitol's hottest date spots," she smiles magnificently, then tilts her head and leans toward the camera, "I guess this is as close as most of us are going to get to actually dating him, so let's get ready to put our daydreaming little hearts to work, shall we?

"Traveling with me today is…"

Faline says it- guesses- at the same time as Sophie: "Jack Umber!"

I can't say this is exactly a surprise, but my brain still sticks at this enough that none of their introductory banter registers as anything but cheerful noise.

I am at once rapt and unnerved. Sophie and Jack visit an aquarium, some kind of grill your own meat and vegetables restaurant, a butterfly park, and an ice cream shop, though they also discuss a variety of other locales of note.

"He's going to ask you on a date," Faline predicts.

I don't debate it because I'm sure she'll be right on that matter as well.

I think it's partially because of the time difference from the Capitol that it's late when he calls. "Will you come visit me? I've already run my request through the proper official channels and had it approved. At this point it's only up to you."

What if I don't want to? Will it hurt his feelings? Will Nar or somebody call me up and urge me to change my mind? What about this worries me?

I hit upon one possible point of concern. "Will we be on camera?"

He inhales a deep breath and that's answer enough, but: "Not to film my show or anything, but it really is impossible for any victor to visit the Capitol and not be photographed a bit. I already agreed to let them take some footage of us walking around somewhere public in exchange for making sure you're not pestered for the entire length of your visit."

"…that's what it's like to be a victor, huh?" I consider it. Every last inch of your life and privacy is open to bargaining for. The coverage of me that's occurred at home hasn't felt very intrusive. After the first Parcel Day, I barely noticed the cameras on those that followed. I was too busy enjoying myself watching the happy people. Maybe I just don't command the amount of interest to warrant such probing attention.

It's different for Jack.

"What kind of visit? How long?"

"Well-" I can imagine the smile creeping back onto his face as he says it (he thinks now that he has me- that I will agree). "I thought you'd just spend the day with me, but because of the travel time involved you might like to spend at least one night here too, before or after, at a hotel or with one of your friends maybe."

"Oh…" Would that be fun for Apple or Aulie, or would I be imposing?

He chuckles. "Admittedly, I'd have no problem with you staying with me, but I don't think you'd want you'd want to have to deal with the way it would make people talk."

He's right about that. "…when are you free?"

"The day after tomorrow. The day after that too. Later than that, I guess I have to check my calendar."

I steady myself. "The day after tomorrow," I tell him, "I'll be there. Tell…I don't know. Whoever's supposed to know. Where will I meet you?"

"I'll come to the train station."

"How will you know when I'll- Oh. They'll let you know."

"You don't have to worry about missing me at least."

No. I won't have to. As long as my eyes are open, I will never miss him.

The following morning my decision leads me to some embarrassment as I mention my upcoming brief absence to Faline and 'Lito (separately, and on 'Lito's part partially so he has time ahead so he can think about whether he'd like to do something with Rodrigo and the group in my absence) and some slightly less embarrassing giggling as I get in touch with Aulie, who would, of course, be delighted to have me over not just the night after, but tonight too and by showing up at a time Jack isn't expecting me, "we'll show that Jack that we can handle these comings and goings just fine."

Worst is telling Papa. Not that he'll mind. I've always known I did something really bad if it actually upset Papa. But this isn't like casually hanging out with someone I kind of like for a little while after school. I can't just go- of course I have to tell him. But…it's a date. It's definitely a date. In a city I don't, and can't, perhaps, really know. With a boy who-

He isn't just some boy.

He's a grown man now, who was a boy who killed five other kids on live television.

"Umm," I broach the subject over Papa's scraping a spatula against a pan as he fries some fish he caught while fishing recreationally among the rocks off Victors' Beach early this morning, "I got invited to the Capitol. I'm going to take the late train out tonight…and I'll stay with Aulie. Tomorrow night too, but then I'll head right back."

"Is it for business?"

Not really? "For fun."

Obviously I don't hide my hesitance well. He looks at me over his shoulder. "Who invited you?"

"Jack."

