Meals on the train were a group activity. Breakfast was promptly served at 9am, lunch at about 12pm, and then dinner would depend on what time they'd wrap up things in the district they were visiting. The timing of the banquets often meant that they served as more of an afternoon snack than a full meal. A fuller, more complete dinner was served at about 9pm.

The 16 of them sat around a table which had been moved into the centre of the dining cart. That 16 included Nova, Cato, their escorts, mentors, stylists, and prep teams. Naturally, the Capitol residents tended to group together, which left Nova and Cato sitting side by side to one end of the table alongside their mentors. This allowed the prep teams and such to have their bubbly and animated group conversations without any interruptions or needing to shout across the table.

But this time it couldn't have been quieter. No one had really said much since they'd departed from District 5 late that afternoon. Usually, she'd give anything for everyone around her to just shut up for 5 minutes, but now she was prepared to pay people to start talking.

Nova poked at her lamb dish with her fork. It was a dish Katniss had mentioned once in an interview at the start of the games, one Nova remembered from their training days, and usually she didn't mind it, but the food on her plate looked menacing now. It felt like it was going out of her way to tauntingly remind her of how little Finch had eaten during her last few days.

Victoria Lyme, one of Cato's mentors, was the first to speak up after about 20 minutes. "That could've gone better."

Nova lifted her head to shoot the woman a disgruntled look. She already felt completely and entirely responsible for the incident — there was no need to rub salt into that fresh open wound.

"If it makes you feel any better, my dear, it wasn't as bad as District 11," Tiffany reassured Nova with a friendly smile. Nova wished there wasn't so much pity behind it.

Brutus made a low sound of amusement. "That's a low bar," he drawled.

"Yeah," Cato agreed. "Didn't someone get executed there?"

"An unknown number of civilians," Victoria answered, "including an elderly man and a 15 year old girl."

Tiffany rolled her eyes. "My apologies for trying to lighten the mood," she said tersely.

Luciana shook her head and placed her fork down. "No lightening the mood," she said bluntly, holding a finger up at Tiffany and then proceeding to point at Nova. "Your victor needs to hear it straight."

Mildly bemused, and slightly wary of whatever was about to leave the terrifying woman's mouth, Nova lowered her cutlery and turned to look at her. "Hear what straight?" she dared to ask.

"Nova, you had one simple job." Luciana spoke with a chiding tone, as if Nova was nothing but a petulant child. "Are you really telling me you couldn't wipe that pout off your face for 10 minutes? You won the games, and this is your reward," She gestured around them, "a gift from the Capitol. The least you could do is accept it graciously."

The silence had gone from awkward to tense in a fraction of a minute. Nova could almost see some of those around her cowering back into their seats. She was so shocked by the statement, the pure audacity of it, that a short laugh left her lips.

Her eyebrows raised. "Graciously?"

"Nova," Beetee interjected. She held a finger up at him before he could speak further.

"Luciana, have you ever been entered into the hunger games?" Nova asked her. Her tone was biting. "Have you ever slaughtered innocent children for just a chance of survival? Have you ever been covered in the blood of a 17 year old boy you butchered until he was unrecognisable?"

Victoria piped in. "Miss Croft, that's enough–"

"No," Nova shook her head, "but it's not. Because even after that, we relive the same nightmare day after day, year after year. So excuse me for my lack of enthusiasm and graciousness, but my life prospects are looking pretty shit in a way you'll clearly never understand. And don't you dare speak as though I'm the one being a tone-deaf bitch."

Her chair toppled over behind her as she left the room. She had no idea whether anyone had spoken after her; her rage had rendered her completely deaf to the world around her. Her ears were ringing with a shrill pitch that felt like a drill crackling through her skull.

By the time she could hear again — see anything aside from a sea of red — the floor in her room was covered in broken glass from several glasses she'd shattered beneath her. Her remaining hand was covered in tiny cuts. The blood poured down her arm and from her elbow onto the ground.

