Five minutes after the reaping ceremony ends, we're on the tribute train, watching District 12 disappear behind us. Normally tributes get an hour to say goodbye to family and friends, but not us. "New procedure," Romulus Thread had informed us with an evil smile, before Haymitch, Peeta, Effie, and I were all escorted straight through the Justice Building by a Peacekeeper squad.

I'm not as bothered by this as I might otherwise be. Mom and Prim, Gale, even Madge – they all already know what they mean to me. I had plenty of advance notice of my reaping to make sure nothing important was left unsaid. And the plan is that I'll be back in a month, making dramatic goodbyes unnecessary. They all just said goodbye to me last year, anyway. And the most important person in my life is on the train with me.

Haymitch, of course, doesn't have anyone left who would have visited him, other than Peeta and me.

Dinner on the train is subdued, with Effie the only one attempting conversation and Peeta the only one humoring her. She has a new gold wig to match the color of my mockingjay pin, she wants to get Peeta and Haymitch golden baubles of their own so we all match, and it couldn't possibly matter any less. I try to ignore her and enjoy my custard.

The recap of the reapings affects me far more than it did last year, because after studying Games tapes for the last two months I now recognize every tribute reaped. Peeta marks down who is chosen in our notebook; I know we'll go over our notes on them in detail later, so I try to just let it all wash over me for now.

Five out of the six Career tributes are very dangerous competitors. District 1 sends Gloss and Cashmere, a beautiful brother and sister pair who won in back to back years about a decade ago. The man from Two is Brutus, a tall, muscular man who reminded me of a more thoughtful, less impulsive Cato when we watched his Games. The other District 2 tribute is Enobaria, a woman famous for having killed one of the other tributes in her Games by ripping his throat open with her teeth. She later commemorated this by having her teeth altered to end in sharp points and inlaid with gold. She has no shortage of admirers in the Capitol, and will attract plenty of sponsor support.

District 4 sends the famous Capitol heartthrob Finnick Odair as their male tribute. He was already a deadly killing machine at 14 and will only be more dangerous a decade later, and his legions of Capitol fans will be lining up to sponsor him. When 70th Games victor Annie Cresta is called as the female tribute from Four, she becomes hysterical, and old Mags volunteers to take her place. Mags is Panem's oldest living Victor. She needs a cane to walk up on stage.

The only non-Career who stands out to me as someone to be worried about is Johanna Mason from District 7, whose Games we just watched a few days ago since she was as certain to be reaped as I was. She pretended to be weak and helpless for most of her Games and was ignored by everyone. Then when there were only a handful of tributes left, she suddenly transformed into a vicious axe-wielding killer and wiped out her remaining competition. There'll be no pretending for her this time. She's one of the most dangerous tributes in these Games.

Mason is the only living female victor from Seven, just like I'm the only living female victor from Twelve. How fortunate that this particular Quarter Quell card, supposedly written 75 years ago, has come up in the first year ever when all of the districts have at least one male and one female victor available.

The other tributes are mostly unremarkable on first blush. Both of the District Six tributes are emaciated morphling addicts; odds are they'll be going through withdrawal before I encounter them in the arena. District Eight sends Cecelia, the woman President Snow mentioned to me as another victor ordered to have children. Three young ones cling to her when she is called at the reaping. The last tribute chosen before us is Chaff from Eleven, who I know to be one of Haymitch's closest friends amongst the victors.

Finally they show District 12. I am called, then Haymitch. The announcers seem to think that my admonition to Peeta not to volunteer to die is "a potential rift between the Star-Crossed Lovers." They manage, for about half a minute, to seem very sad about me going into the Games pregnant. Then they brighten up and proclaim that "these will be the best Games ever!"

As soon as the recap ends, Haymitch stands up and leaves without saying a word. Effie makes a comment or two, but when we don't respond she also retires for the evening. I sit leaning against Peeta as he goes through our notebook, tearing out the pages that cover victors who are not in these Games and putting them into a separate folder. "Why are you saving those?" I ask.

"Some of them may be the mentors I'll be dealing with," he says. I don't know how their fighting styles from when they were 16 will help Peeta deal with them as mentors in their 30s or 50s, but I guess every little bit of information helps.

