Your Own Kind

by Seta Suzume

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

15. Part III, Chapter V

With one night of married life behind me, I return home as if, to outside eyes, there has been no change in my circumstances.

When I tell Papa, he cries. "Oh, dear, so grown up now," he hugs me and then sniffles over our photos, as impromptu as the wedding itself. "You made that net?" he recognizes my handiwork, "Always such a do-it-yourselfer. And your 'cousins' were there…! Where is this?"

"It's Jack's place."

"Looks fancy." He examines each picture carefully, his hand shaking as he raises them up off the little table, one at a time. "I wish we could have him out here for a visit. I guess you two can't do what Kayta did though. I'd be happy to host all your colleagues for a few nights of celebrating." Next he wants to see the ring. I feel the twitch in his hand run up into my own arm as he gently holds my hand in his. Papa's wedding band is silver. "Very lovely," he states, "Simple is nice. And, from him, I'm sure it's real- not that it matters. The heart is what counts." He looks over the photographs once more. "Blue is a nice color for a wedding dress."

We lean together on the couch, propping one another up. It's a happy thing, but it's not as sure a thing as it should be and both of us know that. It's exhausting.

"He said," I tell Papa solemnly, "That he would take care of everything. All the official stuff."

We sit in silence, then have a moment of being slightly startled as the television flicks on of its own accord, as it does for all required viewing (if you're already watching something else, it changes the channel). Reinhold is being feted one final time, back in District 7.

"I know we won't get to live together," I speak up again about Jack and myself, "I don't have any expectations about that, but… I don't know. Maybe they'll just let it be. I mean, they might not want it known- in fact, what am I saying, they almost certainly won't, but- but as long as we do our jobs as victors and mentors… We can have that much. Our private lives. Our private marriage."

"I hope so, dear. I hope so," Papa hugs me again.

I can handle it, I think, the unconventional marriage. The baby troubles me more.

For now, I try to resume my more or less ordinary life. There are still two people I can't keep such huge secrets from- 'Lito and Faline.

"Is it like your birthday and you don't feel any different?" Faline inquires about being married.

"Not quite," I'm happy to be able to tell her, "It's weird to think 'I'm Jack's wife,' I mean, but as much as I care about him, you know, he's sort of a tough read, and what do I know about love anyway? But he's the one who suggested it. I look at the ring on my hand and there it is- proof. I chose Jack and he chose me."

"You look happy when you talk about him," Faline agrees. She asks if I'll let her try the ring on. It fits her too. She squeezes her eyes closed. "I'm imagining," she informs me by way of explanation.

I say more or less the same thing as Pal told Silk. I am confident that it applies in this case as well. "You'll be a beautiful bride someday if you like."

"Maybe I'll marry Reza," she muses. "Did you know he's already started saving money to buy his own fishing boat? He does odd jobs. He wants to be independent."

"It's good that he's got aspirations." She passes me the ring and I put it back on. "There's something else too," I add. I feel my face growing hot. This part is embarrassing. I gesticulate and hope my meaning comes across.

"Oh," says Faline, eyes wide, "A baby." Her hands are pulled tight against her own stomach as she echoes Jack's, "May I?" which I allow. She runs her hands over the lower portion of my shirt with a profound gentleness. "What is it like?" she wonders, awed.

"Strange," I say, unable to tell such a nice girl, who might eventually want children of her own that, while I never have never thought anything but generic niceties about other people's pregnancies, I am finding my own weird and uncomfortable and a bit creepy, and even with the support of Papa and Jack and everyone, I'm still more terrified than not.

I chalked up both the changes in size in my waist and my bust to my post-Games diet and lackadaisical exercise alongside my friends/casual trainees. I am hardly involved in the hard work I once assumed I would go on to for at least several years as a hand on Papa's fishing boat (most kids, after graduating school, without any special training or apprenticeship or a place at a family business lined up, work on a fishing boat for at least a while- I would've been one of the lucky ones to work on a family boat rather than a Capitol-owned operation). …I suppose knowing sooner wouldn't have made much a difference anyway.

"I want to stay quiet about it for now though," I say, "About being married too. There are things that have to be worked out in the Capitol."

"Sure," she acquiesces without hesitation, "Anyway, thank you. I'm happy that you told me."

"It would've been really hard not to tell you," I answer honestly, "It just wouldn't have felt right at all."

She hugs her arms around her legs. "I'm glad we're friends."

I share the two pieces of news with 'Lito in the opposite order. I think both us are as red as ripe tomatoes as the information sinks in.

I don't want to linger on it. "I'm not going to just let out that it's Jack's though," I press on. "My friend, um, Kayta, sort of advised me that way to start at least."

"There's a benefit to not telling? Even though it's so obvious?" 'Lito muses.

"Well, considering even our district escort thought I had slept with Jack at least weeks before I even got close to thinking about it, I can't say I think they all have the most accurate grasp on my proclivities," I snort.

"Does that mean you're going to tell people I'm the boy back home?" he laughs. But when the joking ends, there's still a pleasant smile on his face. "It doesn't matter to me if it's Jack's baby. If you'll let me, I'll be the best uncle I can be," he promises and hugs me. He's so nice. "Have you thought about names?"

"Not really."

"You were too busy freaking out," he guesses wryly and is right on the mark.

I get up and we walk along the Victors' Beach, not stopping at what I generally think of as its further end, but clambering along over the rocks. 'Lito keeps a cautious eye on my steps. He starts to hum a boat song and in my mind I follow along. I consider the, surely unanswerable, question, of what it is that makes the difference between my feelings for 'Lito and my feelings for Jack.

I lean toward 'Lito's ear so he can hear me over the waves. "If good sense figured into it more-"

He slips and I grab his hand. "O-oh, thanks." As he regains his balance, I let go. "Hmm, well, I'd hardly be one to disagree with you about the lack of sense involved."

Compared to Jack's, his smile is so innocent. If there are any put-ons in 'Lito's behavior, I can't imagine they're conscious. He isn't an over thinker. He just is how he is.

"I'm glad you're in love," he says.

"We got married," I reply. Despite his statement immediately prior to this, he seems a bit dumbfounded. I'm afraid of taking out my ring while we're scrambling around on the rocks. We go back and sit on the sand and I pass it over to him.

"Congratulations," 'Lito turns the pretty bit of metal around in his fingers, "So, why aren't you wearing it?"

"Uh, I was a little concerned about wearing it around too much in public before Jack got everything sorted out. I mean, based on what we did and said, I should be legally married here- assuming there's no problem in relation to his different district citizenship- but I can't speak at all to what weight that carries in the Capitol."

"Mrs. Margaret Umber," 'Lito pronounces solemnly and hands me back the ring.

"Well, I didn't decide not hat yet. I didn't have a particularly long time to think it over."

"Hey, he should take your name," 'Lito suggests an alternative I had not considered. "He could start a new trend in the Capitol!"

This does happen in 4 sometimes, a husband taking his wife's name- usually in cases where a family name is attached to a certain business or when a man marries into a family with only daughters. Tomas Armain came by his surname this way, the same as Saigo Kanno's father. 'Lito has an older bother, so he's not the only heir to the Ortiz name. Would he, I wonder, want to be 'Lito Gaudet?

"Jack Gaudet," I try out aloud.

"Jack Gaudet," 'Lito repeats, "Hey, it's an honorable name. He should be proud to be a Gaudet."

I can't say I know what he means by that. Only, I suppose that 'Lito is a very kind friend. "When I see him again, I'll tell him you said that," I decide. I am curious to see how Jack will take it, however much I'm only teasing. Is he happy, infamous Jack Umber? Could he accept that- become Jack Gaudet and take a step toward obscurity?

"Does he know who I am?" 'Lito lays back on the sand and throws his arms up over his head.

"He might not recognize you, but he knows you," I insist, "He knows you're my friend. You and Faline."

"Aie! You tell this famous man about poor little me who scrapes the barnacles off boats for my Papi!"

I lay down on the sand beside 'Lito. "Yes, I tell Jack about all my friends. And, anyway, who am I, but little me who jumped my height when Teacher Mia brought out the high-jumping mat and pole back when and made you notice me?"

"Oh, I beg to differ," 'Lito contends.

"And Jack isn't little, but he's not any different, 'Lito. He's just a lonely orphan who likes to tell jokes and eats up because he remembers how it felt to starve."

'Lito's fingers brush through the sand to find and hold my hand. "I still have a hard time believing the right man for you doesn't own a boat," he laughs.

"Small steps," I insist, "I'm not even sure yet that he know how to swim!"

"You gotta ask him," he squeezes my hand, "That's kind of an important thing to know about a person!"

I start to laugh at this and find myself laughing, more perhaps than the joke requires.

"Come hang out with me on Sunday, when I'm off," 'Lito suggests, "Umm, if you like? People can see us- you know, just do what we'd usually do, but put on a little show?"

"Sure," I agree, "That sounds good."

On Sunday morning, when I arrive at the house/boat shop (the Ortizes live above the shop), first I can see 'Lito's brother shaking his head, "You should be flattered anyway. Wouldn't half the young guys in the district want that for one reason or another? She really likes you."

"Yeah," 'Lito shrugs, though a touch of color is rising to his cheeks, "We're friends."

"What a difference it made being brave enough to talk to her!"

"Yeah, yeah."

I come out a bit more into the open. I'm not trying to sneak up. I don't want it to seem like I'm purposely eavesdropping ('Lito is quiet, but Tiano is kind of loud, which doesn't make listening in on him all that difficult). "Hi," I announce myself, "I made you a hat." I hold it out with both hands. It's a bit…uneven, and rough around the edges, but I like the color of the fibers and am relatively sure it will fit him.

"Oh, thank you," 'Lito tries it on immediately and it does fit.

"I kind of want one," Tiano laughs.

"I can make it. I have the time. How does the size of your head compare to 'Lito's?"

"The same, more or less. Thanks, Mags." He leaves us to ourselves with a casual wave tossed up into the air.

"Shall we go then?" 'Lito offers his arm and I accept. It's a bit transparent of a gesture as far as suggesting anything between us in my home district, and in and around Midtown, no less, where everyone knows who I am, but if Peacekeepers and the surveillance cameras at the Justice Building and anyone potential Capitolites in town on business see us together and can speak to the notion that who I am intimate with might not be so clear-cut, it can't hurt my case. We amble around town and buy some things for a picnic, which we decide to enjoy on the beach north of town.

"Feeling any better about the baby?" 'Lito asks as we eat.

"Not really. I'm still pretty terrified."

"I borrowed a book from the library and started reading up." He gazes out at the tide. "I don't know. Maybe I'm being stupid, but I'm not too scared. You can do a million other things- how hard can it be for you to have a baby? And once you've done that part, practically everybody will be jumping up to give you a hand."

Maybe a guy just can't understand. But he's still a wonderful friend. And he does make me laugh. "Everyone?" I chuckle, asking for me.

"Yeah!" 'Lito is adamant, "Your papi and me and Faline and Estelle and Zeno- you know Zeno'll be pleased as punch to run around and do whatever you want him to do. There's not a person 'round town who doesn't love you."

"Zeno," I say, "I never thought of Zeno." I've been too wrapped up in my own drama to get that far.

"That kid loves you. …Not that I can blame him." I listen on though I've stopped eating. 'Lito notices. "…If you can eat a little more, I don't imagine it would be a bad thing."

"Just think if the baby has an appetite like me."

"You'll feed her plenty," 'Lito replies. He means it nicely, but it makes me think of how I will be able to provide better than most. How unfair it is. How many people can't- or can barely- feed the children they love and I didn't even want one. (It makes me think I should drop by Maria Atwater's place.)

"You want it to be a girl?" I press 'Lito on this point.

"Well, not that I'd have something against a boy," he backtracks, "But I live with Tiano and Papi and I work with almost all men… And I really like girls."

"I don't suppose I can complain about that."

Maybe it's because I still haven't heard back from Jack about his taking care of things, but over a week has passed and I don't feel any more calm or secure about the baby growing inside me. It must show. When I set aside my baskets and cast an uneasy gaze down at my stomach, Papa sits down beside me and strokes my hair. "You should call your friends- your cousins," he suggests. "See what they're up to."

I have been so self-absorbed lately. "Papa," I realize, "It's not your day off. Why are you home today?"

"I let Mr. Kappe take the boat out instead. I've been worried about you. I didn't want you being her so many hours all alone."

"I should be doing something with you then, since you're taking time off," I insist.