"Whoa."

Cato closed her door behind him. He stood in the doorway as he assessed the situation. Her eyes were red, as was her palm, and the carpeted floor that would undoubtedly need to be cleaned.

He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she immediately shook him off. Her breaths were painfully heavy, and her throat was sore with each ragged inhale.

"I'll never apologise to Luciana," Nova muttered.

"No one's expecting you to," Cato assured her. He placed her forgotten jacket down on her bed. "You left your–"

"I can't have handled that any better," Nova said. She shrugged resignedly. "What happened today, I was . . . That was the most I could do."

"I know that," he said.

"Yeah, you know that." Nova turned around. The tears in her eyes and in her voice were disgusting. Her guilty, shitty feeling all afternoon had now been perpetuated by one single throwaway comment, and the idea made her feel sick. "I'm sick of having to explain myself to everyone else."

"Then don't," Cato countered.

Nova scoffed. "Say something useful or get out."

"I mean it. You survived the hunger games." Cato grabbed hold of her shoulder to rotate her around. "You are the victor, and this is your Victory Tour. If anyone should decide how it'll go, it should be you."

His lips connected with hers in a light kiss. She felt a tear drip down her face, followed by a salty taste on her mouth and undoubtedly his too. He pulled back to examine the state of her palm before guiding her to the door with a hand on the small of her back.

"Let's get you to a medic before you bleed out over the floor," he said. He let go of her bloody hand in order to open the door. She felt cold in the absence of his contact.

"Why do I need a medic?" she said defensively, ultimately just apprehensive about leaving her room in her current state. "I dealt with your stab wound in the middle of a forest during a thunderstorm."

"Because we've since returned to civilisation, Cable Girl," he retorted, finding great humour in the steely glare she shot him with.

District 6 was simple enough. The people were as resentful and disdainful as ever, but there remained some level of civility. It was definitely calmer than the verbal abuse they'd received in 4 or the riot that had occurred in 5, at least.

By District 7, their halfway mark, she was ready to give in, cut her losses, and abandon this entire tour. Of course, that wasn't an option, and why should it be? She was a commodity. You wouldn't see items on shelves in a store get up and walk away after a hard day's work.

Nova and Cato were shown to a room upstairs in the District 7 Justice Building, just to accommodate them while Katniss and Peeta conducted their victory speech first. They were allowed a single day to rest and recover at least, not that a day would ever be enough to make up for their lost energy and will to continue.

The addition of the District 12 team in the building was definitely noticeable. The makeshift lunchroom inside what was clearly an office meeting room was packed with people, half of whom she didn't recognise. The victors had been split up into two very distinct groups, which meant that her interactions with either Katniss or Peeta were minimal.

Nova spent about 20 minutes awkwardly hovering around the perimeter of the room. There wasn't even enough space at the table. Some of the prep team had gathered on a windowsill, while Anya, Portia, and Cinna were engaged in quiet conversation in a dusty corner. The three district escorts had claimed the chalkboard at the front of the room and were using it to exchange notes and schedule out any remaining plans for the simultaneously-running tours.

"I feel like it's us versus them," Nova said, pulling up a chair beside Cato now that most of the District 12 team had left to prepare Katniss and Peeta for their appearance.

Cato reached for a mini sandwich, filled with little cylindrical cucumber slices and some kind of fish. "How?" he asked.

"I mean, they're the golden couple," she responded matter-of-factly. "And what are we? Two dumbasses with romantic tension. That's not the same thing."

"It kind of is," he argued. "And no one's falling for their bullshit anyway. I think we're winning."

There was no hiding her eye roll. Her entire point had been that she didn't want to be competing with the other victors in the first place. In this cold, unforgiving society, the other two were in theory their closest allies. They had more similarities between them than differences. Their shared trauma made them better off relying on one another.

"Hey, you two." Haymitch, apparently having returned to the room within the few seconds she'd had her back to the door, leaned over their chairs.

