Is it narcissistic that I like reading my own writing? Every once in a while I'll get bored and reread some of my archived fics and I'm like dang, this is great, why didn't I finish this? Then I'll find my notes and realize it was actually a train headed straight into a brick wall.

Katniss

The conversation with Turquoise and Daphne leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I make an excuse and leave the library, retreating to the safety of my room. Fortunately, Storm is not there. She must be causing trouble somewhere else.

My textbooks no longer seem interesting. I poke around the room a little more. I find out we have a TV, right above the desk. It's hidden in the wall; I have to press a certain panel for it to flip into view. There's no remote or buttons for it, so I can't adjust the volume or the channel, but I'm fine with it the way it is.

The only thing the television plays is Capitol TV. I watch it hungrily, desperate for any news of my family or home. Of course, any useful information they might air is buried beneath a thick layer of Capitol propaganda. They're not just going to say "these are our prisoners of war and this is exactly what we're going to do with them". It's all much more complicated than that.

Actually, to my frustration, they don't seem to acknowledge the war at all, even though I know from President Coin that war is very much happening. The Capitol newscasters speak of "unrest" in the districts, but no one calls it what it is: a revolution. They won't even call Turquoise and the rest of us rebels, even though she more or less announced it to the world. We're "vandals". That's what they call us whenever the arena comes up in discussion, or when our wanted posters flash across the screen.

There's something incredibly surreal about seeing your own face on a wanted poster, especially when you can hardly recognize yourself as the girl in the picture. They're using the same generic ID photo of me they used to announce our training scores back in the Capitol. It's also the same photo they would have used had I died in the arena.

I almost wish I had. Maybe then they would let my family go.

Storm comes back after a couple hours. I think she just had lunch. She's visibly in a mood, but she doesn't talk about it. Maybe that's a good thing? She does join me, though, sitting on her bunk, as far away from me as possible.

At first, she even spares me the commentary, but Storm can only be quiet for so long. "Is this the only thing this TV plays?" she complains after the third advertisement for fur-lined underwear.

I explain about not being able to change the channel. Storm scoffs. "Well, then you're wasting your time. The Capitol's never going to tell you want you want to hear."

"I don't want to hear what I want to hear," I lie. "I want to hear the truth."

"I doubt you'll get that either," she retorts, rolling over in her bunk so she doesn't have to watch.

She's probably right; there's little point in trying to find anything useful in all this Capitol junk. But at the same time, it would be completely wrong not to try. And I would expected Storm to, at least a little, understand.

"Don't you have family there too?" I try. She doesn't answer me. "Isn't there anybody you're worried about?"

A moment of silence, then a grudging reply. "…I have a sister."

"I do too," I tell her.

Storm scoffs. "I know that. You never shut up about her."

"I wasn't aware you were listening," I retort.

She changes her tune immediately. "Well, I wasn't. You're just so loud and annoying."

I don't bother replying. Clearly we are getting nowhere. There's a segment playing about the arena repair. Just seeing that place makes my stomach drop, and the idea that they will stick whatever tributes they can get back in there only makes it worse. Going in once was bad enough- I can't imagine the terror of going up those tubes again, knowing this time, the Capitol will truly show no mercy.

More advertisements. An interview with the mentors from Six, who sing their tributes' praises, as if everything that's happening is as usual. News flash, even before Turquoise and the rebels swooped in, there hasn't been anything normal about these Games.

They show our wanted posters again. Storm rears her ugly head. "Dead or alive? And no mention of a reward? That's just embarrassing. Even Turquoise is worth something. I'm worth a lot."

"You could take this a little more seriously, Storm," I warn her through gritted teeth. "You can make as many jokes as you want, but being wanted by the government is a major problem for all of us."

She shrugs it off. "I doubt they could get to me here. And even if they do…I can take them."

I'm not going to argue with her. Storm is one of few people in this world who might be more bullheaded than me. If she wants to flaunt her felon status, I'll allow it.

Hours pass. My eyes more or less glaze over. Storm wordlessly leaves for dinner when our clock buzzes, but I stay behind. I can't tear myself away from the TV- not until it gives me some knowledge of my family, the tiniest promise they're okay. It's unreasonable, it's highly unlikely, but I feel paralyzed, stuck in front of the screen as the minutes tick by.