I end up splitting the difference. Papa and I work together on a big basket I've been intending as a laundry hamper. We talk; we listen to a musical program on television. Afterward, I do call up Pal (it's his number I know, not Silk's), but Silk is present too and we have a pleasant enough three-way conversation.

They're headed into the Capitol tomorrow because… Well, pretty much because Silk is still so popular, I think. As much focus as their is on Reinhold as the newest victor, they're of different types, and probably have different fan bases, so she's stayed on peoples' minds. For this event, there's meant to be some overlap appeal. Silk and Pal are going to do an on-air demonstration of their doll-making (altering, technically, I think, since they don't start completely from scratch) by making Reinhold, who will also be on set in person to model and offer his own input on the project.

"The president asked me to do it," Silk laughs, "Isn't that sort of funny? He called me up himself."

"Jack thinks you're his new favorite," I remark. I do think he has a point with that. …I suppose I'm glad that it isn't me though. I'd be terrified if the president called my house.

"Jack would know…" Pal mumbles in the background.

"Miss Star," Silk goes on, "Now she just adores Jack. …They've even gone on dates, haven't they? Gosh…I wonder what'll she say…" Silk doesn't have to mention about what. I know.

…I certainly didn't waste much time wondering what the president's daughter would think about it though. On reflection, it seems to me that Jack has gone on dates here and there with all sorts, but I can't remember them as anything more the blips on his social calendar- not that prior to meeting Jack myself, I associated him with anyone in particular, but in retrospect, I can recall how he appeared in association with Star or with Sophie Varen on and off for years (though with Sophie, it might have been merely a business association of sorts that grew into friendship).

"I wouldn't speculate," Pal coughs.

"Well," I change the subject back to their upcoming television appearance, "I'm really looking forward to seeing you on. I'll make sure that I catch it."

"The day after tomorrow," Silk makes sure that I remember, "Eleven o'clock Capitol time."

"I'll watch," I promise.

"I swear, Jack's gonna show up if he's in town when he sees we've brought the whole set so far with us," Pal adds, "He's not scheduled in, but I apologize to you in advance, Mags, if he gets in and says anything embarrassing. You know I can't do anything about him…"

Leave it to Pal to be apologetic before the fact. "I know," I let me smile leak into my tone, "None of us can do anything about him- unfortunately, sometimes."

"Bye-bye," Silk chirps.

"Have fun in the Capitol. Good-bye for now."

Papa is quick to notice the improvement in my mood after talking to them. "Cousins did it, huh?" he cocks an eyebrow.

"And how!" I exaggerate my happiness.

We laugh.

Faline comes by with a lop-sided little cake in a basket.

"Aren't you supposed to be in school?" I ask.

"I ditched," she shrugs, "I don't usually. …I knew there wasn't anything important going on." The way she goes online this, I must look terribly stern or skeptical (and, if she would only recall, it's not like I exactly completed my education to its fullest extent). "Anyway," Faline carries on, "I brought you cake. …And I'm your best friend. You can't get me in trouble."

I respond with an exaggerated sigh, "Well, seeing as you just called me your best friend, I suppose there's no getting around it. Come on in. Our buddies from District Eight are going to be on TV."

"What for?"

"Just general publicity, I guess."

We sit down on the couch and catch the end of a cooking program. Faline tells me about the cake she made. "Mrs. Barrow- that's our neighbor- she gave me some strawberry preserves as payment for babysitting her son and I though, wow, you'd be surprised to eat a strawberry cake at the end of the year." She pauses, "…Assuming you haven't eaten any strawberries recently in the Capitol, that is."

"I haven't."

"Yeah, so, the Barrow boy asks me a million questions about our club. I think he's too little to join up, but, I don't know… It's nice that there's someone still enthused about it."

"Safi and Vi are coming just because I pay for sandwiches, right?" I meet this wryly.

"No," Faline pouts, "Not just that. Vi has a lot of tesserae, so she figures it can't hurt."

The segment I was awaiting comes on. Silk and Pal work on their project, explaining their process. Reinhold asks questions like, "How will you do my sideburns?" and they answer as they go ("Paint them on with a very tiny brush."). Reinhold is pretty cheeky, but I think everyone involved expects it of him. I think Silk appreciates the way he says slightly shocking things and makes her erupt into embarrassed laughter. "Didn't think of that, right?" he comments after many of his jibes.

The Reinhold doll turns out well, as if anyone would expect otherwise from such careful craftspeople. Reinhold perches the doll on his shoulder and poses with and talks to it. "Is that your conscious there?" Pal tries to joke as he picks up their various tools and returns them to the sewing kit.

Silk is going about, collecting the other dolls from the hosts of the program, and at the very tail end of things, Jack does make an appearance. "I don't know," he laughs, "When I see little Reinhold, it's not your conscience that I start thinking of."

They mock-fight a bit, maybe to give Pal and Silk more time to pack up, and then it's on to the next segment, as the hosts thank 8's victors once more. Reinhold and Jack sit down with the hosts at their semi-circular table and get into some celebrity relationship chatter. Reinhold isn't seeing anyone special. "I'm sure I'll know when I meet her though," he smiles.

"They say there's someone out there for everyone, right?" the female host agrees.

"Or more than one someone," her male counterpart quips.

"When's the next time we're gonna see you on some excursion with your girlfriend, Jack?" Reinhold asks, sounding genuinely interested.

"Miss Star or Miss Mags?" the male host inquires.

Jack doesn't interject, allowing everyone else to continue on around him, but his eyes flit about, reading their faces and a hint of color tinges his cheeks.

"Mags," Reinhold is unequivocal, "Sure, Jack sees Miss Star plenty, but Mags is his girlfriend," he turns to Jack, "Right?"

"Oh," Jack smiles…a different sort of smile than usual- he doesn't show any teeth, "Of course."

"'Of course,'" Faline echoes him, "Wow, he sure can play it cool- talking like that about his wife!"

I pick up her basket with the cake in it, "I have some leftover vegetables we cooked last night. I was thinking about mixing them with some noodles? It can be our lunch."

"You don't want to watch him?" Faline turns around and watches as I head into the kitchen.

"It makes me nervous," I admit, "I don't know…things are so un…solved? Unsettled, I guess, at this point."

She starts to get up. "No," I wave her back down, "It's okay if you want to watch it. All I've got to do is boil some water and get out some plates. It's not going to be difficult."

"If you insist," Faline relents and slips back down to her barely vacated spot on the couch, her round eyes returning to their earlier focus on the screen. Reinhold is tapping on that rounded table incessantly.

The 'club' meets up that afternoon. The water is a bit on the rough side, but we swim anyway.

I field a few exceedingly polite remarks about my…physical condition (I get the impression that everyone has been given advance notice about it by…'Lito? Faline?), made more apparent than in ordinary circumstances by the layers I shed to swim. Estelle says that she had wondered, "If maybe… But," she flushes, "It was none of my business."

Zeno speaks to his great love of babies. Reza's blue eyes widen and hint at a slight bewilderment.

In any case, I haven't felt sick today and after a morning of taking it easy, I welcome a bit of exercise.

Things proceed in an ordinary fashion. If anyone speaks to Faline's having skipped school that day, I don't overhear them. Estelle hangs about after everyone but Faline has gone to be discreet about her interest (because of her nursing studies, she insists). "Woah," she says when I let her touch me, "I, uh, I guess I wonder what it's like."

"I don't think I'm the best one to say," I shake my head.

"Well, there are all sorts of experiences, right? Life's not one size fits all. …You'll let me help, right? I did help with a birth before- just once, but, um, I didn't get in the way or mess anything up or anything!"

"Es-telle!" Faline tries to draw her attention to the fact that this is not exactly a glowing self-endorsement, but I laugh it off. Of course she can help. What will it hurt, after all?

After a bit of jockeying about who should walk who home, I accompany Estelle and Faline back to the mainland. I've just turned back around when I hear them laughing. "Hey, Mags!" yells Papa, hurrying past the two girls to cross the shallows.

Faline cups her hands around her mouth: "You got an escort anyway!"

Papa catches up to me. He takes my hand and we walk side by side. "I made too many noodles back at lunch," I tell him, "How's that sound for dinner?"

"Wonderful."

"It was good to be back at sea?"

"It has its charms. But, anywhere is fine to be if being there means I'm not too concerned about you."

I don't want him to be so worried. I should be able to handle this. I put extra effort into the putting up a good front. Maybe it works and maybe I just get what I'm hoping for as a result of other factors. Papa seems relaxed. He also plans to go out on the boat again tomorrow.

We both turn in early.

I awake in the morning to the gentle murmur of the television- it's not loud, but enough that I can hear it, having left the door to my bedroom somewhat ajar the night before. Maybe there was some kind of presidential announcement? The things turn themselves on for required programming in the Capitol like everywhere else.

Yes, it is the TV…

I progress downstairs and look at the news broadcast and realize what I am seeing I am covered in a cold sweat. I want to scream and yet no sound escapes my lips. I pick up the phone, trembling, and dial Jack.

"Hello," he answers, somewhat tentative, "Jack Umber speaking."

"Jack…" is all I can manage.

Onscreen a reporter at the television station is dispassionately explaining how Silk's body was found around two in the morning down an alleyway. At the roped off scene of the crime I can still see stains of blood, though her body has already been moved. Fans have gathered along the sidewalk, crying maudlin tears and creating a haphazard mound of flowers and other tokens dedicated to the well-loved victor.

She was raped and murdered. I am chilled to the bone to hear it. Stabbed four times in the chest, though they speak of evidence that she fought back. Yes, a victor would. They say the damage she must have done to her attacker will help the authorities in their search to identify the culprit.

I am still on the line with Jack, though I realize I have not said anything for a long time. If Jack has said anything else, I haven't even heard. I listen and can hear his breathing. Something important has occurred to me- she wasn't in the Capitol for this engagement alone: "…where's Pal?"

"Victor Wing of the hospital. They thought he needed to be sedated."

"…will they let me come there?" I ask. The tears are starting, bubbling up fierce and warm, streaking down my face.

"They'll want us all, I'm sure. Call in to Victor Affairs- I'm sure they're arranging all sorts of things. A funeral. New security precautions," Jack says, "Let me know when you'll get here and I'll come to meet you." Just the sound of his voice is comforting- he sounds strong, secure.

They would let me go out earlier, but I don't want to leave before Papa comes into harbor. I pack for my trip, then, finding myself with so much time to fill, make up a meal in advance for his dinner.

Around the hour he should be back, I head to the docks to meet him. I note various people I pass shooting me strained and thoughtful looks. They have heard the shocking news, but, in a world filled with pain and premature death, how should they react to it? Some must wonder what I'm thinking. For others, perhaps there's relief that at least the murdered victor isn't theirs.

Odair's ship comes in early. The crew stream out one bit at a time. They nod or tip their caps to me. …And then there's the young Captain Odair himself. He takes off his cap as he approaches me. "Heard over the radio on the way in," he holds the hat to his chest, "My condolences. She might not have been one of ours, but she was one of yours."

"Thank you," I accept his kindness.

"Keep your chin above water," he pokes my shoulder, the safest teasing touch he feels he can give his district's victor.

Thanks," I repeat myself.

I expect Liam Odair to go on his way now, but he doesn't. "Don't know if you've heard, but they're gossiping on TV now. They've got pictures of you they're comparing. You know how they like to say someone is getting fat…but maybe you're not getting fat…?"

"I…didn't know that they were saying," I answer carefully, "But I know."

Liam nods. "Your man is giving you away." I think he means to warn me. "Not with his words, but you see it in his face. He didn't used to tense up like that."

"What do you mean, Liam?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's not as obvious as I think it was. He's a man with something to lose now. He wasn't before."

I look down at my feet in my battered leather sandals. I can't even devote all of myself to my sadness for Silk and worries about Pal. I have to keep worrying about that.

Papa shows up while we're still standing there. He doesn't even wait for the boat to be all the way properly moored, just hops over the side and rushes over to me. "Mags!" Some of his crewmen watch him in his hurry, rather than keeping their full focus on their work.

"Papa-"

He catches his breath. "Ah, hello, Mr. Odair."

"Mr. Gaudet." Liam puts his cap back on and leaves us. Either he has nothing more to say, or there's nothing else he wants to say in front of my father. Liam and I are not close acquaintances, but there isn't any of the iffiness between us either that still keeps Papa somewhat divided from many in town.

"I heard," Papa says simply. He ensnares me in a wonderfully solid hug.

It feels good. It makes me start to cry again. "I'm going," I tell him, "I'm going. I made you dinner."