"Hello, Haymitch," Nova said, after which the attention turned to Cato, who was giving the slightly drunken man an expectant look.

"How have you been finding this whirlwind tour so far?" Haymitch asked.

"Thrilling," she deadpanned.

In response, he simply smiled, before proceeding to pat Cato on the shoulder. "Take it easy on the lovebirds, would you? Attaboy."

This statement was completely and entirely aimed at Cato. Nova watched Haymitch pick up a sandwich from the table and leave to catch up with Katniss and Peeta. Her bemusement was so great that it felt as though her eyebrows were permanently creased.

She slowly spun in her chair to face Cato. "What was that about?"

"Who knows?" he responded dismissively. "He's probably drunk."

"Cato."

"Or sober."

"Cato."

Relenting, he loosely shrugged. "Bitch on fire's still a bitch," he stated.

Nova closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. It was genuinely like trying to communicate with a 14 year old. This was the kind of conversation she'd expect to have with one of her younger cousins, not with a fully grown man.

She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger, a motion that often soothed her perpetual headache. "Can you please stop antagonising them?"

"I didn't–"

"You did," she interjected. "You clearly did. But you're out of the Capitol now, so this has to go."

She motioned broadly to him. He raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"The cockiness," she replied. "The intimidation. Those two aren't your opponents anymore, so there's no need to be a piece of shit."

He stood up. "She killed Marvel," he reminded Nova. "She killed Glimmer. It's her fault that Thresh killed Clove."

Cato stalked off, truly in the style of a petulant teenager. Nova briefly attempted to call him back, but he was already out of the room somewhere else in the building.

A gruntled expression on her face, she took a half-hearted bite out of another sandwich.

Dinner in the same meeting room that evening was once again quiet. With each passing day, the group around the table seemed to have less and less to talk about. The Capitol residents at one end were gossiping about their colourfully-groomed pet dogs, but that could hardly be considered an inclusive conversation.

Nova reluctantly swallowed down another forkful of the dish she'd been served. Apparently District 12 were eating this in the banquet downstairs too, although she struggled to imagine how. It was leafy, but incredibly sharp and almost greasy. She couldn't even tell for certain whether this was a salad or something else entirely.

On the plus side, at least Cato didn't look like he was enjoying it much either, but judging by the morose expression on his face he wasn't really enjoying anything at the moment. He'd been moping for hours now. She hoped he'd snap out of it sooner rather than later.

"We're rebranding you two," Beetee said.

Tiffany looked so alarmed that her peach-coloured eyebrows nearly shot past her forehead and away from her face entirely. "I didn't agree to this!"

"It isn't a plan that requires your clearance, Tiffany," Beetee practically sighed.

Cato, mildly disinterested, spoke up. "Rebranding?"

"To the Capitol, you're unlikely allies," he explained, "drawn together like the opposite ends of a magnet. There's ongoing tension between you, of course, but it's the tension that keeps viewers hooked."

Tiffany nodded insistently. "That was my idea," she reminded him. "What was so wrong with my idea?"

"Your idea was successful during the games," Beetee reassured her, "but it isn't a long term strategy. For their safety, they need to be closer."

Crinkling her nose, Nova gave Cato a sidelong glance. "How much closer?" she asked reluctantly. Cato rolled his eyes.

"Have you noticed the attitude towards Katniss and Peeta? The golden couple of Panem? Their relationship status, however falsified, is the only thing guaranteeing their protection from the Capitol," Beetee explained. "Pardon my bluntness, but it's why Snow hasn't dared to threaten them with prostitution. They're perceived to be in a fully committed relationship."

Victoria nodded in agreement. "There's scepticism about you two far more than Katniss and Peeta. Ironic," she said before Nova or Cato could complain, "I know, but think about it this way. We've seen you two behind closed doors, whereas all the Capitol sees are two argumentative and disagreeable teenagers."