That night, while I curl into Peeta's side to find as much sleep as I can, he sits up in bed going through our notes. By breakfast he's downing coffee like Haymitch used to down liquor, but he has a complete breakdown of our competitors ready for us. He's identified six tributes as the most dangerous people in these Games, strong fighters who are still young and fit, and they're the same six I took note of last night: Cashmere and Gloss from One, Brutus and Enobaria from Two, Finnick Odair from Four, and Johanna Mason from Seven. He also has notes on victors who won their Games for reasons other than fighting prowess, each one posing a threat that will not be diminished by age. For instance, Beetee from Three won his Games by killing his remaining competitors with an electrical trap. Hoss from Ten was able to manipulate the other tributes into fighting each other, leaving only one severely-injured enemy between him and his victory. People with skills and wits like that will be just as lethal at 50 as they were at 15, if not more so.

The saddest part, to me, are the tributes Peeta has deemed to be our weakest competition. Mags from Four is an 80-year-old stroke victim. Woof from Eight is nearly as old and stopped mentoring several years ago due to his advancing dementia. And far more than just the two morphlings I remember from last night have destroyed their bodies with various addictions. Haymitch is actually in pretty good shape compared to a lot of them. Haymitch warns us not to take any of the tributes lightly, that these are all experienced killers and none of them won their Games by chance. But at the same time I can't help but hope I'm not the one who has to kill the very old or the infirm among them.

By the time we arrive in the Capitol I'm thoroughly depressed about the whole thing. Peeta escorts me through the crowd at the train station, but we're separated once we arrive at the Remake Center and I'm brought to my prep team. Peeta isn't even in the next room getting ready for Portia this time, Haymitch is. Peeta is off doing whatever it is mentors do.

Prep is another ordeal, as Flavius, Octavia, and Venia seem to spend the whole time having intermittent breakdowns over the tragedy of my re-entry into the Games. It's not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but from the way they're behaving you'd think this is the first bit of adversity they've ever faced in their lives, and they are completely out of their depth in trying to deal with it. On second thought, this is the Capitol. That might actually be true.

After spending my morning consoling others about my own impending death, I've never been more thankful for Cinna's calm demeanor. After lunch, he does my hair and makeup himself rather than let the prep team bawl all over me again. He covers my face in dark tones, with the highlights only marginally brighter. I look like I'm standing in shadow, even in the brightly lit room.

The look makes no sense to me until I put on the costume. It appears to be a simple black jumpsuit, but when Cinna presses a button on the inside of my left wrist the suit begins to light up. Dim patterns of reds and oranges, gradually increasing in intensity until my whole body gives off the image of smoldering coals, the kind that can linger for hours in the firebox but can also be stoked back into a roaring flame at any time. The message this outfit sends will be crystal clear to anyone who's ever worked with a coal fire: You should have left well enough alone, the ensuing conflagration is entirely your own fault.

Cinna hits the button again so as not to run down the suit's battery pack before the ceremony. "Now, when you're on the chariot this time, no waving, no smiling. I want you to look straight ahead, as if the entire audience is beneath your notice. Do you think you can do that?"

I'm honestly not sure I could do anything else.

Finally dressed and ready, I head down to the ground floor of the Remake Center to await the start of the opening ceremony. The other Victors are freely mingling with one another, tributes and mentors alike, regardless of district. They all know each other from years of mentoring, and don't seem to be in any hurry to acknowledge their new status as deadly enemies. The Peacekeepers surrounding us seem to be carefully observing this display of camaraderie, but they make no move to intervene.

I don't know any of the other victors, and Peeta and Haymitch aren't here yet, so with nothing better to do I spend my time petting the horses that will pull the District 12 chariot tonight. Other than Prim's pets I don't really have a lot of experience with animals I'm not hunting, so I can't help but think of how long my family could eat with the meat from one of these huge beasts. Longer than the meat would last, certainly. I'd have to sell it. But bringing this much meat to Rooba or to the Hob at once would single-handedly flood the market and decrease the price I'd get. It would probably take all four of the Mellark men just to move the carcass, even after field-dressing.

My thoughts are interrupted when one of the other victors approaches me. It's a nearly naked man, dripping in body oil, dressed in only a strategically-bunched golden fishnet. I'm so distracted by the nudity that it takes me several moments to recognize the famous Finnick Odair.