But I don't make a move to leave. I just stay there crying in Papa's arms, until up walks Mr. Kappe. "I'll give ya a ride," he offers, "To the station."

He has a beat-up old motorbike. "Okay," I agree, wiping my fingers across my tear-wet face.

"Be careful, dear," Papa sends me off, "See you soon. I love you."

"I love you too."

I hold tight to Mr. Kappe as we zip through town and off to the train station.

"People are scary," he comments after I thank him, "…The Games aren't much at all compared to what some people'll do all on their own without the government putting it to them do or die."

"Yeah," I agree. What else can I say?

"When the catch that person, they're gonna do much worse than string him up on the scaffold, I imagine. They weren't only a criminal- they deprived the president of someone he seemed to personally enjoy very much."

"I thought that too."

A train leaves the station, but it's not the one for me. It's headed further out rather than back to the Capitol.

"You don't have to wait here with me…" I feel sort of awkward standing on the platform with my father's first mate, but I'm not sure- maybe he isn't going to go without my saying something- maybe he thinks that would be rude.

"It's fine," he replies.

He stays with me until I'm off. Peering discreetly through one of the train's windows, I can see him driving away back toward town before we pull away.

I make the trip dyed dark with my solitary thoughts.

But Jack meets me as he promised, his strong arms enfolding me. His grip shifts and loosens, but he never lets go of me completely until we're safely locked up in his apartment. And then I burst out crying all over again about poor, poor Silk and there's nothing either of us can do, so I just want him to hold me again.

"…Jack-" I turn to him and he acquiesces.

Maybe it's not much time after all, but it feels like we stay like that for a long time to me. Jack is warm and steady. I wish I felt more comforted.

Eventually he tries to engage me in more ordinary conversation, but I can't quite do it. So many potential subjects lead me straight back to Silk, to Pal, to the shock and sadness of the moment. I can't turn my thoughts off.

I ask if we might be able to go see Pal, but Jack, anticipating this desire of mine, tells me access to him is being pretty strictly controlled (although he is also under tight surveillance- potential suicide watch?).

His phone rings and he goes to answers it. "…Yeah? Tomorrow? No, she's here; I'll tell her. Yes. …No need, we'll be there." Hanging up, he heaves a sigh. "They've called in all our ranks to remember her on the studio set tomorrow. They're going to cobble something together. Don't worry- they don't expect us to go on live at least."

I have had a miniature taste of a happy (if anxious with unknowns) life beside my husband and now I have a taste of a sadder (and still anxious) one.

Jack orders dinner to be delivered to his pace, and though he'd gladly get me any cuisine the Capitol had to offer, I can't summon much appetite. Smaller meals seem easier on my stomach anyway.

We interact quietly as the evening passes.

I sit in bed and Jack brushes my hair, a wisp of a smile curling across his lips, his pleasure or amusement at how wavy my hair can be (and the hours spent twisted up exacerbate this) undiminished from the first time he encountered it.

Here, in the privacy of his apartment, we both wear our wedding rings. Jack puts his left hand across my stomach and I set my own alongside it, looking at our more or less identical bands. Making a set once more.

He goes to sleep much faster than I do. I listen to his heartbeat. Predictable. Calm.

Jack, have you been worrying the way I have? Or do you think you have things figured out?

I sort of wish I would dream about Silk (would that provide me with some sort of closure? maybe not). But I don't. I'm not sure I've ever dreamed about her.

I wake up alone, with my stomach feeling touchy. Isn't that supposed to stop at some point? Or am I just unlucky? I guess I don't know enough to say.

Is Jack out? Did he have a commitment to the studio or something? I can't remember what days he's there. …sometimes there are extra ones anyway.

I lay still and say prayers. At least I can reasonably tell myself that Silk has her peace. …Pal, on the other hand… Surely he can use every bit of good will and support we have to spare.

Not much later, Jack's voice intrudes into my thoughts. "Yeah, yeah, after that." He's talking to someone who isn't here- I can't hear any answer to his words- he must be on the phone. "This is important. So afterward. Silk comes first."

He comes into the bedroom, all neatly coiffed and dressed in black. I'm certain he's been out. He smiles at me. "Good morning, Mags."

"Good morning. I wondered where you were, Jack…"

"I was taking care of some business." He sits down on the bed. "Sorry, I forget that even lazy fisher-people tend to wake up early." I grumble out a token complaint about 'lazy' (I am, actually, when it comes to getting up- being a victor's only a job that requires you to get up early about two weeks out of the whole year), but it's not so much out of annoyance as to show him I can still laugh if he says those things to me.

He strokes my hair; then, seeming to remember something, reaches a hand into his pocket and pulls out his wedding ring. He slips it back on. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"Something tiny maybe… I'm not sure how much I can eat."

"I will make you something tiny then!" Jack leans down and kisses my forehead. "Don't get up."

So I don't. Though I do adjust the pillows and bit up a bit more. I slept pretty well after my slow start (I remember during the Thirteenth Games how Pal burned his candle at both ends to fight for and watch over Silk. He barely slept then. He must not be sleeping now).

Jack returns with a cup of tea in one hand and a tiny plate in the other. "It's not too strong or bitter," he promises and those words seem to hold up upon sipping it. He angles the plate so I can see what's he's made: a piece of ordinary, pale, soft Capitol bread smeared with strawberry jam- it's cut into a heart.

"Oh, Jack!" I'm surprised, "That's so cute!"

He looks perfectly pleased by my response and tries not to make it too awkward sitting with me and more or less watching me eat. "I asked Sophie to look up some information for me about babies and such… Not that… Well, so I can be informed, I suppose."

"Don't you think Sophie is a little busy with her own work to be your errand girl?" I suggest, though I couch my accusation in a light tone.

"I can't look it up or people will get ideas," he holds up his hands, "Anyway, Sophie's my friend. We do what we can to look out for each other."

"I am glad you have a friend…"

"Entertaining, in One, is something of a…service industry. There are a lot of demands on someone like Sophie, who appears on official Capitol-aired programing." He seems thoughtful about this, but as I lick a dab of jam off my hand, he laughs, "So that was perfect then!"

"Thank you." I get embarrassed and look down. "But it was."

"Okay then!" he hops to his feet, "I'm assuming you're feeling a bit better since you were able to eat. I have an outfit for you- I picked it up from the studio while I was out. I wasn't sure if you'd brought anything dark-colored on your own and they're going with the funereal look here."

"Umm, all right."

I get cleaned up and dressed. If they're not happy with how I look, it's not like the people at the studio won't hesitate to change me around. …it would be better though, if they only work on my hair and makeup. I can hide my secrets beneath these clothes still. …I think.

"Shall we?" Jack offers me his arm.

"I guess." He's already taken off his wedding ring. I follow suit.

We don't have far to travel.

In the back rooms of the building, we're split up. Jack's already been worked on and will only need the most minor of touch-ups. I, on the other hand, have to have my hair re-done apparently. Because they're fixing it up back into the exact same style that I came with it done in, I can't say I fully fathom this decision, but it's not my place to question it.

I fidget anxiously. I don't know the people who make me up- they're not the usual ones who work on the Games commentary broadcasts alongside Jack and they don't have any connection to my district's style team either. They don't chat much and they don't waste time. These are both good things.

I hurry to reunite with Jack. I don't touch him or anything when I do, but I stand near to him, with the closeness even only the public portion of our relationship allows. I feel bothered, but it's not like there's anything surprising about that considering the situation.

"I learned a new song," Jack tells me.

Maybe it's to soothe me. It might be just my personality or it might be that I talked with and liked Silk more than he did, but her horribly sad death eats away at me. "Yeah?" I resist the urge to put my hand on my stomach. I don't want to draw people's attention to it. There doesn't seem to be anything too obvious about it (making me lucky in this regard, I suppose) and not everyone is as…apparently knowledgeable on the subject as Reinhold. The people on TV can talk and talk however they like- there's plenty of room for my denials to float in this murky sea of speculation.

"It's a good one," he promises.

Well, I don't doubt that part. I will always smile when Jack sings, no matter the circumstance. …but that's not enough to get me past all the bad things now.

We victors have been gathered up to be part of the public mourning for the first loss among our own and are, accordingly, dressed up in colors solemn and dark. Everyone is here but Pal, who is still heavily drugged, Sunny (the last one to see him) informs me. "It's for the best," Teejay offers an opinion that he seems somewhat well positioned to give.

Silk will be buried in 8, not the Capitol (they don't bury bodies, I hear, in the Capitol, but I'm not sure what practice exactly they favor), but our assembly is like a mock funeral.

"They're not going to drag him out for this joke anyway?" Luna wonders, "If that's the case, they're letting him off a bit easier than I expected."

"He blames himself, you know," Sunny turns to her, "Isn't that worse than anything left they could do or say to him?"

Luna bites her lip. When she releases it, along with a long breath, she speaks against this notion. "Don't we all do that? Well, it wasn't his fault. And, for what it's worth, if he shows up, I'll tell him that again myself. There was nothing he could do but maybe delay it a little while longer. This is what they've always wanted- to eat us alive- and they started with her."

Reinhold starts to speak up to interject a comment of his own, but Luna is, characteristically, swift and merciless. "I hope you're next."

Reinhold's mouth drops open and he looks from Luna over to Kayta, but his mentor doesn't speak up to defend him, just sort of stretches and tips his head to the side. Who here has it in them to fight today?

A production assistant gets us all set up and ordered the way they want for the program. Some of the men are left standing, but the other girls and I get to sit. Shy forces a smile onto her face as someone positions her down beside me.

Someone else brings Pal in. "So much for that," Luna mutters.

"Ohhh," I can't stifle my small exclamation in time. He looks so pale and tired and utterly miserable.

A young woman with a makeup kit tries to fix him up, straightening his hair and brushing some color onto his cheeks, but he fusses unhappily in return, trying to push her away. Let the Capitol see the truth of his mourning. Let the Capitol look on the unhappy, unpainted face of those bereft. They know of death too, in the Capitol, as much as they try to deny it and look away.

Jack intercedes on Pal's behalf. "Just leave him like that. It's good enough. He'll be fine."

The young woman, probably only following the directions of someone higher up the programming chain of command, backs off reluctantly. Sunny calls her over to touch up both of 6's victors, a courtesy of giving her something else to do instead.

The cameramen take pictures of us all gathered together like this, everyone some combination of quiet, stoic, sad, or helpless. Principa- I don't remember her last name- one of the women anchors of the morning show Jack runs his usual segment on, comes on, dressed in some tight garment covered in black feathers, and interviews us for material to add to the highlight reel of prior footage they have of Silk. They want everyone to talk about Silk- something we remember about her, something shared between just the two of us, something we hoped would happen that never will now.

Some of us are easier to coax words from than others. Teejay is unexpectedly talkative, though not all of his sentences cohere together quite as elegantly as the producers of the programming might like- I have a feeling that he'll only air with the help of some significant editing. But, oh, the kind things he says- of how kind she was to him and how talking to her reminded him of the days when he was alive, of the things he did with his sister after his victory but before her reaping, and how they played a fortune-telling game when she was on her Tour stop in 6.

He's only about three words into his first statement before Pal starts shaking, tears running down his face. I want to get up and hold him, offer what minuscule comfort I can, but I'm not sure they'll let me.

Beto is the closest to Pal. I see his hand tremble as he reaches out, but his fingers don't retreat. He grasps Pal's shoulder and holds on, firm.

Everyone manages to say something thoughtful. From Gerik to Luna to Beto to Emmy (though I'm not sure Emmy understands what the actual cause and situation were of Silk's death- but if no one impressed the truth upon her, I assume they thought it was better that she didn't know).

By the time I've finished speaking, I'm crying too, and I have already forgotten more than the gist of what I said.

Ms. Principa tears up a few times at what the victors have to say, but she always manages to bat them back down. Sunny, Teejay, and Hector fare more closely to how I do, hardly immune to all this pain and regret and emotion.

They shouldn't have tried to save Pal for last. He is inconsolable.

But this isn't airing live. I'm sure they'll think of something.

Programming staff thank everyone politely for their time and pass out tissues where needed. Sunny gently uses a handkerchief to wipe off Teejay's face. Hector loudly blows his nose. Luna discreetly wipes her eyes and leaves in the wake of Ferdinand, escorting Emmy as usual.

Kayta punches Reinhold in the arm and they let loose at one another with a string of incomprehensible District 7 curses before stalking off to leave separately.

"What was that about?" Shy wonders.