"Do you think that'll be fun?" Sometimes I wish he weren't so good at being neutral. If he were in my place, what would he do? Does this seem like it'll be fun or some sort of publicity stunt fiasco?

"I'm not entirely sure. …but no one was making me. I decided to go on my own." Despite the plans I've made, in a way, I am still thinking it out. Setting aside the issues of what other people might want from me, I wish I had a better idea of what I want.

"Well, I hope that you do have fun. You try and enjoy yourself there, okay?" That's the best idea I'm going to be given of his own thoughts unless I ask him about them directly. "…Do we have any lemons?"

"Right over here," I go to take one out of the basket. "Is there anything you'd like me to look for for you in the Capitol?"

"I can't think of anything."

The lunch he cooks is particularly good. I pack for my trip. I don't want to trouble any of the few people I know have cars to give me a ride, so we start out early for the train station together. I notice 'Lito hauling some cans of paint out of the general shop back towards his father's workplace, but avoid catching his eye. The issue of my relationship with Jack lies a bit awkwardly between us since the kiss. Seeing as I continue to feel awkward about it myself, I can hardly blame him.

"We have one passenger today?" the stationmaster examines his digital tablet when I arrive. "Oh, ah, yes," he confirms for himself, "I see you're scheduled here."

"I know it was kind of short notice."

"For us in Four, maybe, but for the trains, this kind of thing happens all the time. Why don't you take a seat?"

I follow this direction and Papa sits with me as well until the train arrives. He gives me a hug and stands on platform watching as the train pulls away.

The car I'm stuck in is very nice. I learn that it's a generic one they send out to pick up victors for visits to the Capitol. I'm not allowed to wander the train freely. I have to stay in this car. "'Bout half of this is just transporting cargo," I'm informed.

"From Four?" Couldn't be all that much, because the stop there didn't seem long.

"Eleven mainly. We just received the instruction to pick you up on the way back."

It makes sense. I can plot a rough estimate of their route from that.

I pick a meal off a menu then eat it while watching a movie about a princess in a country that probably doesn't even exist anymore. It's not like all the land that used to be Europe is gone, but whatever's out there now, they weren't telling us about it in school. Whether it's true or not, I prefer to think that there are at least a few other countries out there still. Nicer ones, I hope. Who would want to think that the only place left in the world was Panem?

After the movie I settle for some inane celebrity news programming. Silk is dressed in a typical District 8 manner again, although her clothes are more colorful than those of the average factory employee. She even has a scarf back on her head. She's showing the interior of her partially decorated house to a reporter, while Pal follows along behind her smiling and nodding intermittently. He looks to have recovered his health.

Silk seems to be in good spirits. She's looking forward to 8's first Parcel Day. "I'll get to feed my dorm mom after all those years of her feeding me," she quips.

I notice a sewing machine and prints of birds on the walls and a quilt that, based on its color scheme, has Pal written all over it to me.

Back at the station, the main newscasters also comment on her favorably. There's a high degree of satisfaction with our new victor. I have months to wait, but I do look forward to seeing her during her Victory Tour. It's impossible to imagine she would be an ungracious guest.

There's one part of victor life I haven't experienced yet. The visit of a newer victor. I think I've been through the hardest parts now- not to say that I'm not going to keep going through some of those hardest parts over and over again, but…

(bringing home a victor is easier than not bringing home one, right?)

I wonder vaguely if someday there will be so many other victors that they'll start to run together for me. Or if I won't see in my mind the instant replay of something that happened to them (or something they did) during their games. …Or if I'll get so old that I won't understand any of it anymore. I'll forget their games, my games, what all of us did, everything will wash away…

The thing about remembering is, even if it'd be nice to forget, I shouldn't. None of us should. Remembering is the job I have tasked myself with. I must do it for myself and in the place of those who can't.

I'd think I was going crazy with all these weird thoughts if I weren't able to remind myself that I thought lots of crazy things before my games too.

…I'm not crazy.

Not yet at least.