Finnick's bronze hair has been carefully styled to look tousled, like it hasn't been styled at all. And clearly his stylist has decided that the more of his golden skin that's put on display, the better. I'm thankful once again for Cinna and his restraint.

Finnick's sea-green eyes are full of mischief as he comes over and leans against one of the horses like he doesn't have a care in the world. "Hello, Katniss," he says casually, as if we've known each other for years.

I try to sound just as casual as I answer. "Hello, Finnick."

"Want a sugar cube?" he asks. He holds out his hand, which is piled high with them. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I... Well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick." Then he pops one into his mouth and loudly crunches on it.

As usual, Finnick Odair is all casual sex appeal and seductiveness, but I find that in person the act feels a lot less casual and a lot more forced. Like everything else in the Capitol, it feels overdone and fake. I guess that's why it appeals to Capitolites so much.

"No, thanks," I say to the sugar. And because I don't want him to know exactly how unnerved I am by him, I add, "I'm sure Peeta'd love it if I borrowed your outfit sometime, though."

"What, he doesn't like these skintight jumpsuits you're always in for these things?" He makes a show of raking his gaze up and down my body. I feel like I need a shower. "Though based on that makeup, I bet you'll be terrifying once your stylist turns on his magic. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses you used to wear?" He wets his lips ever so slightly with his tongue, which I assume is meant to be seductive, but instead it makes me think of old Cray, salivating over some poor, starving young woman come to sell herself.

"I guess they clash with the pregnancy," I say with what I hope is a casual shrug.

Now Finnick stops leaning on the horse and closes the distance between us. He stands uncomfortably close to me, but I hold myself back from reacting as he takes the collar of my outfit and runs it between his fingers. "It's too bad about this Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

Something about the way he says this makes me shiver. I don't think I want to know what I would be doing in exchange for those things. I swipe my arm up and knock his hand away. "All I've really ever wanted is to be left alone. I don't like jewels, and I already have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on, anyway?" I say.

"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years," says Finnick.

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" I ask.

"With secrets," he says softly. He leans forward so his lips are almost in contact with mine. I lean back, trying to create some space between us but unwilling to let him make me take an actual step in retreat. Finnick smirks briefly at my efforts. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?" he asks.

For some stupid reason, I actually consider his question. I spend so much of my time pretending for an audience, so you'd think I had things I was hiding. But what am I trying to convince people of that isn't already true? That I love Peeta? That I pulled out those berries because I couldn't stand to let him die? Snow thinks I'm hiding something, I'm sure. But I live in a house in the Victor's Village, probably one of the most bugged buildings in Twelve. The only thing I've ever tried to hide from Snow is the extent of my hatred for him, and that's more out of politeness than anything else. I can't imagine he doesn't know how I truly feel.

"No, I'm an open book," I tell Finnick. "My biggest secret is that I have no secrets."

Finnick smiles, but it somehow makes him seem more serious. "That may be the most dangerous secret of all," he whispers. Then his eyes flicker off to the side. "Looks like Peeta is coming. I'll leave you alone with your dear husband." He smirks at me as he stands back up straight. "I hope we can be friends, Katniss. It'd be a real shame if you tried to kill me at the end of the week." He tosses another sugar cube in his mouth and saunters off.

After a moment Peeta is beside me, dressed in black pants and a dress shirt whose colors somewhat mimic the effect of my suit. He wraps an arm around me and kisses my temple. "What did Finnick Odair want?" he asks.

"He offered me a sugar cube and wanted to know all my secrets," I say dryly.

Peeta laughs. "Ugh. Not really."

"Really," I say. "I'll tell you more when my skin stops crawling."

We're quiet for a moment. I find myself looking around the room, observing the other Victors. It reinforces to me how the Games destroy everyone, even the victor. Especially the victor. Even the ones who aren't drunk or otherwise intoxicated are obviously not well. Whether the twitchy nerves of the two from Three, or the bloodlust displayed by the victors from Two, the constant bed-hopping of Finnick Odair, the angry tirade Johanna Mason is directing at her stylist – none of these people are well.

Then again, are Peeta and I really any better? We got married at 16, waiting all of two days after our Capitol chaperone left us. We had the mayor perform a special ceremony because we couldn't wait another eighteen hours for the Justice Building to open. Maybe just because we're dependant on each other instead of liquor or morphling or casual sex doesn't make us any more well-adjusted than the others.