"Continuation of earlier," Gerik supplies, "They were having it out before you got here about it. Not that Kayta blamed him, really, but that Reinhold being such a horndog got the pervs in the Capitol all worked up. You know, here was a victor who messed around. A male victor messing around with Capitol women. I mean, it's not like we don't know what sort of people paid to-" Gerik's eyes drift down to land on Pal. His face pales several distinct shades.

"…and I was jealous," Beto admits, softly to Pal, "I hope you can forgive me for being jealous."

"Yes," Pal speaks at last and touches Beto, his voice small and tight and wavering, "Yes, I can. I do. If things had gone that way for you instead of me, I would've felt the same."

The eyes of everyone remaining fall on Pal, who rises to his feet, though not without a bit of wavering that gets Gerik tentatively poised to reach out and grab or steady him. "Pal, maybe you-" Sunny starts.

"I have to say," he insists, choking at another half-realized sob, "I think you have to know."

"Go on," Jack, who has been very quiet aside from when he's been spoken to directly.

"Everyone kept asking," Pal whispers, "But I said she wasn't for sale. Not for any price. I- I made so many promises to save her, but none of them were meant to tie her to anyone or anything after her Games. It was just that she would be there- for them to see. …Wouldn't that be enough? And I made sure they saw her. Little portioned glimpses. We went on TV. We accepted the invitations. We went where people could see us. I was willing to sell myself to save her- whatever people would buy- my work, my dignity, anything. I thought they would stop, but they kept on asking. She wasn't for sale."

So someone took what they couldn't buy.

I wonder what kind of horrible person would do such a thing. I wonder if they will catch him. I wonder again what will happen to him if they do.

"It didn't matter what I said, did it?" Pal begins to choke and sputter, "I sold her myself, didn't I? I sold her myself!"

He's hysterical. "Pal," Beto tries to calm him with words, "Pal, you would never have done that. You would never have given them the smallest bit of ground on which to stand and claim belief in such a gift to them." But it doesn't seem to reach him in any meaningful way. When Gerik tries to touch him, Pal swats his hand away. I doubt I am the only one who thinks of Pal, generally, as sweet and gentle, but Pal is just like the rest of us. They called him "the fiend with the needle." Pal has killed people too.

He would've done it again for her, I'm sure. He would do it now if it would make a difference.

Jack steps around me and grabs Pal's arm, more insistent than Gerik's attempt. "Take a deep breath," Jack commands him, "You're not thinking straight and if you can't get yourself under control, what do you think they'll do to you?"

"Jack," Pal tries to yank his arm away, but can't manage it, "You- You're no help at all! You're as bad as any of them!"

A- a guard for the television studio, I think- intercedes and carefully removes Pal from Jack's grasp, but continues to use a small bit of force in restraining him. The District 8 escort, with smudgy mascara, draws nearer, along with someone who must be their Victor Affairs liaison, who doesn't look one bit pleased with any of this. "I think he needs some time alone," the escort says.

The Victor Affairs liaison is considerably more blunt, "He needs more sedatives."

Pal's gaze stills for a moment as his eyes find mine. "Mags." No one can deny that it's me he means to address, "Watch yourself. Watch yourself carefully or you'll be just like me."

"Come on, Pal," the escort tries to speak soothingly, "Let's go back to where you can have some peace and quiet. I'm so sorry they forced you to come out here. I knew there was no way you could be the slightest bit ready for something like this so soon, but, you know, barely anyone has a shred of patience around here."

And the liaison adds something that I don't quite catch, because it's immediately swallowed up by more furious shouting. Whatever it was, it came from a person with a much weaker understanding of 8's remaining victor, and he won't let it stand for a moment. "I loved her!" Pal shrieks, aquiver with impotent rage as they drag him away (it is to our various Capitol handlers' advantage that it is someone Pal's size engaged in this eruption of emotion and not someone Hector or Gerik's), "I loved her and this-!"

What you love will destroy you.

A tremor runs through me. A shiver, cold with fear. What will happen to Pal now? Will he ever be the same? …is there anything I can do for him but wait and see? Will Silk's death be his own?

I turn around. Shy is already at a back entrance, trying to surreptitiously escape from all this mess, along with Gerik and Hector- they look more apologetic about their decision to slip out than Shy does. She'll probably head straight home to Mac to tell the tale of the fearful emotions she was privy to here.

"We, um," Sunny stutters, "W-we have to go, right, Teejay?"

"You're looking after me," he shrugs.

"Bye Mags…Beto…Jack," she takes Teejay's arm and leads him away through the front.

Nar breaks away from the throng of TV programming and victor-associated Capitolites buzzing busily around the floor to join us- the three remaining victors in the room. "Can I entice any of the three of you with an offer of a meal?" He raises one languid eyebrow, "I hear there's something going on with you that Victor Affairs should know about?"

"Not with me," Beto shakes his head.

"Beto," I try to invite him, "You can eat with us if you like." I'm feeling nervous. If Beto will come, things will…have to stay a certain amount calm, right? Carry on within certain logical parameters. …And there it was too- we all just saw it- a flicker of his kindness, held back so ordinarily in reserve.

What do I mean by these thoughts? Am I asking for Beto to come along and protect me?

The corner of his lips twitch as he considers my offer. When whatever internal calculations he makes are over his answer comes out a negative: "I'm not hungry. Though the offer is appreciated, I would prefer to pass this time." He holds his hand out to me, "Mags."

I take it and receive a stiff shake in return.

"Good evening." We part. He doesn't give his hand to Jack or Nar, but only tips his head, once toward each of them.

Nar leads us along and we meet up with District 1's Victor Affairs liaison, Diluc, at the doorway. Tall and lanky, he leans up against the frame of the open door. "Hey," he says laconically, falling into step with us. Jack smiles at him. I follow his lead because it's only polite.

"I'm not really all that hungry," I admit, though, all things considered Nar's odds would usually lean in favor of my ability (and desire) to eat.

"Maybe you'll change your mind when you smell the food there," Nar counters cheerfully, "It's pretty aromatic."

I make a noncommittal sound. Some smells bother me these days that never caused me any trouble before. I'm feeling much too touchy, but there's not a lot I can do about it.

The four of us are seated in a private room of the restaurant, probably the sort that can be reserved for parties. I guess two victors and two agents of the Department of Victor Affairs can't just sit casually out in public as such big, tumultuous news surrounds our cohort. All the times I've gone out in the Capitol, people have been pretty neutral to nice toward me.

"It's on us," Diluc tells me, "It's a business meeting, so consider it on Victor Affairs' tab."

I'm thirsty at least. I order a sort of elaborate iced tea with fruit slices floating in it.

"So, Jack," Diluc says, idly stirring his cherry-filled cocktail (I feel like I can practically smell the alcohol coming off of it from across the table), "What are we working with today?"

"I got married," Jack says bluntly.

Understandably, both the liaisons look at me. What else am I here for? Moral support?

A dangerous silence engulfs our table.

"Well," Jack insists, "Aren't you going to congratulate me?"

The Capitol men remain very silent. "Does…anyone know about this?" Diluc asks carefully.

"It was a properly witnessed District Four style wedding," Jack reaches over and takes my hand. Well, that spells that out then. "Pal and Silk were both present."

"Silk…" Diluc considers this, "And Pal."

I start to grip Jack's hand more tightly. For all that you can see her in our pictures, that she clapped and smiled and fixed me hair, Silk can't vouch for our vows anymore. And, in Pal's state, what weight will be ascribed to his words if he does?

"That…is kind of complicated, Jack," Diluc frowns.

"You've got to go through the proper channels…" Nar says, sort of gaping.

"You may not like it," says Jack, "But it isn't actually illegal. And, look, I didn't just spring it on an unsuspecting public- I'm telling you first so you can have some control over how we present it."

"This…it's going to take some working out, Jack."

Jack's smile is toothless and intent. He is undaunted by the prospect of difficulty here. We didn't have to get married. His vows are proof of his pledge to make this work.

It goes without saying that we couldn't have asked for permission beforehand. It wouldn't have been granted. There is Jack's gambit: "We're already married- it's too late to stop it. Now let's play ball with that."

"We're going to have to take this back to the department head, Jack," Diluc continues, "I hope you don't expect us to get it all hashed out here and now."

"No," Jack's tone is light, but there's a hint of threat threaded through it all the same, "Take your time. I know it's a lot to deal with all at once, particularly with the very unfortunate matter of our late friend Silk sending everyone rushing around and readjusting security protocols." He looks at me and the sharpness softens, "It's not like we'll be getting any less married in the meantime."

For all my unease, he really is sweet and I smile back sort of wryly.

"Just keep it to yourself in the meantime," Diluc shakes his head. "Keep it off the television and out of the studios."

"…That means you, Jack," Nar interjects.

Jack makes a funny face and comically wiggles his eyebrows. "Oh, you already know I'm good at keeping secrets," he avers.

"You'd have been shipped back to One more or less permanently years ago if you weren't," Diluc agrees more jovially than the manner in which his earlier remarks were made. He doesn't trust Jack not to do something stupid, but keeping quiet about it is another matter (what other things does Jack know…).

"Let's order something," Nar shrugs and beckons a waiter over.

I feel like I haven't had time to make up my mind as to whether I want to eat or not, let alone what they serve here that I might like. I hurriedly flip through a menu while Nar and Diluc make extravagant orders. Jack gives his in a leisurely style, possibly meant to buy me time to figure out what I'd like.

It isn't enough. But Jack doesn't let things get too awkward. "The lady needs another mite," he interrupts the waiters' question and send him off for the time being.

I don't relish the inevitability of a meal's worth of conversation with Nar and Diluc. As far as it would give me something to occupy myself with, that makes eating a good proposition.

The waiter returns with a basket filled with miniature loaves of bread. "This looks like something you would make," Jack remarks to me, appraising the basket. "Do you have anything she's made?" he looks to the other men, "For my birthday last year, she made me a really pretty bracelet."

They don't. I doubt they're all that interested.

The bread on the table smells good and it starts to stir my appetite. Still, I order a bit timidly. No need to go overboard and I hate to waste food, of all things.

Even with the rainclouds of Silk's awful death hanging over us, Jack is good at making conversation and does much of the work of keeping the other two engaged. I just want to ask them things like 'is there anything I can do to help Pal?' and 'what sort of measures are being taken to find Silk's murderer?' and they're not the best topics for meal-time conversation.

I focus my attention on my pasta-soup sort of dish. It's good and goes well with the bread, which I break into pieces and dip into the sauce/broth.

For all that Jack didn't get us Victor Affairs' blessing on our wedding, I think the meeting has gone decently. I'll pick up my things and go home after this.

"So," Nar sighs, leaning back in his chair a little, relaxed, "I guess this wasn't about what I'd been thinking it might be about."

"I told you that was groundless gossip," Diluc sniffs, adopting a superior sort of attitude toward his colleague. "No one with any sense believes the unfounded nonsense they come up with on the low-budget, late night talk circuit."

What Liam Odair was telling me about, maybe. And they're dismissing it. I'll deal publicly with these changes in my life one at a time, I suppose. The baby is due at an opportune time as far as the Games schedule goes. Maybe I can more or less keep it all on the down low… Leave the baby in 4 when I go back to mentor? (Will it be old enough for that? Having to take care of a baby would interfere with my mentoring responsibilities. …But it would be an innocent-enough occasion for Jack to see his child…)

Jack leans over the table a ways, narrowing the distance between him and the Capitol men, like he's about to share a secret or a risqué sort of joke. "Have we been hearing the same things?"

"Considering the company that surrounds you, Jack, I have a feeling you hear everything we hear and then some," Diluc rolls his eyes. "Also, don't think I don't know how carefully you keep an ear to the pulse of matters concerning your…" he pauses, "Your wife."

I squirm in my seat. As much as I'd like to make at least a momentary escape from this situation, if I even just head to the ladies' room, I'm afraid what they might say about me while I'm gone (not that Jack would say something bad about me, but he'd say a lot of things to work a situation to his advantage- I might as well be there to hear them).

Jack looks at me thoughtfully- taking my measure. He wants to bring it up. I can tell. I bite my lip. I try to sidestep the matter without answering to it one way or another, "You're embarrassing me, you guys."

"I couldn't help but think that you're too careful for that," Nar skirts around the edge of the subject, but a hint of curiosity moves below the surface of those words. …He wasn't likely to believe it before. But now…am I not as cautious as Nar thought I was?

Diluc settles the bill and rises from his seat, adjusting his tinted glasses (they're purple today- I had remembered them as blue, but maybe they're just a different pair). "Well, thank you both for coming," he shakes hands with Jack and me in turn. "I'll call you, Jack."