Onscreen, the victor gossip of the day turns to Jack behind the scenes of that travelogue program with Sophie. They are comfortable with one another, as I've come to expect. Their TV personas, at least, are very compatible. The commentator jokes about Jack being rich and popular enough to balance a few different girls, but too conspicuous to pull it off- "Unless his District Four sweetheart is too busy out on the boat to be watching much recreational television, that is!"

…It would probably be better if, between the two of us, he had feelings for Sophie. They're closer in age. They're from the same district. Even if our experience as victors unites Jack and I, is that really something you want to share and be mindful of every day of your…

As if I could possibly get further ahead of myself.

From someone I see roughly three weeks of the year to every day.

I arrive in the Capitol to find the natural sky gone dark, but the station lively and the sky filled with lights. "Always traveling light," Aulie notes, picking me up with one arm and my suitcase with the other.

"Over the top!" I pretend to complain about his handling of me.

He doesn't set me down until we're directly in front of his vehicle. It's probably for the best for keeping attention away from me. At least one person still snaps a picture.

It's easy to have a wonderful time with Aulie. Back at his place he makes us some fancy coffee drinks and we talk and paint each others' nails (he asks about what I'm going to wear tomorrow to make sure they'll match it all right).

His home is large, but empty. Aulie answers all my questions. He's thirty-six. He had a younger half-brother and half-sister who died in the war. They weren't combatants. They were sixteen and thirteen. They are the sort of people the Capitol purports to be avenging with the Games. Funny, then, how Aulie seems not to have much against us. (how quickly, in other quarters, how revenge has turned to entertainment?)

He's never been married and doubts it will happen. He doesn't expect to ever have children ("Oh, goodness!" he laughs, "Can you imagine?!"). He has a pet gecko though.

Nar calls the house about my early arrival, but Aulie does all the talking and never hands the phone to me. I get the impression he's being a bit difficult for the Victor Affairs man with his assertions that, "I certainly must top the approved visitation list!" and "You can't honestly be worried about her safety when she's here with me." Whatever it's all about, Aulie wins out in the end though, as far as I'm concerned, by keeping it between him and Nar.

"I've never had an actual boyfriend," I tell Aulie, trying to decide what it is exactly about this subject I mean to convey- to broach something of my unease with all this that I can't really get into with my father or anyone else I know (I have the suspicion that I could probably talk to Pal about it though and feel alright- I can't say why- but he's got to be busy still with Silk and could I really bother him over something like this?).

"I'd only had one at your age." A bit of teasing seeps into his smile, "…But he was the same age as me. And he wasn't famous. Wasn't quite such a looker either."

"Aulie," I roll my eyes.

"I can't say I know what it is that's bothering you most, but, yeah, I know it's not the same with everyone watching you. …But after that surprise kiss at the party, I do think you have it in you to go toe-to-toe with Mr. Publicity Stunt."

"That's part of the difficulty… Y'know. Does he like me that way or are we just playing one another?" I shake my head. Do we just carry on with a game of flirtation until people forget how pretty Silk is or our smokescreen is blown away as useless?

Suddenly I remember a brief bit of interaction I witnessed between Jack and Aulie during the last Games. I'm curious. "…How well do you know Jack?"

Aulie lets out a small, wry laugh. "Longer, but certainly not as well as you."

"Oh." I think my face falls. "Just from working at the Games together?"

"During the Second Games, we were- all of us involved in coaching that is- we were all just enchanted by him. You know- he was so charming and sweet and little-seeming and he'd just ooh and ah over everything we showed him."

"I didn't know you'd been working the Games that long."

"Since the very beginning. For coach-types, that was the Second Games. We weren't assigned to specific districts at that point- we were the ones working the little training set-up. A supplement to the escorts, you know? After the First Games, about half the initial escorts quit- the ones who didn't were the cruel ones- the ones who were openly glad to bring children to their deaths. So I guess you could say the details of the Games system were really in need of a lot of ironing out yet at that point."

"I see." This is informative, but also seems a very strange conversation to be having. I can't quite get into the Capitol mindset regarding the Games. At least when it's about revenge, I can understand, but the moment it goes beyond that, it…just doesn't line up right with my way of thinking. "…So you all liked Jack?"