Nova nodded. "So we just need to be more public with everything we do?"

"Exaggerate," Tiffany corrected her. Her expression had relaxed now that she'd managed to catch up in the discussion. "Sneak off for a kiss tomorrow. That'll make the evening news. Hold hands constantly. Exchange your usual looks and whispers, but let them be seen. Let the cameras see what a real golden couple looks like."

Judging by Cato's sneer, he wasn't exactly over the moon about this plan, and understandably too. It was all very . . . exposing. "And you think this'll work?"

"The outlook is bleak for both of you," Beetee admitted. "This is the best we've got."

That was hardly what she wanted to hear, that her situation was so dire that this was the best solution someone as clever as Beetee could come up with. And to rub even more salt into that wound, Cato leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"I told you we're in competition."

District 7 had to have been the easiest speech to give so far. The people in front of them were uncaring, bitter, spiteful — at the end of the day, wasn't everyone? — but all in all there was an unexplainable level of calm that made reciting their thoroughly rehearsed scripts all the more simple.

The busyness of the schedule meant that she wasn't given even a minute to interact with the other two victors before being ushered off elsewhere. She knew there was always the Capitol — she'd have plenty of chances to talk and catch up later — but it didn't change just how ridiculous it was that she and Katniss still had yet to properly speak to one another. They didn't know the first thing about each other.

The train grinded to a halt in District 8 some time before noon. The experience was somehow anything but calm. Peacekeepers patrolled the carriages and guarded every possible entrance and exit, including all windows and emergency escape hatches, while Anya and the prep team pieced her look together in the confines of the dining cart. All Cato had to do in the meantime was sit relatively still while a woman lightly powdered his face and combed his hair. His life was so much easier, and Nova hated it.

"It's a high security day," Tiffany explained animatedly to everyone who had chosen to convene in the room with them. She handed some paperwork to a Peacekeeper in passing as she spoke. "I'll be out there, as will Luciana, but the risk is too high for anyone else to enter the district. Luciana, have you signed your waiver? . . . Good, good."

Nova genuinely couldn't wrap her head around the reason for the intense security and constant vigilance — at least, not until they were on the road in a heavily armoured car usually used to transport Peacekeepers across the districts. The vehicle traversed through destroyed streets, half of the buildings up in flames or reduced to rubble and the rest graffitied with spray-painted illustrations of mockingjays. That was for Katniss, she concluded.

She turned around and peered closer through the steel bars that covered the windows. "What happened?" she asked.

"You happened," Luciana said.

She knew to an extent that was true, but the woman had meant it in a far more general sense. It was no wonder that such an unconventional and undeniably rebellious end to the games had sparked something so strong, but she couldn't have possibly imagined it being like this.

As they zoomed through almost deserted streets, she caught glimpses and signs of life, of people hidden away in what remained of their homes, in fear of what could happen if they left.

Nova had seen this before. District 3 had only reached a state of moderate recovery during the previous year. The last time she'd witnessed a quiet residential area dragged down into a state like this had been about 10 years ago. Shortly afterwards, a month of violence and anger from the people of her district had been quenched through a series of brutal, callous tortures, beatings, and executions. The steps of the Justice Building for a time had been permanently stained with the blood of the 'instigators'. The uprising had died with a whimper before the flame could catch, and it cost her everything.

"Nova," someone behind her said.

She tore her gaze away, only to discover unpleasant wetness under her eyes. "I can't go out there," she said.

"You have to–"

She shook her head insistently. "I can't."

The bubbling anxiety in her throat was instantly frozen in place when a hand appeared on her waist, fingers prying to loosen her iron grip of the bench beneath her. Her hands were shaking the moment they weren't holding onto something to ground them.

Cato whispered against her ear. "I'll do the talking," he assured her.

Nova nodded, unable to produce anything more than a small but grateful smile in response.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Author's note: Oh em gee, me finally updating? Shocking. Greatest plot twist to come out of this fic.