"If there's anyone in the Capitol I trust to handle things well, it's you, Diluc," Jack says, encouraging him to do his best work.

And then we're left alone with Nar. "You look pale," he notes, then looks to the dregs of my drink remaining, "Waiter," he summons the man back, "Bring her another."

"Oh, I," I start to say that it's not necessary, but what's the point in protesting something so simple and small? I'm sure I will be able to drink a reasonable amount of another glass. I let it go.

"So you're not pregnant then."

Avoiding the truth is much easier than lying. …and when Nar finds out- which he inevitably will (there's also only so much I can lie to myself)- he's not going to be happy that I kept this from him. "No," I look down at the lacy tablecloth, "I am. …But-"

And here's where the lying will come in- where it has at least a tiny chance of making a difference. I will deny Jack's involvement in this matter- I will not paint him a party to this carelessness, but, rather, the gallant friend who swept in in the midst of my predicament and, with wedding vows, rescued me from the disdain of those with more restrictive morals. (Honestly, I wouldn't say 4 is as antiquated about these sorts of things as the Capitol would consider us to be- most people understand how hard times carve out different sorts of family arrangements- but the Capitol likes to see itself as strictly divided from the districts even in areas where there would be, perhaps, a continuity (the districts further out, I've heard, are very conservative- but I don't know them enough to judge)).

"But Jack-"

"I will be responsible for this as well," Jack steps in where I am wavering and- and I could still spin this down the path I mean to travel-

"Jack," I try to intercept him before he can say something he shouldn't say.

"If you had any notion of not taking our marriage seriously, you can put it aside now," Jack goes on, "And tell Diluc or whoever else needs to here it the same thing. I understand our situation doesn't lend itself to any traditional arrangement, but I am not about to just dissolve the promises I made or laugh them off."

How worried I am by this declaration obviously shows. I'm not making an concerted effort to hold it back. …If I were to try and put a name to Nar's expression…well, I think his thoughts must be: "Are you crazy?" To me, maybe? To Jack, certainly. Or maybe both us (all of us victors, out of our minds).

Jack's look softens as he takes in my bothered expression. He loops his arm around my shoulders. "If there's going to be a problem, Mr. Lycius, make sure to bring it up with both of us, but let the consequences fall on me alone. I plan to do the best as I can, as a husband and as a father."

Nar lets out a slow, enormous sigh. He's deciding, I think, that there's nothing he can do about this, at least not at the moment (because Diluc isn't here to back him up?). Then he looks around the room. "Service sure is slow."

But I don't think that's an accurate assessment of things. The poor waiter is hanging back out of fear, I'm certain. I see him at the edge of the room with fresh drinks for all of us balanced on a tray. Seeing Nar looking at him, he finally approaches. He stands closest to Nar and starts to try handing out the drinks, but Nar, probably taking out his irritation at us on this unfortunate waiter, snatches them off himself, one at a time.

A little paper umbrella was stuck into a thin fruit slice floating near the top of mine this time around and it falls out onto the table along with a splash of the tea, victim to Nar's rough handling. I try to reach out and pick it up, but Nar inserts himself here as well, wiping off my glass with his cloth napkin and tossing the umbrella haphazardly back in.

He sighs again. "I've changed my mind," he pushes his own drink away from him, toward the interior of the table, "It might, indeed, take me more alcohol to settle this with myself, but I'll do it in the peace of my own home if need be. Good night," he announces, "I'll be in touch."

We watch him go.

"It…could've been a lot worse," Jack shrugs.

"Honestly, now I'm just going to be waiting for the hammer to fall…" My eyes trace the trails of condensation running down my drink. "…You shouldn't have taken responsibility for everything…"

"We're mutually involved in this. I wasn't just going to let you take the fall."

My new drink doesn't taste the same as the first one. I wonder if there was some kind of mix up. Or maybe Nar got crumbs in it from his meal when he wiped it with his napkin. "…I didn't want to get you in trouble," I mumble.

"I guess we're too alike on that score."

I don't quite have the heart to get into what I meant to say and why I meant to say it now that there's no taking his words back anyway. I'm not sure how much he would like that Kayta was the one who gave me the advice to go that way either. When they're together, Jack and Kayta always seem to get along, but I can hardly say that Kayta speaks in an unconditionally admiring or friendly way.

Jack thinks of something easier to digest. He laughs. "Oh, that poor waiter! …And I don't know if you could see, but they left him the most awful tip too. I was already thinking he deserved better before Nar chewed him out over the refills."

Jack takes his wallet out of a back pocket and sets several bills on the table for the waiter. He hastily swallows the rest of his second drink. I sip at mine, trying to decide whether the shift in flavor actually bothers me or not. "Would you like to finish that before we go?"

"Nah," I decide, "That'll take too long." I don't have any interest in forcing myself to glug it down. "I'm fine leaving now."

The waiter calls loudly after us to have a nice day upon finding the tip (that this is the trigger for his action is so transparent as to be hysterical- I manage to withhold my laughter until we're outside at least).

That laughter ends abruptly when we enter the car sent by the service and my ears are assailed by a rather graphic description of the too close to home crime currently rocking the Capitol news services. "Turn that off," Jack doesn't exactly snap, but he doesn't waste a moment in saying so.

The driver complies, frowning. It isn't far to Jack's place. We travel in near-silence and leave the driver waiting for us on the curb while we make our brief stop inside, basically for me to pick up my things, before heading out to the train station.

We head off to the proper platform, but it seems that I'm early. I haven't been outdoors for long on this particular excursion to the Capitol. It's cold. Jack sees me shiver and takes off his jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders. It's pretty effective at this job, being that it's somewhat pre-warmed from his wearing it and Jack's having a good eight inches or so on me means it covers a lot more of me than it does him.

"Hey, you mentioned a new song earlier," I remind him, glad to be out of the presence of the men from the Department of Victor Affairs and, therefore eager to change the subject from the tense matters we discussed with them (I can't make myself think positively about what conclusions were reached between the four of us, but I can temporarily crowd them out of my mind- there's waiting to do, anyway, before those matters are settled for good). "So, before we go our separate ways…are you going to sing?" I whisper.

Jack bends down. He sets my valise on the ground beside his feet- a totally innocuous gesture- then levels his lips near my ear: "…You are my sunshine-"

Oh. I don't breathe. It's an old song. And, as far as I know, a District 4 song. A Norleans song, according to Papa, which means it's older than Panem if he's right. …So maybe it's there in 1 as well, or somewhere else.

"-My only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are grey."

I manage to breathe, but I'm still mesmerized. Jack's voice is soft and gentle as it wafts around me. "You'll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."

He knows every word- and what's additionally notable, I realize, is the version of the song he knows. It depends on the person singing the song- who they learned it from- exactly how the versions go.

"-Down by the ocean, I feel so small, dear, it's all too big when I'm alone-"

Jack sings "You Are My Sunshine" like Papa. I can't believe that he could've learned this particular version anywhere but from someone in District 4.

I tremble and he puts his arm around my shoulders.

"-We will be happy, both you and I, dear, we will have sunshine every day…"

He sings every word.

It's just another thing that's too much. I feel a bit unsteady on my feet- a touch faint maybe? It's not easy to tell what the reason is at a moment like this.

"Hey, Miss Mags," the conductor calls to me, looking up from his clipboard, "Better hop on up- this is your ride!"

"Oh, um, thank you," I reply. Either I missed noticing them when we showed up, or they only just lit up as ready for travel now.

"You look really tired," Jack tells me, "You better go home and take it easy."

"Are you sure you don't need me here to help you out with things?" I give it one last bit of consideration, fidgeting by running the bottom edge of my black top between my fingers.

"They want everyone who's usually in their district to go back to it- you know, something about security… Anyway, I can manage, Mags. I'll think of something," Jack replies, "I'll let you know if you're absolutely necessary, but don't let it get to you while it's out of your hands." He smooths back some loose strands of my hair, then picks my valise up from the ground and passes it to me. His smile strains kind of sad. "In all the world, you're the best friend I've ever had."

I'm touched. I'm not quite sure what to say. I take off his jacket and look at it for a moment, choosing my words, before handing it over and turning my gaze back up to meet his green eyes. "…yeah…" I smile, "I love you too."

He waits until I've boarded the train for us to truly go our separate ways. I can see him through one of the windows as he turns and walks away.

"Private car this time," the train conductor leads me forward through the cars to my appointed place. It's probably another security measure of sorts, but it doesn't strike me as particularly secure unless there are precautions being taken (cameras?) that I'm not aware of.

"Thank you," I shake the man's hand before he goes.

I still feel a bit strange (I guess it wasn't the result of some wonderful being swept off my feet, ha). But feeling strange shouldn't surprise me these days- I mean, I've already felt strange on two separate occasions today. Fresh air usually helps, but while pregnant, my stomach's turned easily. And then there's the unpleasantness of on my mind regarding the friend I've just lost. It's amazing that at our meal tonight I could eat at all. …but it's me, right? And Jack. I suppose no one was ultimately surprised.

A familiar face greets me as I reach to open the door to my private train car. "Oh," I smile, "Hello Columbine!"

She smiles back.

I wonder who exactly she works for; how do the Avoxes receive their assignments? For now, I get settled and try to ignore my physical discomfort. I ask for, then take tiny sips from, a glass of water.

I don't begin to feel better, so I idly flip through the Capitol's many television channels, trying to keep my thoughts away from my rising nausea. If I must be sick like that, can't I at least get home first? …Being over-anxious isn't going to do me any favors.

And then a stab of pain shoots through me. I double over in agony. Oh. Oh, no. I can only lean to the side and keep the majority of the contents of my stomach from getting on me. The aftertaste left in my mouth is disgusting. My throat burns. Sweat beads upon my brow.

Another jolt of pain targets my lower back. What's wrong with me? It can't be- it's months too early.

I try to keep my breathing calm and steady, but that plan is interrupted by more unpredictable pains.

I'm scared. I'm so scared. How much longer 'til I'm back home in 4? Do I need to call out for help?

I feel something wet between my legs.

Peter, Zeno, Elmo, Brendan, Nicholas.

I bring myself to slip a trembling hand beneath my skirt. My fingers come away stained dark with blood. The pain's not stopping. I feel faint.

The door opens and Columbine enters, presumably to make her way along a routine path to see if any of the passengers require anything.

As her eyes falls upon me, does her look of fear reflect my own? She is half as frightened as I feel? "Col-" I gasp, my plea my help.

Columbine drops her tray and notepad and rushes to my side, reaching an arm around my shoulders.

I manage to make eye contact with her for just a moment before I pass out into her grasp.

I awaken in a room I don't recognize, looking at a pale yellow ceiling.

I feel very tired.

"I think she's awake," says 'Lito, who then leans over and looks down at me. "…Hi Mags," he greets me in a crisply delicate tone. …It reminds me of how he first spoke to me after I came home a victor. It is a sign that sets me worrying.

"Mags," Papa's face pokes into my vision next, "Oh, Mags. How do you feel?"

"Tired," I reply and it comes out as an appropriately weak mumble.

"Sweetheart," he takes my hand, "Do you remember what happened?"

…And he must realize that this is all it takes to make me begin to recall it, because I feel myself turning white. "I- I," I stutter.

With his free hand, Papa strokes the loose hairs back from my forehead. "Mags."

The number of times he has said my name in this small period of time is another worrying element. 'Lito is giving Papa a concerned glance as he waits to see what he will tell me.

"Mags," he says carefully, "The baby didn't make it."

The baby. My baby. Mine and Jack's.

It is a good thing I am lying down because I am sure I would feel faint if I were even just sitting.

"I'm so sorry, dear," Papa squeezes my hand.

I can't bring myself to squeeze it back.

"I'm sorry too," 'Lito agrees, though I'd be sure of his sentiments even if he didn't say it. Both of them understand as well as they can. Both of them are so kind.

I don't know what to say.

But proof comes, as usual, that Papa understands the best anyone can. "You don't have to say anything, Mags, but if you want to, you know I'll listen."

I can't think of anything to say.

I have fevered thoughts of Jack and Silk and everything else. It's hard to tell exactly where daydreams blur into real sleep. I dream of the man who called the names in District 1 during the First Games- the man was who was so gleeful to exact this retribution on the district people. Am I alone or is there a crowd? Either way, it seems like a foregone conclusion when he calls out, "Margaret Umber!"

Faline is standing beside me holding onto my arm (was she there the whole time?). "You can't take her!" she screams, "You can't take her again!"