"Well, you know as well as anyone that he's good at making himself easy to like."

"Yeah…" None of this really addresses my personal issues, but it's interesting. It adds some layers to the things I'm turning over and over in mind.

"You'll have a good time tomorrow." Aulie's sure of that much.

I appreciate his optimism. I will push myself to embrace it as much as I can.

I sleep very well considering I am in a strange place with strange events looming before me. This is a testament both to my easy friendship with Aulie and how wonderfully comfortable the borrowed bed is in his guest room.

"You slipped in ahead of plans," Jack laughs that morning over the phone, "I rather feel I've had one pulled over on me!"

"And you're having a better day because of it?" I guess. That's hardly the tone of someone who's feeling put out.

"I like it when you're feeling tricky." I can practically imagine him winking on the other end of the line. Would he do that, even without anyone there to see it, just to make sure he achieved the proper playful sound? "So, in light of that, when would you like me to come pick you up?"

It's not a question I'm prepared to answer, though you'd think it should be. Just- no one has ever "picked me up" before. If I'm going to do something with anyone back home, I go to their place or we meet up somewhere. If the Capitol needs me, their schedule does the deciding. "Umm," I look over my shoulder at Aulie, "When do you think?"

"How about ten o'clock?" he suggests.

That goes over fine with Jack.

Then I get ambitious. I turn to Aulie once the phone clicks off. "Is there somewhere around here I can buy flowers?"

And that's how I have a whole bouquet ready in my arms when Jack comes to the door to collect me.

Behind him are two men with small portable cameras and one of them starts laughing uproariously at the sight. "Oh, for Panem's sake, get a grip, Notion," his colleague scolds him.

"Hi," Jack grins.

"Hi," I echo and hold out the flowers, "These are for you."

He scoops the bouquet out of my arms and inhales the fragrance deeply. He looks so happy. I think it's real. …And I want to be happy just like that.

"Thank you! You're so thoughtful."

The cameras are rolling as we make a little initial small talk- me much more awkwardly than Jack, of course- and Aulie says goodbye and to have a good time and he'll see me in the evening, but none of this will air without running past some editor first, so I don't quite worry about being perfect because I'm not in control of what they'll show or how they'll show it anyway.

"I was thinking we could go to the butterfly garden, if that's all right with you. I have a feeling you'd like it."

It's funny. "So you really were scouting locations you could take me when you went all over with Sophie."

"It's the gentlemanly thing to do, isn't it? To go investigate a bit? I don't really date much and the places I ordinarily go don't seem all that special," Jack leans his arm up against the back of the seat of the car.

"You have to remember that I've barely been in the Capitol for anything but, uh-" he knows I means the Games, so I might as well not say it, "Work, you know?"

He nods. "Hmm, that's true. You haven't had a lot of time for anything else. Your schedule's really just opened up now, hasn't it? I guess our timing was good in that regard." He taps his fingers on the stiff black fabric of the seatback.

"Yeah…" I mumble back, "Good timing."

He lets float a light laugh at this sort of private joke and I wonder again about the timing in this. About whether it means anything for anyone who isn't some nonparticipating recipient of our good deed from District 8?

The bouquet jostles slightly up and down on his lap as we ride. Unlike back home, we have no reason to be concerned the flowers will dry out unless put in a vase with some water soon- they were sold to me in a package meant to keep them moist just like that for several hours.

It takes a little walking around in front of the gates to the butterfly park before I loosen up and stop thinking so continuously about the cameras. The women working the ticket counter are open in their amusement as they watch me pace about, throwing inconsequential comments back and forth with Jack until he finally thinks I'm acting myself enough to get going and buy the tickets. The cameramen are taping all of this anyway.

We pass through the gates and stroll along the weaving little paths of…polished rocks, maybe, they're colorful and very shiny, through the interesting mix of plants, many of them unusual familiar to me and most of them flowering. Butterflies flit casually here and there, heading for flowers or seeming to merely float listlessly in the air. We talk idly about plants, which aside from the most generic ones everybody knows we don't seem to have much overlapping experience with, and things we like and a little about some of our mutual acquaintances (though even when we touch on Pal, we avoid Silk in a way that's hopefully not too pointed).