Peeta must be making similar observations of those around us. "Do you think we'd have ended up like this if only one of us had won? Just another part of the freak show?" he asks me.

"Who says we aren't?" I say.

Peeta looks confused for a moment, but then he seems to get it. His next words confirm he's thinking along the same lines I am. "I can see that. Maybe we don't share the same weaknesses as the others, but I guess we have our own." He turns me towards him and wraps both of his arms around my waist. My arms naturally find their way around his neck. "For instance," he says, "I definitely have a weakness for you."

"Is that so?" I say as I smile up at him.

"Mmm-hmm," he mumbles. "But I learned something important once, from one of the smartest people I've ever known."

"What's that?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"The only way I can face my weakness is with you there to give me strength."

I can't do anything but smile up at him. Of course he would remember one offhand comment I made almost a full year ago. I don't even try to counter-argue him, even though I think he's wrong in his estimation; if I was as smart as he says I am, I wouldn't be going back into the arena. Instead we just stand there staring at each other's eyes for a long moment.

It does make me think, though. A full year ago… "Do you remember where we were just a year ago?" I ask Peeta.

"We were right here," Peeta says, somewhat bemused.

"Well, yeah, but that's not what I meant." Thinking about it now, I'm almost staggered by just how much has happened in my life in only one year. "What were you thinking a year ago tonight?" I ask. "I remember, I was still trying to psych myself up to kill you, even though I didn't want to. I was trying to figure out why you were pretending to be nice to me; if you really thought I was so stupid that you could lull me into trusting you, or if you had some other strategy I couldn't figure out."

Peeta just smiles a small, sad smile at my reminiscence of preparing to kill him. "I remember you looked amazing in that flaming headdress," he says softly. "You looked pretty amazing in that jumpsuit and boots even before they lit you," he adds with a smirk. I lightly smack his chest. "I remember standing on that cart, holding your hand, looking at your face against a backdrop of flames, and thinking that if I could just kiss you once before dying in the arena, then I could die happy."

"You know," I say with a smile as I tilt my head slightly, "you could kiss me now, if you wanted to."

Peeta starts to lean in even as he asks, "I won't ruin your makeup?"

"I'm sure Cinna thought of that," I get out before our lips finally touch.

I don't think it's too much later when our kiss is interrupted by Haymitch. "I did not need to see that one more time before I die. You'll be in your own room in an hour, you can't keep your tongues in your own mouths until then?"

I look up to see that all of the other tributes are on their chariots now. And most of them are staring at Peeta and me. Well, let them stare. We're the Star-Crossed Lovers, is it really that surprising to see us kissing?

It's strange seeing Haymitch made up for the parade. He's dressed identically to me, of course. He even mimics the look of my pregnant belly with the residual paunch he wasn't able to work off in only two months of training.

Peeta helps Haymitch and me up into the chariot, then has to hurry away to get to the mentor seating section to view the parade. With Cinna and Portia nowhere to be seen, Haymitch and I go ahead and turn our suits on. Now everyone's staring at us again, because it's clear that District 12 will be the breakout star of the tribute parade, again.

I take a moment to glance at the other districts' costumes, and it strikes me how utterly absurd they look on adults. It's one thing to take an unknown teenage girl and dress her up like a tree, but to dress notoriously lethal 22-year-old Johanna Mason that way is almost comical. The District 3 tributes are a woman in her 40s and a man in his 50s, and they look ridiculous covered in blinking lights. And the District 10 tributes are dressed as cows, with flaming belts. Are they supposed to be broiling themselves? The brilliance of Cinna and Portia's work last year went far beyond just putting fire somewhere in the outfit, though apparently the Ten stylists don't quite understand that.

I turn to examine Haymitch. He doesn't look nearly as ridiculous as some of the other adult victors, Portia and Cinna are too talented for that, but because I know him better the stark contrast to his usual appearance stands out even more. I know the focus of the audience will be on the effect of our suits, but even a dazzling costume wouldn't rescue some of these tributes. Haymitch has always been stout and strong, and now he's fitter than he's been in probably 20 years. He looks like a powerful guardian, ready to intervene between my baby and danger. His steady presence gives me the confidence I need to face this audience without Peeta.

If someone would have told me last year that I would ever think of Haymitch as steady or reassuring, I would have laughed in their face. But here we are.