"She was a different person then," the man insists, reaching out toward me, "That was a different name."

But I won't step forward to the stage and Faline won't let go. "No! That's not how it works!" she shrills out, sharp and insistent. "Mags is Mags! It doesn't matter what name!"

It's a bothersome dream.

I awaken briefly to Faline sitting beside me, brushing out my hair. She's says what I'm sure 'Lito and Papa were thinking before. "We were afraid you were gonna die."

"…I'm glad I didn't."

She makes a funny face. "…Doctor thinks it was really unexpected. He didn't see any reason you should've had any major problems."

"Yeah?" I don't know what to think about that. I mean, it's true. If Dr. Haddock had anticipated any major health hazard he would've told me. Warned me what to do or not do. None of the advice I received from either the doctor or Miss Nasika was anything but standard according to them.

"Jack keeps calling the house. …I talked to him." She keeps at it with my hair. "How about two braids? Would that be comfortable?" she switches to the topic immediately at hand.

"Yeah, sure…" It sounds fine, but even if it didn't, I don't think I have it in me at the moment to do anything but agree.

"When I told Jack you weren't at home, he wanted me to give him the number of the clinic," Faline goes on, starting on the braids, "But I wasn't sure about it. I de-deferred? Deferred it?" she considers her word choice, "Um, I passed it along to your dad. Jack thought he could sing to you even if you weren't feeling up to talking. He thought it would make you feel better."

"…oh." A part of me is glad to hear that Jack called. It means he's okay. He wasn't sick too. …but another part of me is roused to anger. …If this is such a fluke, what happened to me, then, might it not be random after all? Nar had come to that meeting with rumors of my being pregnant already swirling in his head. He wasn't happy about it. He even less happy about it because of Jack, I'm sure. There's no way he can't be pleased with this outcome.

…there was that strange taste. It came after he touched my drink.

Jack didn't need to be sick to accomplish the outcome the people who manage us preferred. Only me. I could've been a casualty. …maybe they would've even liked that, considering what I'd gone and done. Would it have been different if they hadn't known it was Jack's child? The various districts aren't meant to band together after all. We can be friendly rivals at best.

There's a voice inside that says this happened to me because of Jack. I don't want to embrace it, but at the same time, I can't seem to turn it away. It wriggles its way, like a worm, deep into me, causing a sickness of another sort to overwhelm me.

When Kayta said to lie about the baby, he was right. (Back on my Tour, when Kayta was going to tell me his opinion of Jack and he never really got the chance- he was probably right then too.)

And I wanted to follow that advice. To leave room, at least, for doubt. To show the Capitol that I might have erred, but that I understood the rules, nevertheless.

Maybe then there would've been a chance.

"…Mags?" Faline worries at my silence. "Are you okay? Is there something I should do?"

"No." I don't want to worry her anymore unnecessarily, "No, I was just thinking."

"Well," she resumes her anecdote about the phone call, "Your dad didn't think he should. That all you needed was peace and quiet for now."

"Oh…" I could picture it. Jack singing to me while I was sleeping. …what would he have sung?

"I could sing to you if you think that would make you feel better," Faline suggests.

…I really don't see how I could say no to that offer.

Faline has a small, sort of squeaky voice, rough around the edges the way mine probably is too, but is harder to notice because it's mine. She sings the ship-faring song about long-gone countries that I sang to Jack and the peach blossom song that they always made us sing at school in the springtime and the sailor's song that haunted my solitary time in the arena. Focusing on her voice is…sort of relaxing?

She finishes one braid and comes around to the other side of the bed to do the other without too much leaning over me.

"…all I have longed for, I have found by the seashore," she quietly sings on, "At your side, I will seek other shores…"

The baby was a boy.

The funeral is the second place I go after being released from Dr. Haddock's care. Peacekeeper Benett sees me on the way there and expressed both his relief at my recovery and his condolences over my loss. I ask if he has children back in 2. None, and he's unmarried, but when his term here is done, he hopes to make room for both back home. I wish him the best with this.

Padre Tino says the words. Zeno assists him. Papa is, I think, trying to be strong for me, but the tremor in his hands acts up more than usual- that he doesn't even seem to be trying to tamp it down reflects on his state of mind.

The baby that was not properly born, that I cocooned, but was no mother to, is, at least, properly laid to rest. Jack, off in 1 or the Capitol, cannot even see the fruit of his misguided feelings go into the ground. Not the cemetery that holds him. Not the grave marker, bearing just one name- a first name with no last name, all that I could manage to bestow on this baby: Tito.

Papa rubs my back.

I don't cry. I just stand there feeling ill.

I don't think I pass out, I'm probably just in a daze, but someone must have carried me to Mrs. Mirande's home, because I have no recollection of walking there myself. There's a small lunch set out, a pretty green salad and some sandwiches. Papa encourages me to eat if my stomach can handle it. I drink watery lemonade from a chipped pink cup. Papa and Mr. Armain and Mrs. Mirande talk and talk and talk in soft voices.

Back at home, there's a home message from Sunny slightly garbled with emotion (obviously everyone knows some version of what happened and it must be all over the news and gossip circuit). She tried to put in a request to visit me here in 4, even trading on her skill as a nurse to paint a fairly plausible picture of how she would be both comforting and useful in my current circumstances, but she was turned down.

"Do you want to call her back up?" Papa asks.

"Maybe later."

"In case anyone else calls, I'll man the phone," 'Lito announces.

I lie on top of my bed. Papa comes in and lays a thick, colorful blanket over me. It's all patches and thick embroidery- familiar patterns I don't know the meaning of, and some more knowable shapes like daisies and waves. "This arrived special delivery from District Eight while we were up on the overlook this morning."

"Pal," I mumble. Obviously this is his handiwork. He's been saddened half to death and still he manages this for me.

The phone rings, but only once and half a time more before 'Lito must've grabbed it.

"Rest all you need, dear," Papa pats my shoulder, "And give one of us a holler for anything at all."

I give my agreement and he rises and goes to leave me be. I pull the blanket up against my face. It smells like Pal- the way his house probably smells. Dust and fresh fabric and a hint of dye. I feel so bad about Pal and poor, sweet Silk. I was wrong when I assumed a fellow victor was someone I could reasonably expect to be friends with until I was- if not old and gray- maybe about sixty at least? Adjusting for average life expectancy by district a bit (going by statistics, Hector and Gerik could expect an easy fifteen years on Teejay and Sunny, for instance).

I spend the next two or three days or so mainly being sick in bed. More sick at heart than otherwise, I suppose (Miss Nasika says I should have some tests done in the future if I'm ever thinking of being pregnant again- there could be lasting damage from this episode and it's hard for her to say for sure one way or the other because of the slipperiness of the cause- I am still very young, she says- but I can't see how I would ever want to do again what I never properly intended in the first place).

Faline brings over the book of Jules Verne stories I bought her a while back in the Capitol and reads to me. I try to write a letter to Pal, but all I manage is, in its entirety: "Dear Pal, Thank you for the quilt. I hope you're hanging in there. I'm really sorry." It's too hard to write more. After two days of staring at it on and off, I just mail it to him like that. I think he'll understand.

I don't watch any TV (it's easy not to even see any incidentally when I'm sticking largely to my room), but it's easy enough to gather from my friends and family that along with all the remembering going on regarding Silk there's also, as I assumed, plenty of talk about me.

When I wander downstairs into the kitchen one morning, I can hear Sunny's voice drifting in from the screen. She sounds so sincere, as she always does, asking that when people see me again the Capitol that they be sensitive about this "delicate matter."

Someone with a Capitol accent (I don't know who and don't look over to see) takes over, talking about, well, related things to what I've just gone through, but I don't want to listen.

The TV shuts off. Apparently Papa doesn't want to listen either. He must assume I'm still upstairs and probably sleeping, because he doesn't come in and say anything to me before leaving.

I heat some water and drink a cup of tea before deciding to go out to take a walk.

I know exactly where I want to go.

No one says more than a cautiously casual "hello" to me along the way.

The main cemetery in District 4 looks out over the sea. Of course, most things in 4 face the sea. With our nation what it is, who would ever want to look back at the land? The sea is our life.

I've come up the hill to visit and to be alone. Knowing that no district has had back to back winners yet tempered some of my hopes that there was anything I could do to bring back Shaya or Salvador. It was up to them. That doesn't mean it didn't hurt, but it was an expected sort of pain.

Maybe I felt a little cockier for the 14th Hunger Games and that's why I feel worse for Maria and Jerrick. They were both volunteers. They had a good dynamic and a good mindset considering what they were going into. The earth around their graves is still a bit softer and slightly more unsettled than the rest. Maybe feeling worse each time we fail is just part and parcel of the job. Maybe it will wear me down more and more each year until I die.

I am probably telling myself this to distract myself from my personal tragedy.

I walk around the cemetery, reading off the names I know. Mama (though she's just a name here, not a body), Beanpole, Aoko, Maria, Papa's parents who I never met, my mother's parents who I never met either, Shaya, Jerrick, Beanpole's father, Salvador, the school principal from when I was a little girl, Dago who was one of my dad's fishing buddies, Irene Odair who was reaped the year before me, and Cosmo Malaqua who was reaped with her (I knew them- I knew them both, just somewhat, but better than anyone else reaped before me aside from Aoko). It occurs to me that I know an awful lot of dead people. Is the number about average for someone my age? Unlike most people in 4, I know dead people who're buried in some other district too. The other tributes. If I tried to list them, maybe I could come up with all of their names, but I don't want to think about it that hard (I see Sparrow even if I try to avoid it).

I picked "Tito," but it's not like the one I lost really had a name. Jack and I didn't take care and thoughtfully choose a name together. This was just a simple name. Something I liked, I suppose. Just something to say. I didn't end up a mother anyway.

Back at home I imagine my phone keeps ringing and ringing and ringing like it has since I got back- not constantly, but compared to normal, it feels like it. I couldn't answer and everyone else had finally gone out, so I had to leave. If it's still ringing when I return later, I'm going to disconnect it.

Maybe it's just Apple. Well, Apple would probably have some condolences to pass on, but she hates to talk about anything negative, so she wouldn't be one to belabor it.

Or maybe it's Aulie, with his own sympathies and some cheerful Capitol chatter to balance them out.

If it's Nar, from Victor Affairs, I don't want to hear it. I hate him. For my all my misgivings regarding my situation, I wasn't going to give up. I will never forgive him for what he did.

But it's probably Jack. "Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack," I think his name over and over as I reach the driftwood fence at the far end of the cemetery, protecting unsuspecting visitors from wandering off the edge of the cliffs. I lean on the fence and stare down at the churning water. I'm not sure if I'll ever be ready to talk to Jack. I'm not sure I can handle him after this.

"Hey, Mags," 'Lito shows up and puts his hand on my shoulder. I lean my head down against it. I knew someone would come after me sooner or later. 'Lito or Faline or Papa. They're the ones I can talk to. 'Lito or Faline or Papa. And usually Jack, but maybe not anymore.

"I know I'm supposed to be at work, but I was getting kind of worried about you," he admits. "I took my break early."

"You're too nice to me." Really, he is. I don't know why. I mean, I know why he wants to be nice to me, but I don't see what about me would make him feel that way.

"I saw you got a package in the mail today."

I stiffen, though I try to hide my discomfort, leaving my head on 'Lito's shoulder even though it's sort of hurting my neck now.

"It's wrapped up all bright yellow. Your favorite."

He knows who it's from; I can guess. And 'Lito probably knows that I can. I think part of my problem is caring too much too easily. Everyone is too dear to me.

"And Jack called," 'Lito adds momentarily. "He heard through the grapevine how you…" he struggles, then deals with it by altering his word choice, "…That you were sick. He really wants to talk to you."

"I know," I sigh, "He called before too. Faline told me so."

"I guess that makes sense."

I'm not sure I really want to talk to Jack with 'Lito present (though 'Lito doesn't hang near me, he doesn't stray from the farther side of the room), but if I really love him- if he really is my friend like I said he was- I have to stop putting this off.

I call his place in the Capitol. The phone rings and rings. There's a recording: "Hi, you've reached Jack. Leave a message after the tone."

I take a deep breath. "Jack, it's Mags." What else do I need to say? "Let's talk." I put down the phone.

"He wasn't there?" 'Lito asks.

"Nope…"

"You wanna open your package?" he points to the item in question, left sitting on the kitchen table.