My trance is broken by a knock at the door. I startle at the sound- I've gotten used to the idea of being alone. Part of me- the part of me that hasn't yet left the arena- assumes it to be a trap. I push that thought away. In this underground prison, I'm as safe as can be. Also, a trap would not knock.

It's probably just Effie, here to make a nuisance of herself in some new way. I rise and press the button that opens the door warily, but it turns out the only idea I had was false. It's Peeta.

"What're you doing here?" I ask.

"I bumped into Storm at the cafeteria- when you weren't with her, I figured something was wrong," is his explanation.

"Nothing's wrong," I say defensively. I realize that's not even close to true. "Nothing new is wrong."

He shrugs. "Well, it wasn't just that anyway. I think we need to talk."

Peeta and I always need to talk. Our lives lately have just been a series of events we need to talk about, some good and most of them bad.

My frustration doesn't mean he's wrong. I step away from the door, inviting him into the small room. He doesn't spend any time looking around- I'm sure it's exactly the same as his own room, wherever that might be.

"What are we talking about?" I ask, already on edge. The phrase "we need to talk" will do that.

Instead of his usual elegant prose, Peeta takes a leaf out of my book and is extremely blunt. "Are we still pretending to date?"

I'm taken aback. Partly by the bluntness and partly just because that's been the absolute last thing on my mind. "Um…I don't know?"

He sits down in the desk chair, but doesn't seem to make himself comfortable. Actually, he looks like he's ready to tear his hair out, which is so unlike the mellow, laidback Peeta I know. Apparently this is a difficult subject for him. "I don't know either," he admits. "I mean…things have definitely changed since we made the plan."

Making the plan feels like a million years ago. Our reasoning? At first I don't remember- this has really not been a priority for me- but I recall something about dissociating my public image from Gale and helping us get sponsors. We're no longer in the Games. We don't need sponsors. But we are still in the public eye.

"Maybe we should ask Haymitch," I suggest, somewhat jokingly. Despite being an old drunk, Haymitch always seems to know what to do. Gale was our mentor too, but no way am I asking him anything.

Peeta winces at my use of the "H" word. "Let's just say I have reason to believe that's a bad idea."

I knew the old man would sour as he sobered up. That means it's up to us. I sit down on my bunk, the noisy sheets crackling under my weight. I'm certain, like everything else in District Thirteen, they are made of the most practical material possible, but the most practical material is loud and also scratchy. "Alright. We can figure this out ourselves," I reason. "Do you…want to?"

"I don't care." Peeta shrugs. This does not help my decision process at all. "I'll do whatever will help keep us alive. And…our families, too."

As usual, Peeta is right. Our lives might not be in immediate danger right now, but that doesn't mean we're not still playing the game. We will be as long as the rebellion lives. I flip back into strategy mode like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"We don't have much going for us right now," I muse. "We're too young to be in the military. They don't seem to want us involved in the war at all. Our voices might be louder if we speak together."

Peeta nods along, as if I am making very good sense- something that happens occasionally but not that often. "We'll speak together no matter what, Katniss. But if we dissolve the ruse now…we might be branded as liars."

I frown. "You're right. And I doubt District Thirteen takes kindly to liars."

They're an obscenely practical people, and lying is not practical. I imagine they hate all other aspects of showmanship as well- even Turquoise's act in the arena, which saved us all and rallied the districts like nothing else could, has to seem like a waste of time in their eyes.

Peeta nods again, but still seems hesitant to speak. "But…if you and Gale are-"

"We're not," I say hurriedly, cutting him off. "Definitely not. Not now and not ever. I am completely, one-hundred-percent unattached."

He doesn't quite look like he believes me. Sometimes I think he's more invested in my love life than I am. I want to assure him that what I thought I wanted- Gale- is definitely not something I want anymore. He lost my trust when he failed my family, breaking the promise we'd made years ago.

"Well…that settles it," says Peeta, not sounding settled at all. "Star-crossed lovers…part two."

I can't really muster up any more enthusiasm than that. But if it will help Prim, even in the smallest way, I'll have to find a way to be excited about it. "It'll be easier this time," I try to reason. "There won't be cameras on us twenty-four-seven. We can handle it."