"So Portia tells me we're supposed to act bored and indifferent, like we couldn't care less about any of these people," Haymitch says. Then he smirks at me. "You think you can handle that, Sweetheart?"

I smirk back at him. "Finally someone decided to play to my strengths. Why didn't any of you come up with this last year?"

As the music begins and the doors open, Haymitch and I take a moment to compose our stern expressions for the parade. The District 1 chariot is just leaving when I think back to Cinna's final instructions from last year. I look over to Haymitch, this man who has pledged to die in place of my husband, and I hold out my hand.

It takes Haymitch a moment to notice my movement, and when he does he eyes me suspiciously. "I'm not your star-crossed lover, Sweetheart," he says.

"We're a team, Haymitch," I say. After a moment, he takes my hand. Of course we'll go into this as a team.

The crowd responds enthusiastically to our costumes, but I ignore them as we make our way along the parade route. They are not worthy of my notice or my attention, and this year I get to act like it. This is the first time I've been on television where I've actually gotten to act like myself. I kind of love it.

I can see from the screens along the parade route that we're the focus of attention of the cameras as well. Our costumes are brilliant and captivating, our refusal to acknowledge the crowd just seems to draw them in more, and my obviously pregnant belly gets plenty of attention of its own. Without thinking about it too much I bring my free hand up to my stomach, giving it a small rub now and then but mostly just resting my hand over my baby, as if by doing so I can offer him any more comfort or protection than he's already enjoying in my womb. The cameras of course catch every tiny movement.

I continue to glare straight ahead until we come within sight of the City Circle. Then I shift my gaze up towards the balcony. Once I can see him, my glare of disdain is directed no longer at a random point in the distance, but directly at President Snow. Haymitch squeezes my hand, trying to warn me off, but I don't shift my gaze. As Snow surveys the tributes, our eyes meet for several seconds, and I'm not the one to look away. I continue to glare straight at him throughout his speech, until the anthem plays and the chariot caries us away from the mansion. Haymitch and I are still the focus of the video screens, there's no way they could have missed my exchange with Snow. They'd have to not show me at all during the ceremony to edit it out.

We don't relax our expressions until the doors to the Training Center have closed behind us. Peeta is there waiting for us, he helps me down from the chariot and gives me a big hug and a kiss. "You were amazing out there," he half-whispers in my ear. "Though I'm not sure trying to glare the president to death was a good idea."

"What else is he going to do to me?" I ask with a shrug.

Meanwhile, Haymitch has made his way over to the District Eleven chariot, and he brings their tributes over to us. The male tribute, of course, is Haymitch's friend Chaff. But it's the female tribute, a woman named Seeder who won her Games over 40 years ago, who walks straight to me and embraces me without saying a word. It makes me uncomfortable at first, but I can only assume this has something to do with my interactions with her tributes last year, Rue and Thresh, so I return the embrace. Because I may not get another chance to find out what happened after our disastrous Victory Tour appearance, I whisper to her, "The families?"

"They're alive," she whispers back, and I'm flooded with relief. She steps back, and Chaff approaches me.

Chaff throws his good arm around me, and I'm expecting him to embrace me like Seeder did. That's what I'm expecting right up until he shoves his face at me and gives me a big kiss right on the mouth! What the hell was that? He smells disgusting, like Haymitch's house before Hazelle cleaned it out. I jerk back, startled, while he and Haymitch guffaw at each other. When Chaff turns his attention back towards me, I rear back and punch him as hard as I can in the throat. Haymitch actually cries out in surprise. Chaff just makes a kind of a gurgling sound and falls to the floor, clutching at his neck and struggling for breath.

I can feel Peeta's arm back around me, partly as comfort, partly to try to hold me back from pressing my attack on Chaff. I look up at Seeder. She looks like she's trying not to smile. "When he gets himself together, tell him not to do that again," I tell her. She just nods at me.

Just then two Peacekeepers walk up to our group, eyeing Chaff wheezing on the floor before looking at the rest of us. I try not to be nervous; it's against the rules for tributes to fight before the arena, but I don't know what the punishment would be, exactly. They're already sending me back into the Games.

"What's going on here?" one of the Peacekeepers demands.