We wander into a more open area. There are planters with wide edges meant for sitting on and some kind of spritzer-ish machine that sends little puffs of…some kind of perfume? A sweet-smelling chemical into the air that must attract the butterflies. "Just watch this," Jack says and pauses on his meandering way.

A butterfly lands on Jack's shoulder. It's an amazingly bright turquoise color. Most of the butterflies here appear to be that color- not white with spots or a muddled yellow like back home, though they do appear to have the black and orange ones I know and others in similar variations. Another drifts down and alights on Jack's bangs. He keeps his head still, but turns his eyes up to look at what little of it is visible from his view. "Well," he laughs, and raises his hands, managing to collect a few more within a few seconds, "Apparently I am also popular with butterflies."

My partially open smile strains wider with incredulous humor.

In a moment, their preference for him dissipates as they begin to land on me too. Even the largest ones are very light. Now I do laugh, though I try to stay relatively still. I don't know how best to behave around butterflies aside from very cautiously.

Until this point other visitors at the garden have politely kept their distance from us, but now Jack calls over a couple wearing matching hats and asks them to take our picture with his phone-device-thing. The woman with the deeper colored red hair (her companion's is more pink) nearly drops it in her nervous excitement over interacting with us. "I think you make a very nice couple," she tells us.

"We'll definitely be wishing you all the best," the pinker-haired woman chimes in.

Jack jokes around a little with our well-wishers and offers to let them take a picture with us, which they're happy to do. Afterward, they move on and we sit down on one of the planter edges. "I'm going to guess it's not too forward of me to hold your hand?" Jack asks.

"I think not." I feel like I'm practically daring him.

So he holds my hand and I haven't the smallest complaint about that. The butterflies sprinkle the area, going about what must be an ordinary day for them and landing on and taking off from both of us every so often. Jack tells me some stories about his various adventures in being on television- funny anecdotes about people he's met and tacky things he's done. I reply with some fishing stories because they're the most interesting thing I can think of, although I'm still concerned that they won't seem like much to Jack. But when I try to qualify them with those concerns, he brushes all my worries aside. "No, tell me all about it. Your stories are so different."

"Oh, well," I begin another one.

He's attentive and asks questions about the parts he doesn't understand- about the names of fish in some cases and others about the process in general. "How do you know what to do when?" is the gist of many of these queries.

"Lots of practice," is my main answer. Also: "Asking my dad."

"You can go fishing in the Capitol," Jack tells me, "But it's- obviously it's not on the ocean. There are special ponds and lakes stocked for this purpose. You can rent the equipment and go out and fish. I think some let you take the fish home and some are catch and release. …I have a feeling it's not as challenging as what you do."

It sounds pretty par for the course for the Capitol. "Did you ever go fishing back in One?"

His brow knits at the memory of some past annoyance. "Not much and not successfully."

I don't pursue it. "…you've gone fishing in the Capitol, though? On one of your shows or something? I feel like I have some kind of recollection of that."

"Oh, I did it with Hector when he came on his Victory Tour." Jack leans over closer to me, "You remember that? I'm never going to get over some of the funny things you remember."

This doesn't seem like the right time to tell him how important I think remembering is, so I just give a little shrug. He kisses my forehead and it's possible that my face goes as red as a ripe tomato considering how it feels, but I try not to make too big a deal about it.

…though, considering I am staring straight into one of the cameras now, I am probably not coming off all that calm.

I break eye contact with the lens. "How about lunch?" Jack asks, squeezing my hand.

I give a smaller squeeze back. "Okay," I agree. It comes out in the tiniest little voice I can imagine that's not a real whisper.

Jack doesn't start laughing until I do.

In a way, it all feels very unreal.

We have lunch at small restaurant that still has what seems to me to be a ridiculously large menu. Jack even manages to convince the cameramen to sit down and eat with us. It relieves some of the weird pressure inherent in the situation because they're part of experience now themselves, not just professional voyeurs.