"Maybe in a minute," I answer. I offer him something to drink- iced tea, maybe? With a slice of lime? I mean, he is over visiting with me on his break, after all, but 'Lito turns it down. We don't have much more time to talk either before he has to go back to work (though he's confident he's got a small window beyond the actual length of his break in which his older brother will cover for him).

Left alone, I try calling Jack's house in District One, although I'm more or less sure he's in the Capitol. I reach a pre-recorded message there too, but this one's not even in Jack's voice. It's a woman with a Capitol accent- I want to say this is some stylist or previous escort for his district or something, but it's not like I really know. I don't leave any message of my own in this place.

I sit down at the table and idly begin to rip at the paper containing the package he sent me. It's awkwardly put together, but Jack has sent me all kinds of things…in some kind of frantic attempt to get through to me? To comfort me? A package of Crispco crackers and a necklace of little green glass beads and a book of pictures from the aquarium we visited but some of the pages are taped closed and Jack has scribbled the reason why ("sharks") on the surface of the tape. There are pieces of candy and a funny metal cricket that turns out to be sort of a music box, but it makes cricket sounds instead, and, protected in an enveloped, something dried and natural and still green, if a different shade than when I last saw it- a fragment of our wedding net.

Alongside it is a photograph. Some kind of professionally taken picture, I'd like to say. From the studio. Jack and I stand side by side, grinning. …He's written on the back: "I love you. Please don't ever stop being my friend. -Jack"

Of course we're still friends. It would take a lot more to rend that bond asunder.

It's curiosity about what's going on with Jack that leads me to turn the TV on. There are the usual episodic stories composed of inane fictions. I see rather impolitely intrusive footage peering through the panes of Pal's windows to try and show some sign of the absolute wreckage of his life since Silk's death, but the host has to leave disappointed because even at a moment like this, Pal's home is still neater than mine. There are a few dishes sitting in the sink and a pair of shoes discarded randomly on the stairs. That's it for disarray.

I can see some of Silk's dolls though, on a work table set up in the living room, and I can feel my chest tighten at the sight.

There are a series of political debate pieces airing. If it comes from the right sort of people (and even within the Capitol that's a select group), the president allows at least a token amount of disagreement with his policies to be aired. In that sense, I suppose you can't say he's a completely unreasonable man.

And, apparently, in the previous piece, some political opponent even slandered him indicating he was involved in what happened to Silk- that everyone knew how much he enjoyed her company, but that his interest in her had gone beyond the generally acceptable so he had gotten what he wanted and then concocted some kind of cover scheme. The man who put forth this argument, I gather, is still alive and well, but his own party, deeming this suggestion itself beyond the pale, expelled him from their organization.

I don't think the president had anything to do with what happened to Silk. As much as it disgusts me to think of it, I wouldn't discount the possibility that he would've liked to sleep with her, but he wasn't going to destroy his career over it and he wouldn't have wanted her dead. The president is, himself, pushing forward the search for her killer quite vigorously, I see.

More frightening, really, is an idea I see raised in an open discussion panel (or what is called one- it seems a bit well-organized to be completely off the cuff). If all the sponsorship promises hadn't gone through Pal personally, but had been handled instead by Victor Affairs, it's suggested that Silk wouldn't have been killed (I can only hope that Pal doesn't see a second of this sort of talk). There is an unspoken implication that sex with the young victor might not have been beyond the pale- they do note how she was legally of age by this time and that her killer had probably lusted over her since her Games but had waited until he had at least a tiny chance of somehow convincing her and getting what he wanted within the confines of legality- but that under the auspices of Victor Affairs, such a thing would have been carefully managed.

At the same time as I listen, I vaguely wonder if Pal killed 8's Victor Affairs liaison over all this (while it's not that man's fault, he did seem almost entirely unsympathetic) if he could be acquitted by virtue of his current mental state.

I don't see anything live or new this day involving Jack, though when there's idle discussion on one slow afternoon news program during the celebrity segment wondering when I might be seen in the Capitol again (there is some consideration giving to whether I am ashamed and won't show my face until the Games), a clip is played back on the screen behind the hosts.

This is my first time seeing it. Jack is hearing the news live. "Our correspondent in Four has just confirmed Victor Mags Gaudet has suffered a miscarriage and is in currently in serious condition." The usual cohort of hosts and co-hosts from the channel look concerned and somewhat surprised, expressing their wonderment over why I would've kept my condition a secret so long (seeing as the news has now revealed me to have been five months pregnant).

It upsets these people, but Jack is clearly aghast. All the color drains out of his face and he doesn't raise a single question or comment.

Finally, one of the women asks if he knew I'd been pregnant.

"Yes," he replies quietly, "But you know she's very private about that sort of thing. She wanted to keep it a secret."

The people on today's live show express the opinion that Jack will be happier to see me back in the Capitol than anyone else. The inevitable gossip that it was his child rattles about. After that performance, I can't blame them. There is file footage from 4 that shows me walking with 'Lito, indicating how I was well until right up until this "sudden tragedy," but he's not identified by name. I can't say I blame them for latching onto the flashier (and, ironically, true) story.

But as far as I can tell, no one has actually interviewed Jack and put the question straight to him. …He might answer truthfully. …at this point, what would be the harm in it?

I try to call him again, but only reach the answering machine.

I don't hear anything from him that night and fret about it. "He gets busy, you know," Papa is again the voice of reason, "Maybe one of the others can tell you something?"

I decide to call up Sunny- I'm pretty sure she's been in the Capitol since we all talked about Silk because of the day I overheard her talking a bit about me. She's perfectly pleased to hear from me, turning around from a yawning hello to "Oh my gosh, Mags, I'm so happy that you called" within the space of a heartbeat. It turns out she has been in the Capitol and she has seen Jack. "He wasn't sure about the quality of healthcare you'd receive in Four, but I was able to reassure him that it was within the bounds of what your people should be able to handle."

"I appreciate that, Sunny."

"You're welcome. But, um. I'm… I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It's…" I sigh. "Well, thanks. There was nothing you could do… But, ah, the reason I called- Do you know what's up with Jack right now? I thought you might know if he were busy working or something."

"He is busy… I mean, I don't know about right this evening or anything that specific, but he's been in and out of the Victor Affairs office and almost every time I see him not on a soundstage, he's on the phone with someone. He's pretty upset about what happened with you, but, I mean, that's done, so it must be something else that he's trying to wrangle."

"Huh. Thank you for that too."

"I like you, Mags. It's my pleasure, when I can, to help you out."

I don't sleep very well at first. I keep waking up. Then, when I finally slip down into it, I sleep late.

Papa wakes me up to tell me he's going into town to buy a few things and reminds me that Jack should be on this morning. It hurries me up, getting washed up and dressed. I go downstairs and turn on the television to find myself the subject of some rather cutting conversation- some kind of implication that what happened to me was not tragic, like most of the things I've heard seem to have made it out to be ('the tragic lives of victors!' See also events in the post-Games lives of Teejay, Luna, Silk, Sunny…), but that I was a clueless little girl who tried to handle a pregnancy in a superstitious district manner rather than relying on Capitol wisdom. "Your clueless sweetheart in-"

"My wife," Jack interrupts, "Be hard on her if you want, but at least be accurate. She's my wife."

Gaya and Principa exchange confused looks.

"I've been married coming up on three weeks now," Jack lifts his hand and flashes his ring to the camera. "Sorry I had to drop it on you like that all of the sudden." He's as cheerfully apologetic as if- Well, he's treating it like it's completely normal. I am gaping at the screen. Why is he doing it like this? Why would he not work something out with his television colleagues beforehand?

"And she's been very sick recently. I think you should cut her some slack."

Like our kiss at Silk's crowning party, like getting married without asking permission from our handlers, he's seizing the moment. Acting before someone can stop him.

That has to be it. I touch my right hand to my own wedding band, worrying its smooth surface between my fingers. Once it's out there and people know, how can they make him take it back?

But Columbine and Brendan and all the others were someones who made choices that led to their voices being stolen. And Luna's family is called again and again because having a victor wasn't enough to settle matters in District 9 when others insisted it should be. Tributes are pulled from District 2 and die like the rest of us despite their unbroken allegiance to the Capitol. Rae was reborn as Sunny because the first female victor having lost all touch with reality was deemed unpalatable. In response to rebellion, the Hunger Games. All of us know the Capitol's concept of an equitable response.

If this is Jack's gambit when almost three weeks have nearly passed, what other routes did he try and find blocked that led him to finally choose this way?

Gaya starts to backtrack her previous statement a bit, "So, if Mags, in her illness, lost her child, you mean to say that was-"

"The camera cuts out abruptly. Gaya and Principa and Jack are replaced onscreen by Tealia Magnussen in her see-through umbrella dress with underwear beneath that blend into the green-screened map giving a perfectly ordinary national weather forecast.

My heart is pounding. I am horrified. How much worse can things get? What will happen to Jack? I want to scream at him: "Forget about it! Let it go!" I would rather lie, would cast it all aside, say we were never married, rather than have them hurt him. I don't want to lose Jack too!

I rush to pick up the phone, but I'm not immediately sure who to call. Who will know what's going on? Who can help me do something that will make any difference? These things are hard to say. I must err instead toward something I do know: who is on my side.

"Apple, pick up," I groan as her phone rings and rings.

"Mags," she greets me at last, "I've been so worried about you! I've called a few times, but I always get someone else. I mean, your father is a darling man and Faline answered all my questions so sweetly, but I just kept wondering when I would be able to talk to you."

"Apple, it's really important," I say, letting my tone impress this notion upon her, "Did you just see Jack on TV?"

"No…"

"It was the live morning program and they suddenly cut his segment off. I'm really worried about him. I need help. I have to find out what's happening."

"I'll see what I can find out," she hastens to assure me, "But you should try Aulus if you haven't already- he has better connections than I do."

I thank her and proceed along that course. Unlike Apple, Aulie did see the program's sudden shift. "You really got married?" he asks in a voice hushed with concern, "Is there anyone to speak to that?"

"Pal," I reply, "And Silk too, but-" He knows what I mean and that it's difficult, so, as to that, I don't say more. "But don't worry about that part," I insist, "It's not ou-our marriage that concerns me. It's Jack's safety. It's that he might be in trouble. Aulie, I need help. I'm willing to sacrifice whatever it takes. If that's what they need, I'll call him a liar. Just- just help me protect Jack." I feel breathless with worry.

It's not that I think anyone in a position of power within the Games system had anything to do with what happened to Silk, but the way she is mourned and moved on from worries me. Having her victory partially bought and paid for was a factor in Silk's terrible demise, but before that, it was also her salvation. Silk was beloved by all sorts of people, but see how quickly they were able to paint her as expendable. Why should things be any different for Jack?

"I'm sure you'll be able to help him," Aulie's voice grows stronger. He puts up a good front at least.

"I guess I may have to, but I'm afraid to call Victor Affairs," I admit. As much as possible, I want to circumvent that office as I struggle to do something meaningful to ease this situation. It was Victor Affairs that decided that the proper solution to my unlawful pregnancy was to kill my child (and did they know or care if that action would take me with it?). It was Jack's willingness to try and work with Victor Affairs that provided them with such a convenient opportunity to execute this plot against my consent.

"Don't do it yet," Aulie answers and I'm glad to hear it, "Pack up and be ready to go. I'll get you on the first train in I can manage."

"Thank you." I want to respond with the full weight of my overwhelming emotions- I want Aulie to know how grateful I am for any and all the things he does for me- but my voice comes out as a tiny whisper.

He knows- he must know- how truly scared I am.

Papa comes back from the fish market to find me sitting with my small suitcase, ready to leave when Aulie's call comes. "I have to go to the Capitol," I tell him right away, "I'm waiting to find out when the train will come in."

"You're sure you're feeling well enough to make that trip?" he worries, putting the basket with his purchases from the market down on the kitchen table. He comes out and stands in front of me, looking me over with concern. "You've had more than your fair share of stress lately, and sadness. And you were so, so sick…"

"Papa, I have to," I sigh. "It's because of Jack."

I can see him tense. "I'm certain that Jack can handle whatever it is himself…"

"…I don't know." I hate to say it, but if I do, I'm sure he'll understand. "Hasn't he proved that…maybe he can't?"

As this sinks in, Papa raises his hands and rubs them over his face. "Tell me what's happened."