Seeder surprises me by being the one to speak up. "I think poor Chaff here has had too much to drink," she says simply. It seems to be enough for the Peacekeepers, though, as they allow attendants to usher the rest of us towards the waiting elevators.

Haymitch and Seeder hang back, I assume to help Chaff. Peeta and I are approaching an elevator when we are joined by Johanna Mason of District 7, her tree costume rustling with every movement. As she walks she strips off her leafy headdress and dumps it on the floor, seemingly not giving it a second thought. She ruffles up her spiky hair and rolls her wide-set brown eyes. "Isn't my costume awful? My stylist's the biggest idiot in the Capitol. Our tributes have been trees for forty years under her. Wish I'd gotten Cinna. You look fantastic."

"Cinna's the best," I say flatly, not really wanting to prolong the conversation.

While we wait for the elevators, Johanna unzips the rest of her tree, letting it drop to the floor, and then kicks it away in disgust. There isn't a stitch of clothing left on her except for her forest-green slippers. "That's better," she says with a smirk.

We end up on the same elevator with her. She spends the ride trying to chat with us about our paintings. I spend the ride trying not to look at the light of my still-glowing costume reflecting off of her bare breasts. Peeta effortlessly carries the conversation, not nearly as unnerved by Johanna's nudity as I'd like him to be. I manage to tune out most of their conversation, until just before we arrive at Johanna's floor when she starts talking about me.

"She's been standing there like a statue this whole time. Does she ever talk, or is she just brainless?"

I expect Peeta to defend me, but instead he laughs lightly and says, "She talks when she has something to say."

Johanna scoffs. "Please. She won't even look at me. She's gotta be brainless if she's passing up this golden opportunity. If only you knew what people have done to try to get their hands on my body!" Mercifully the elevator has finally reached the seventh floor, and Johanna saunters off into her suite.

When she leaves, I toss aside Peeta's hand and cross my arms over my chest. Peeta just breaks out laughing.

"What?" I say. "Thanks for defending me, by the way."

"Come on, Katniss," he says, shaking his head. "Can't you see what they're doing?"

"What are they doing?" I say as we finally arrive at our floor and leave the elevator.

"Look how they're all acting. Finnick with his sugar cubes and Chaff kissing you and that whole thing with Johanna stripping down." He can tell that I'm truly upset, and he tries to take on a more serious tone, but fails and lets out another laugh. "They're playing with you, Katniss. They think they can get a rise out of you, and you have to admit, so far they've been right."

I frown at that. "So they're playing mind games, trying to psych me out before the Games?"

"I don't think it's that serious," he says. "It's more just… feeling you out? Getting a read on you?" He shrugs. "Or they're just trying to entertain themselves."

I scowl and tighten my arms around myself. "Well I'm glad you're all having fun at my expense."

Peeta sighs. "Think about it from their perspective. They don't know you, they've only ever seen you on television. The twirling girl in the pretty dress from your interview. The silly girl you pretended to be on the Victory Tour. But also the extremely lethal girl who killed four of the Careers last year. Now that they're finally meeting you in person, they're just trying to figure you out, that's all."

Finnick did specifically mention the dresses that made me look like a little girl. But I'm not ready to not be mad yet. "No they're not, they're laughing at me, and so are you!" I say.

"Believe me, Chaff isn't laughing at you anymore," he says, suppressing another laugh. "And I'm more laughing at them. They have no idea who they're dealing with."

"Johanna's laughing at me," I say, and even in my own ears I sound like a sullen child.

"Well, you didn't punch her in the throat," Peeta says with another chuckle. He can see my mood isn't improving, so he walks over to me and wraps his arms around me. I don't respond, keeping my own arms crossed between us. "You know, there's nothing wrong with being a mystery to the other Victors. Most of them are people I don't mind being different from."

"I'm going to have to be more like them to survive again," I say. The thought deflates me a little.

Peeta sighs. "Maybe. Some. But it's not like we didn't already do this last year. We're not exactly pure here."

Peeta's right. As he just said, I already killed four people. I finally uncross my arms so I can return Peeta's embrace. "What about when you're watching me murder people on television?"

Peeta seems surprised by the notion. "What, you think it will change my opinion of you?" He shakes his head. "Katniss, I don't care what you do in the arena. I don't care if you kill all 23 of the other tributes with your bare hands. I don't care if you bathe in their blood and wear their entrails as a necklace. All I care about is that you come back to me."