"Oh, of course we can handle it," Peeta reassured me. He straightens his shoulders. "Actually, I'm going to do the first of my boyfriend-ly duties right now. I think you should eat something."

"I'm not hungry." For once, I'm not lying. The emptiness that consumes me is nothing like hunger. Missing another meal would do me no harm.

He raises an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Have you eaten since breakfast?"

Somewhat reluctantly, I shake my head no.

"The Katniss I know would never let good food go to waste."

He knows exactly what to say to get me to waver. He's right. The old Katniss would never pass up the opportunity to eat, not knowing where her next meal was coming from. "It's different now," I protest, even though I know it's not.

"Also!" he says suddenly, as if he knows he only has a few moments before I push him out and slam the door. "I think you should go to school tomorrow."

I blanch at that suggestion as well, although this one has me more confused than anything else. "What? Why?"

He shrugs, I think just pleased that I'm hearing him out. For now. "It won't do you any good to sit in here and wallow- that's never been you. And the classes aren't so bad once you get used to them. It'll help keep your mind off…things."

Things. That's what Prim and my mother, and Peeta's family, too, have been reduced to. My eyes flit back and forth from him to the TV, still buzzing in the background. "Is that why you went?"

Another shrug. He could use a haircut. His shoulders are only an inch or two away from brushing the ends of his golden curls. "It's part of it. But there's more to it than that."

For once in his life, Peeta Mellark fails to elaborate. For once in my life, I do not push the envelope. I heave a big sigh. "Well…I'll think about it. But I will have dinner."

Peeta brightens immediately. I imagine this is not because I've agreed to eat, but because he is hungry and we've been talking for a while. "Oh, good. We can go right now. I told Storm to save us seats, but…."

I snort. "If I know Storm, she'll make sure there specifically isn't room for us."

"That's kind of what I figured." There's a small smile on his face, the one that always shows up when he gets something he wants. Apparently what he wants today is for Katniss Everdeen to eat dinner. His priorities are so messed up. "But if we have to eat by ourselves, that's all right. I didn't figure you'd want to stick around and chat anyway."

I nod; he's right. "Right. Like a date."

The word is foreign in my mouth. The star-crossed lovers, our show so far, has not involved "dates". It's been all near-death experiences and stolen moments in the moonlight, when we were supposed to be watching for danger. Now that we're back to civilization, I assume that will change, although I have to admit I'm not really sure how. My only real romantic experience is Gale. That relationship did not involve dates either.

Now that I think about it, my relationship with Gale was also mostly near-death experiences and stolen moments in the moonlight. I guess I have a type.

I flip the TV back into the wall and leave the room with Peeta. He chit-chats as we go along, and I just listen. What I missed in school. Lunch with the Careers, which now includes Daphne. I could tell him I met Daphne too, earlier in the library, but I don't. It doesn't matter.

Does any of it matter?

I guess I don't know, but eating dinner does make me feel better. Peeta and I do end up by ourselves- I notice Storm with the rest of the Careers, at a corner table with no open seats, and she smirks at me like she thinks she's truly ruined my day by messing up the seating arrangement. Good for her.

It's a nice change, I guess, sharing a meal just the two of us. Especially because it's getting late, and many people have left the cafeteria by now. Peeta and I make fun of the food together. A couple times, our families almost come up in conversation, but we both shy away from it. It's like if we don't talk about it, it's not happening. Even though I know that's not true, that it's definitely not how that works, it's tempting. There is undeniably something to be said for forgetting, even if that blissful ignorance can only last an hour at a time.

I suppose we have to do the best we can with what we have. Right now, what we have is food (admittedly, not good food) and a dramatic love story we can sell. Pointedly, I reach across the table and squeeze Peeta's hand several times during the meal, just in case anyone might be watching. It's not much. In the grand scheme of things, it's very little, but as he walks me back to my room, I come to the conclusion that it is far, far better than nothing.

This chapter is so awkward but so funny. I really really enjoy writing Katniss' internal monologue. I have SOOOOOOO many writing projects on my list but at some point I absolutely need to write for THG again.

Read and review :) my view count is still not working annoyingly so I don't know if anyone is reading unless you say something!