"See," Jack assures me over the fancy paper menus, "I picked this place because it'd be cozy but I knew there was pretty much no way you wouldn't be able to order something you liked. I don't have you pegged as the picky type, but food in the Capitol can veer a bit different from what you expect back home."

The cameramen, encouraged by the way Jack has drawn them into things, ask me some questions about my general tastes, then give me suggestions for what I should order. I sort of appreciate their input in narrowing down my ideas. Even the array of drinks is close to dizzying. "Strawberry soda," I tell the waiter.

Jack orders some kind of ridiculous thing- a root beer float. The floating part is ice cream. "Extravagant," even the pug-nosed cameraman agrees with me.

"It's a special occasion," Jack counters.

"I guess that's true for me too," I allow. The strawberry soda is amazingly sweet and bubbly and pink.

The rest of lunch- a salad with slices of mandarin oranges in it and the softest piece of bread I have eaten in my life- is equally interesting. Jack gets the cameramen to confirm some details of some of his wilder stories. They, in turn, ask for some further information about some of mine. One of them takes a few notes for the benefit of the studio. They take a token amount of footage of Jack and me eating together and smiling and all, but it doesn't interrupt the fairly ordinary proceedings that make up most of the meal.

Afterward, outside, they're interested to see if they're going to get a "goodbye" kiss for the viewers, though they're fully aware that it's their time with us and not our time together that will be ending soon. I feel pressured by the situation and acquiesce to share just a tiny peck.

Jack sighs when we part from them. "Not that we're completely out of the public eye now, but that's a relief." His straight posture relaxes into something of a slouch. "Mags," he looks down and meets my gaze, "If you're with me, don't ever do something you don't want to. I won't let anyone give you a hard time about it. Just be yourself and I'll take care of everything else."

"It wasn't because of you," I want to be sure he understands, "I think I'm just not used to this type of…performing for people, I guess. Because, uh, I liked seeing the flowers and butterflies with you. And eating lunch. And just talking. It's really nice to get to be around you without worrying about the Games."

"Well, I-" Jack pauses. Some color has risen to his cheeks. "I thought I should say it anyway. Better safe than sorry. I just- I want to be the kind of person you can trust."

He touches his hand to my shoulder, almost as soft as any of those alighting butterflies. "O-okay," he gives an awkward laugh, "This is going to sound weirder than it should've after saying that, but would you like to come back to my place for a while and spend a little time away from the public's prying eyes?"

"Ah, sure," I assent. I know he means it in a completely ordinary way, but it's true that he's colored his intent slightly by how it was prefaced.

Jack, when he lives in the Capitol, it turns out, stays in an apartment at the top of a tall and empty-seeming building. I don't notice anyone once we're inside, but, inevitably we're noticed going in and I can't imagine it doesn't go un-amateur-photographed and unreported, but on some level, it's actually a kind of funny thought.

As usual, riding an elevator does something to render my balance bit off. I can't tell if leaning against a wall makes it better or worse. "Do I seem like the kind of girl who'll shell out on a first date?"

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Jack's eyes narrow and his lips draw back to reveal a grin that seems surprise and maybe mock-scandalized.

"Well, uh," I stammer. I can't think of any other way to put it so Jack will understand that isn't more straightforwardly, err, rough than I can bear to say.

"I'm going to take that as a yes unless you tell me otherwise," he decides. The elevator stops at the top floor and opens up with a small, mechanical ding. Jack steps out and into a hall area taking up only about as much space as necessary. Only one door leads off this hall and he takes a ring of keys from one pocket and unlocks it. "And, no, you don't seem like that kind of girl," he tells me, still facing the door. It opens inward. He looks back over his shoulder at me, "Do I seem like that kind of guy?"

I should've expected that, but my laugh comes out prefaced with a surprised snort anyway. "I have absolutely no idea!"

"I guess you'll find out then," he waggles his eyebrows.

"This is the part where Apple would tell me to turn around right now!" I teasingly warn him.