Now I'm thinking about the other tributes. The ones I met tonight. The ones I saw on the recap yesterday. The ones we studied at breakfast – was that really just this morning? I think about Chaff, with his stump. Seeder, who seemed kind. Old Mags and Woof. The morphlings from 6. Cecelia, with three young children. All of them will have to die for me to survive these Games.

"All I care about is that you come back to me," Peeta repeats more forcefully. And despite my misgivings, I nod against his chest. I can't say that surviving is the only thing I care about; recently I find myself caring about nearly everything, and able to actually help with nearly nothing. But I grew up in the Seam, I know how to prioritize. And while there are certainly people and causes and goals that I would be willing to sacrifice my life for, absolutely nothing takes priority over making sure that my child – Peeta's child, our child – survives these Games.

I don't feel like dealing with other people right now, so I'm about to suggest we go to our room and skip dinner when the elevator opens again and Effie and Haymitch join us. Now that Effie has seen us there's no escaping dinner. She's ushering us towards our rooms to change when Haymitch stops dead in his tracks by the entrance to the dining room. Effie looks angry and confused – which is her usual expression when dealing with Haymitch, really – but when she follows his gaze she brightens considerably. "Looks like they've got you a matched set this year," she says.

I turn and look towards the dining area, and it's immediately obvious what caused Haymitch's reaction. There are two Avoxes standing by the wall, waiting to serve us dinner, and their hair color is nearly identical. One of them is the redheaded girl from last year.

The other is Darius.

I haven't seen him since he was carried away, still unconscious, the night Gale was whipped. The entire Peacekeeper contingent was replaced after that night, I never saw a familiar face in uniform again, so Darius's disappearance didn't stand out to me. I wonder if this is punishment specifically for trying to help Gale, or if similar fates awaited the rest of the old Twelve Peacekeepers, who left so many crimes unpunished for so long. Is Purnia also somewhere in this city, serving dinner without a tongue? What about old Cray?

I see the pain in Darius's eyes as he recognizes me, but neither of us dares acknowledge one another. The room around me seems to fall away, and all I can hear is Darius's booming, cheerful voice ringing out across the Hob. The teasing lilt he would use when he offered to trade me a kiss for one of my rabbits. Now he'll never speak again.

I don't know how long Haymitch and I spend gawking at Darius, but it's long enough for Peeta to grab us each by a shoulder and pull us back away from the doorway while he tries to cover for us. "Ah, great, you've found the Avoxes. Can you two help us out for a few minutes? I have a feeling we're going to have to do some room shuffling."

I catch Effie visibly relaxing as Peeta starts treating the Avoxes like Avoxes; I had been so preoccupied that I didn't even notice her concern at our reaction. Haymitch starts playing along with Peeta, but I don't have it in me to do the same right now. I just go to my room and curl up on the bed.

Of course, Peeta is right, there is some rearranging to do. I'm in the female tribute's room, the same room I was in last year. But Peeta has been assigned to a mentor's bedroom, while Haymitch is in the male tribute's room across the hall from me. Since I'm already in my room, Peeta has clothes removed from the wardrobe in the mentor's room and moved into my room. Once Peeta has vacated the mentor's room, Haymitch has his things moved in there. There isn't any substantial difference between the rooms, but he's been using that room for 24 years and he's used to it by now.

I don't participate in these moves at all, I remain in bed curled into a ball. Or at least as curled into a ball as I can get with my ever-growing belly in the way. I'm so wrapped up in my thoughts that I don't even notice Peeta in the room with me until he lays down behind me and pulls me into his warm embrace. "He's just trying to rattle you," Peeta says into my ear. "Don't give him the satisfaction."

"That's easy for you to say," I snap. Peeta barely knew Darius! But even as the words leave my mouth I know I'm being unfair. The same as I did earlier when we got off the elevator, I'm taking out my fear and frustration on Peeta just because he's willing to take it.

"He's sending my pregnant wife back into the arena," Peeta points out, pain lacing his voice. "I think I know what it's like when the president tries to break you."

I can't take it anymore, I turn around so that I can return Peeta's embrace. He immediately has an arm wrapped around my back and a hand tangled in the hair behind my head, pulling me tighter against him. "I'm sorry," I mumble into his chest. "You don't deserve any of this. You don't deserve any of the mean things I've been saying to you. I don't know why you put up with me."