He listens to my story and by the end, he's more or less sitting down beside me, despite my awkward position perched on the arm of the couch, to put his arms around me while I try not to cry. "Papa, all I want now is for everyone who's left to be okay. I don't want anything else. I'll be good and low-key and play by the Capitol's rules… I just…"

When I go to the Capitol, and, perhaps I will only ever go now for the Games proper, I just want to be able to see Jack and say hello and smile and have him give me a thumbs-up in the mentoring room like he always does. Like any of the other victors have- just the opportunity to laugh a little and be friends. …when I see him on television, to know that he's all right…

Aulie comes through with a ride for me on a train with just a single car for passengers. I will hurry to the Capitol with a few businessmen and women returning from District 11.

"You promise me," Papa says on the platform, holding both my hands, "Promise me you're coming home this time too. No matter how things turn out. Mags, I love you."

"I love you too. And I will come back. …If I don't…I promise that could only happen if returning weren't within my power."

I travel in an uncomfortable silence. There's a large television in the passenger car and Russula Pert is on some talk program discussing Jack with the other personalities that generally populate these shows. They discuss what happened to Silk so recently, and to me. Russula postulates that it's the stress of all these things getting to Jack that caused him to announce such a strange thing. That "the poor man" only wants, somehow, to look after me, the inept straight man to his cheerful Games boosting act.

My fellow passengers don't talk to me and the looks they give me a scattered and skeptical. Really, I'm more glad than not that they don't push.

Aulie meets me at the station and pulls me close, though he maintains a delicate touch I'm grateful for. "Okay, I've called all around and the story that I'm hearing at the moment is that Jack is in the hospital Victors Ward because, well, they say he's had a nervous breakdown."

"Oh," I consider this, "Oh, okay." I can work with that. Security is always tight there, but I'm also a victor. I can get in. I can get in by needing to make use of the medical facilities there.

Just days ago I was disastrously ill and everyone knows it. Why not a relapse? Why not a nervous breakdown? If Jack can "have" one, I should be primed to be believed for my own? I look up at Aulie. "Can you get me to the hospital?"

"Is there a problem?

"No, but I'm going to say there is."

Aulie gets a twinkle in his eye- he understands my plan. He nods, and, carrying my valise, walks me to his car. "How can I help, aside from transportation?"

"Umm, how do I look to you? Pale enough? Would you believe I was sick if I started to acted pained and cry and hold my stomach? …Is there some kind of medicine or something you can pick up that induces vomiting? So I can put myself over the edge in a pinch?"

"Oh, that's kind of miserable," Aulie winces, "But I can." He drives to a pharmacy and comes back with some pills. "Here you are."

"Thanks." I read the label, then take out two and stick them in my pocket. "You're the best, Aulie."

"You've got a lot of what-for to make yourself sick to get in there," he laughs, pulling his car back onto the road, "I like that about you."

"Well, I thought about asking you to knock a couple of my teeth loose, but I don't know, I couldn't make you do that."

"Ah, good decision! There's no way I could let myself sock you hard enough to hurt you. Shall I hang out in the waiting room for you?"

"I'd like that, but it might be a long time…" I fidget anxiously.

Aulie shakes his head. "It doesn't bother me. I'm at your service, Mags. Anyway, their waiting room has great coffee."

"All right then." I take a deep breath. "Now I've gotten work myself up to put on a good show, so pardon me." I close my eyes. I think about Silk- about the hideous details released about what happened to her- about her dolls abandoned on the table, about Pal and his guilt, about the fear and sorrow that accompanied being so ill. I can feel the knot of sadness inside. I reach for it rather than pushing it away. I start to cry. Yeah, crying is good. The nurses were so nice to me after my Games. If they see me looking like this they'll feel sorry for me.

Aulie parks nears the hospital building. He puts his arm around my shoulders and leads me up sympathetically. "Good luck," he whispers to me before we go inside.

Aulie tells the woman behind the counter who I am before she can ask. I play up my anxiety, remembering every tribute breakdown I have ever witnessed, along with a good deal of more mundane sorrow and Emmy's unhappy tics for good measure. It is strange to go along with the flow of wild emotion when usually I fight against this sort of thing to stay calm and control.

Some sort of hospital orderly ushers me into the elevator and I'm taken up to the victors' floor. The orderly has a small but elaborate-looking electronic device in his hand and with a code given to him by the receptionist behind the counter he's able to bring up what looks like my individual medical chart- quite a difference from the one I have back home with Dr. Haddock. The young man holds my wrist and takes my pulse and asks me generic questions to get the general idea of what's wrong with me. I make it a combination, claiming pain in my stomach along with intense anxiety.

Upon reaching the proper floor, I catch sight of the black-dark nurse who was so particularly kind to me after my Games. "H-hi!" I wave. I don't remember her name.

"Oh, my goodness, it's Mags," she breaks away from the nursing station to reach my side. "I'll take her 'til Doctor's free, Shim," she interjects herself between me and the orderly. He doesn't object, but merely sends my medical file over to her device, identical but for a shiny sticker on the side that reads: "Phoebe H." That's her name.

Phoebe leads me to one of the private rooms. I try to look around for some glimpse of Jack, but if I want to play sick, I can't seem too interested in the tiny details of what's going on around me.

Phoebe expresses her sympathies about my recent misfortune, of which she adds a general note to my file because apparently if I don't have something taken care of here, it's not added, then goes on to ask me about what's wrong. …I get the impression that she's mainly of the opinion that I've had some kind of anxiety attack, which they can prescribe me medication for, but in light of my recent medical shocker, I should talk to the actual doctor and probably have a blood test first.

I wince when she draws the blood. "Now, wait here," she advises me, turning to leave the room. "I'll send the doctor in."

I draw a long breath through my nose, waiting behind the mostly-closed door, giving Phoebe a moment to get further away. Then I wipe at the drying tears on my face and sneak out. I keep one hand on my stomach, as if to give the impression that it might be bothering me still. If anyone inquires, I'll ask about the location of bathroom.

Just…try and act like I belong. Because I do. I am certainly a sick victor, even if there's no real physical reason for me to be in the hospital.

I pass an open door to a room like where I recovered following my win, rather than the exam room I came from. This must be about the right area.

One empty room, another, a closed door. The little piece of paper beside the door gives its occupant away: "J. Umber."

It isn't locked. I burst in.

Even compared to the quiet of the top floor, this space seems as silent as a tomb. Jack is lying in bed, some line of intravenous fluids running to his arm.

I tiptoe closer. He's sleeping. Probably because he's drugged. "Jack," I whisper.

He doesn't stir. I stroke his hair. "Psst, Jack," my voice strains with urgency even as I try to keep it quiet, "Wake up."

His eyelids flicker a bit.

I'd like to disconnect him from the bag of fluids, but I'm afraid of hurting him through my ignorance, so I leave it. I move his arm a bit and perch myself on the edge of the bed alongside him. I lean over, looking at him. There are bags under his eyes, but other than that, I can't say he looks particularly bad. He's just tired. The supposed nervous breakdown is only a cover for his sudden lack of hesitation to hold back the truth.

I should've called him sooner. I should've said something- done something. I should've stopped this from happening (…but maybe I couldn't have).

…I don't have forever to be here. I grit my teeth. "Jack," I grasp and squeeze his hand, "C'mon."

He starts to break through. "Huh?" his bleary eyes focus on me, "Mags? Am I dreaming?"

"You've started waking up, so don't stop now," I encourage him.

"Peter…Bren, Nick, Zeno, Elmo?" he slurs a little from sleep and drugs still in his system.

"Yeah," I keep at it, "Peter, Brendan, Nicholas, Zeno, Elmo. That's right. Someone big must've been watching out for you."

"I told," he recalls, "I told about us and, boy, did it bring the house down."

"Yeah, well," I am intent, "If they ask you again, tell them it was a game or a lie or something. You told the truth about something they didn't like and look where it stuck you. …I'm not an officially approved visitor, you know. I snuck in here to see you."

"You're amazing," he shakes his head, barely lifted from the pillow.

I sigh. Maybe he's just not with it enough for us to have this conversation and have any of it actually get through to him. …But I try again. "Jack, forget about the wedding, forget about being married. Neither of us need any more trouble. You know that I love you, right? Isn't that enough?"

"…no," he struggles, "It's not so easily, but I'm not letting it go. I've talked to Sophie and my escort and even Miss Star… I can still take care of it."

I don't like the sound of that, although I can't say precisely why beyond the fact, I suppose, that he hasn't been able to take care of any of it so far. But it's more than that. Maybe because a part of Jack that I've never met- but have seen (swinging his fists; spitting out teeth)- is that part that is willing to do anything. Absolutely anything. But just because you're willing to do anything, though, doesn't mean it will work.

If we ask for more, we're going to exchange what we have for nothing. I'm just sure. I have this sinking feeling, like a weight slowly sinking a baited hook below the surface.

"I'm not asking for this, Jack," I respond at length. I'm not sure what he'll say if I just out and tell him "I don't want you to die."

"I know," he answers. "You don't need to ask."

Why's he so stubborn? Why won't he give up on this? …I find I do hope that he's got too much…whatever…in him to remember all of this conversation. It's frustrating and I feel sort of sick for real now and probably it doesn't help that my hormones are still a mess. I just start crying.

Jack seems to snap to a bit more (though not all the way) at this. "Aww, Mags," he pushes himself up to sit and puts his arms around me, "Don't cry. I'm sorry. I'll do whatever you want."

It's too late for now. I can't stop crying.

"I love you," he says. He kisses my forehead. Then he starts to sing.

Jack is still singing when Phoebe opens the door with two other nurses and a doctor behind her and holds up her hands, shrugging at the two of us.

With some mix of skepticism and annoyance warring on his face, the doctor listens to me and prescribes one medication to calm my stomach and another to calm my nerves.

When I go down and meet Aulie in the waiting room, with the plastic containers of pills in a paper bag, he shows me a sheepish smile. "Nar called me up and chewed me out for sneaking you here. Seems that the hospital staff tattled on you. Slipping out and visiting your- your husband?" he pauses there, "Well, I guess I've learned that doesn't fall within under medical confidentiality."

I sort of smile myself at Aulie's words. "Thanks for doing it anyway," I shake my head. "…And that's true. But don't say it anymore. We've had enough trouble as it is."

"Nar wanted you to come over to his office, but I told him I wouldn't take you there," Aulie seems a little proud of himself as he repeats this incident to me. "I didn't tell him in as polite of words."

Aulie takes me back to his house. I call Papa to let him know that I'm all right and that I've seen Jack and if he's not in the most optimum condition, I think, ultimately, things will turn out okay. After that call, Aulie temporarily disconnects his phone to keep Nar from guessing this is where I've ended up and bothering me here. We both laugh hysterically about it because we're terrible, I guess, but we're being terrible together.

We have a very quiet rest of the day and night. Agitated as I actually am, I don't take any of the medicine.

I dream about Jack singing to a baby, though, even in the dream, I feel vaguely sad.

It isn't a cheering thought to wake up to.

I join Aulie eating some kind of way too sugary to make sense as a breakfast sort of colored marshmallows and stuff from a box in front of his large television.

Principa, from the morning news show, has gone to visit Jack in the hospital. To show the general public that he's all right, I guess (or to stop any of his other friends and associates from pulling the same stunt I did, possibly).

"Hi," he greets her shyly. He looks very tired still, but he seems less drugged than when I visited. He apologizes for the trouble the other day, saying that it's true that all the stress of late has been getting to him. He doesn't speak directly to his remark about our marriage. Maybe that's Jack's sort of compromise between his personal feelings and what he told me.

"I know you're all going to miss seeing me once a week on Morning Rainbow, but the ones who know best have decided that, for my health, I should take a short leave of absence. I plan to spend the next month back home in District One, recuperating."

Principa fawns over him, saying how he works himself too hard and how strange it's going to be without him around the studio, even if it's just for a month.

"I really do apologize," Jack seems to repeat himself, "To my friend Mags, in particular. …For all the trouble that I've caused her on top of the problems within her own life."

Principa thanks Jack one last time and the show turns to the national weather report. Teallia, the weather girl, overdoes it about conditions in the Capitol, as usual (it's not like there's ever more than one type of weather going on in an area this size really), and beings to breeze through the districts in number order.

But this time, Teallia is the one suddenly cut away from as the live cameras turn back on at the hospital.

In the four and a half minutes we were watching the weather, Jack, rather upset (more reasonably to my ears than those of the average viewer knowing how he had wanted to keep on pushing to get his way), was dosed with a stronger medication than before to calm him, to which he had a severe reaction, and…

And there is a flurry of noise and action in the room behind Principa, mostly blocked from sight her, as she tries to explain what's happening to the viewers at home, unable to keep her worry masked behind professionalism.

Jack's heart doesn't start again.