"Yeah, and that's exactly what you'll do, because you always do just what Ms. Smitt wants from you!" He passes through the doorway with an exaggerated dance sort of jump. Ballet-ish, I think (my entire knowledge of ballet comes from just a random television program seen here or there).

"I'd be kind of curious to see what she'd say…" I remark, more to myself than Jack because I'm sure I can imagine what she'd say if I left at this point, but what her response would be if I were that kind of girl… Something about how she didn't know me as well as she'd thought she did? Would it make me seem more Four-ish in her eyes or more Capitol? And which would she prefer? There's something nice about the idea at least of how she'd let me know. She'd definitely let me know.

I follow Jack inside. His description of the place as "big" was an understatement. It's…spacious. It doesn't seem apartment-ish to me. It's like a little house of its own on top of the building. The furnishings run in two general directions- simple and colorful. All the bright yellows and reds and greens seem in keeping with Jack's personality. If there's anything here that should give the place a particular District 1 vibe, then I don't recognize it. It's just a home in the Capitol that Jack has adapted to suit himself. …and that's Jack in a nutshell.

"Sit wherever you like," he advises me, making a generic sweep of the living room with his hand.

With my typical posture of awkward politeness, I perch on the very edge of the couch. Inevitably, in a few minutes I will relax, but as a starting posture this is yet another thing that is par for the course.

Jack sits down in a chair sort of catercornered from me instead of joining me on the couch or moving it around the low table to face me directly. He puts the flowers on the table. They look about as fresh as when I picked them out. "Thank you again for the lovely flowers. And for agreeing to come out and see me."

"Thank you for inviting me. I'm not sure I would've been able to figure out what I should do to try and come here to see you. …Or for any other reason, really."

"Well, it's not a guarantee that just wanting to come will give you the opportunity," Jack explains, "But the thing you should do is contact your Victor Affairs person- Nar, right? You call him up and tell him what you want to do and for how long and such and he'll get it run through the proper official channels. If someone who lives in the Capitol wants you out here for some reason that can be a factor. They more clout they have, the more likely it'll be granted. But it doesn't have to be like that. If you just want to visit things…the aquarium or the butterfly garden or something…well, there will probably be cameras snapping your picture and people who want to talk to you and such, but they'll probably okay it. It's better for them in some ways if it looks like victors are happy in the Capitol."

I slip back into a more comfortable position on the couch. It's good to learn these things for future reference.

"You have a good reputation, which will work in your favor when it comes to going where you'd like to go," he notes.

"You mean I follow the rules," I clarify.

"Yes…and, also, you're not unpredictable." I must look confused because he elaborates. "I mean, it's not as if there have been any specific issues with Luna or Emmy breaking the rules, but neither of them is allowed any visits to the Capitol that aren't highly monitored. In Emmy's case, it's probably for her own good, but for Luna, it's that she's been ruled somewhat untrustworthy…"

"I get the feeling the powers that be give her a particularly hard time," I admit.

"Maybe it wasn't quite accurate for me to say she hasn't broken any rules," Jack reconsiders, "Because in the Capitol she's been reluctantly obedient, but after her victory there were a lot of problems with her back in Nine. I'm sure you didn't hear about it much, if at all, and I only did because of being in the Capitol, but there was a lot of discord in Nine when Luna came home and she was considered a major instigator of it."

He's right- it is news to me. "Rebellious stuff?" I ask.

"Not in the sense of anti-Capitol really. Some kind of internal Nine stuff. I get the impression any rebellious actions of Luna's are pretty independently taken. She's not on the same page as the malcontents back home."

"It seemed really quiet in Nine when I went there."

"Heh," Jack sighed, "The day that ordinary people get away with acting rebelliously during a Victory Tour…" He trails off. "Anyway, I'm sure you know how it is. They vet the people allowed to interact with you. Not that there aren't occasional deviations from the planned schedule."

"Kayta," I suggest.

We laugh.

"In all seriousness though," Jack advises me, "Don't try to pull anything like that when Silk comes through. There may have been nothing but a reprimand at the time, but the people in charge aren't going to forget that Kayta did that."