"Because I love you," he says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "Though I wouldn't mind if you remembered that I'm on your side," he adds.

"I know," I say. "I'm sorry," I repeat.

"Katniss, it's okay to be scared," he says. "We're all scared. We're all angry. We're all at our wit's end. But we can't afford to turn on each other. We need to remember who the real enemy is. Fight him, not me and Haymitch."

I know who my enemy is, and it's certainly not Peeta. It's not even Chaff or Finnick or Johanna or any of the other tributes. The only real enemy I have is President Snow, but I have no idea how to fight back against him. The only thing I can do for now is survive. My continued survival seems to be the biggest thorn in Snow's side that I'm capable of wielding right now.

After several minutes of simply holding each other, I speak up again. Seeing Darius has turned my thoughts maudlin, so much so that I actually want to express myself through words, while I still can. "I was wrong, you know. When we got married. I was wrong." Peeta opens his mouth to interrupt me, but I keep talking before he can. "Do you remember when we went to the mayor's house, and I said I wouldn't love you more than I already did? I couldn't have been more wrong, because I love you more every day. And if I –"

Peeta cuts me off. "Don't even think about that…"

"No, Peeta. Listen to me." I lift my head slightly so I can stare directly into Peeta's blue eyes as I speak. "You know I'm not good at saying things. But you deserve to hear me say it. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I love you a little bit more each day. Even when I'm being awful to you. And if I don't come out of that arena, I want you to know how thankful I am for the time we've had together."

"I know, Katniss," he says.

"It was a near thing, remember. I could have pushed you away, denied what I was feeling. Tried to pretend nothing had changed in the Games. That would have been the worst mistake of my life. And even if– Even if it all ends in a few days, letting myself love you was the best decision I've ever made."

Peeta takes a long moment to let my statement sink in before he speaks again. "You know, I thought I loved you. Back before the reaping. I'd watch you from afar, I'd see you with Gale and I'd be jealous, and I thought, I love that girl, and one day I'm gonna tell her. I was a fool, because whatever I felt for you back then, it doesn't even rate a mention compared to how much I love you now." Peeta takes a deep breath before continuing. "That's why I'm not giving up. And you can't either. Cause I'm not done loving you. And I'm sure as hell not done being loved by you. So you can't give up. You have to fight."

"Peeta, do you ever think that…" I trail off, unable to complete the thought, but Peeta's thoughts seem to be headed in the same dark direction as my own.

"Do I think that President Snow has given direct orders to make sure you die in the arena?" I nod, finally dropping my gaze from his. "It's crossed my mind," says Peeta.

Mine, too, I don't say.

"But he told us himself that's what he wanted last year, and look what happened instead," Peeta says. "If everything President Snow ordered came to pass, then we wouldn't be alive, and there wouldn't be uprisings in multiple districts. That's why we can't give up. Not for one second. We need to fight with absolutely everything we have until we're going home together on that train."

I nod against his chest. "I'm not done fighting," I promise him. And I know I'm not. I know that I'll spend the rest of my life with this man, and I'll do whatever it takes to make sure that that lifetime together lasts a lot longer than five more days.

…..

I really enjoy the end of this chapter. Give me K&P being all sappy and mushy with each other, that's the shit I live for. And AU!Katniss thinking about how absolutely miserable she'd be if she acted like canon!Katniss always amuses me.

In the novel, Katniss recognizes few of the tributes chosen for the 75th Games when they watch the reapings, and knows the names of even fewer. But in writing my version of this scene, I couldn't reconcile that ignorance with the fact that she's supposedly been studying the other Victors since the reading of the card. My best theory is that since she plans on dying in canon, she's watching the tapes mostly just to humor Peeta, and not really making note of much. But in this AU, when she is fighting to survive on behalf of her child, she would definitely be paying attention. So I had to frontload all the exposition about the other Victors, because there's no plausible reason why Katniss wouldn't already know all of it by this point in the story. Please know that however clunky those paragraphs turned out, they were far clunkier in earlier drafts.

Next chapter: Training for the Games! And maybe some other Victor activities.

Preview quote from Chapter 22:

"You know, you seem to be paying an awful lot of attention to Johanna Mason's breasts lately."