I won't be like Kayta. First off, I wouldn't have the nerve. I also probably don't have the means, seeing as I don't drive or anything like he does. "He seems like he mostly does what he feels like…"

"Yeah, and he doesn't listen to me about how it's going to boomerang around at him sooner or later."

And the longer it waits the worse it's going to be- that's what Jack's thinking, right? A funny smile breaks across my face as I consider the context in which we're having this conversation. "…This is a weird thing to get into on a date, isn't it?"

"Yes and no?" Jack considers it, tilting his head a bit to the side. "It's hardly standard date conversation, but it's a normal part of our lives. We're not on a standard date and we don't have normal lives." …He thinks he's so clever when he says things like that.

"I'm not complaining, of course. I'm glad to be able to talk to you about it. It's really helpful to me all the stuff you pass on. …Oh," I remember something else, "I'm not sure I thanked you for the t-shirt. It was nice of you to sign it for me and all."

"Of course- you're welcome. Now, if you ever get anything like that made up, I hope you return the favor."

Having switched over to lighter topics (though still not without their questionable implications), we talk about other frivolous things. A lot of time passes without feeling like very much time at all. It occurs to me that I should probably be getting back to Aulie's place so we can have dinner together. I ask to use the phone to call up Aulie about getting me back to his place, but Jack rings up the agency that drives him around instead and offers to take me back in his own way (as a district citizen, he explains, he's not legally allowed a drivers' license).

"They're located pretty nearby, so they're always fast," Jack says. We head back downstairs to wait, though we linger in the lobby of the building rather than going out onto the sidewalk. I suppose not just anyone is allowed to come out and pester him there.

We stand side by side, not touching, but very close together.

"I've never had a boyfriend," I tell him in the interests in full disclosure. "I've never really wanted one."

He doesn't seem to find this notable in the general context of me, but he does give a thought to what it means between us. "Don't feel an obligation toward me," he decides on.

"No," I hesitate, "Well. It's not." How do I put this? "You're not." What am I trying to say here? "You're different. I like you." What that means regarding things like boyfriends and girlfriends I don't know, but it's the honest truth. I like him very much and there is something a bit nerve-inducing in this.

Jack, as usual, has an easier time saying what he wants to say than I did. "I like you too," he agrees. "…You make me laugh."

"Seems to me like you're almost always laughing," I am caught up in things and quip in reply.

His response to this is exactly as anyone who knows even a little about him would expect- more laughter, though there's a gentleness to it that I wouldn't say is his usual mode. "I like to laugh," he tells me, "As much as I can. I try not to let them take that away from me."

What has Jack lost since his Games? His innocence, in a way. Every victor has lost that. His privacy? To a greater degree than most of us, I think, though at least a part of that was given knowingly to the Capitol in exchange for living more of his life there. …Something I can't understand, perhaps. Something he doesn't let the rest of us see.

"May I call you sometimes at your home?" he advances the conversation a little.

"If you want to." I can't see what would be bad about it (although I'd better remember to be on my best behavior because there's no way a phone call between two victors doesn't receive some kind of monitoring- all our phone calls do probably).

"You can call me too," Jack offers in return, "But I can't say I always know where I'm going to be- here or back in One. …I'm not entirely in control of it…"

A car pulls up, very like, but not identical to, the one we rode in earlier. Jack accompanies me back to Aulie's place, but doesn't get out of the car when we arrive there, ostensibly to avoid attention, though I'm sure the neighbor I see peering out between his curtains will be able to guess who's leaving me off soon enough even if can't quite yet. Jack gives my hand a squeeze before I go. "Take care of yourself, Mags," he sends me off, "See you around."

"S-soon, I hope," is my reply.

Jack's car lingers as I walk up the steps and ring Aulie's doorbell. He's watching, I suppose, to see that I get…"home" safely.

I can hear the sound of loud feet inside as Aulie hurries to let me in. "Well!" he exclaims at me before I'm even through the door, "It was as wonderful as I guessed it would be, right?"

"Maybe it was even better," I tease, trying to act coy.

"Ohhh," he closes the door behind me, "I think it was about what I imagined."