A few moments later, doors are slamming and several pairs of feet are scrambling down the stairs behind me. I notice Johanna and Finnick have both raised hunting knives in defense, but lower them immediately when they see the tiny figure by the door. The whole house is now awake and vibrating nervously like the highest string on a violin.

Katniss has bundled the little girl into a blanket and eased her onto the low stool by the fire, settling protectively at her feet. Seeder brings out a steaming mug of herbal tea.

"Relax, child," soothes Seeder. "You're safe here."

But the little girl jumps back to her feet. Her eyes are frantic. "D-district Eleven!" she stutters, her teeth chattering. "It's on fire."

The council members exchange dark glances.

"Be more specific!" says Haymitch sharply. "What's on fire?"

The child gulps, as if she can't get enough air into her lungs. I've never heard Haymitch sound like this—alert, detail-oriented.

"The grain silos?" asks Cinna, much more gently than Haymitch.

"No," she says, her bottom lip quivering, her eyes widening as if she's seeing it in a waking dream. "Everything."

"Shit!" Johanna curses, locking eyes meaningfully with Haymitch. Seeder glares at Johanna as if to say 'not in front of the girl,' but she also can't hide her look of dismay.

"But, surely you're not the conductor?" says Seeder to the child, taking in her tiny frame, the sopping wet curls.

The conductor? I exchange a look with Katniss, who looks just as confused as head spins.

"I wasn't s-supposed to be," the girl answers, sniffling. "T-thresh was the conductor. He told me to come." At this the little girl breaks down into a fit of sobs.

Katniss, rubs her back instinctively and glares at the council. "What are you grilling her for?!" she shouts. "Can't you see she's distressed?"

Haymitch ignores her. "How did you get here?" he demands.

"The t-trees," the girl sobs. "No stars out tonight so he said 'the d-dead will show you the way'. I had to f-find the way! I promised!" It's like they are speaking in code. The dead will show you what…?

But Katniss seems to have understood. She has a faraway look in her eyes. "Moss grows on the north side of dead trees," she says. "My dad used to say that."

The little girl drags a grimy shirt sleeve across her streaming nose, looking up hopefully at Katniss. "D-does he know Thresh?" she asks.

"No sweetie," Katniss says gently, in that soft tone reserved for Prim alone. "But sounds like he would have liked Thresh. Is that your big brother?"

"G-good as a brother. Good as a Pa. Raised me up." Her lip trembles violently.

"And…where is Thresh now?"

The little girl sways, her eyes rolling back in her head. "In the trees…" she whispers before collapsing backwards into Katniss' arms in a dead faint.

I think of Haymitch's girl Rosa. The gallows in the center of town.

The rebellion has begun.

I carried the tiny child up the stairs in my arms-the poor thing weighed less than a sack of potatoes-and deposited her in Katniss' bed. Seeder is with her now, tending to her fever. The rest of us are gathered around the long wooden table in the kitchen nursing mugs of steaming coffee. A giant map of Panem is spread across the surface in front of us.

"If we're blown in Eleven, we've got to get word out quickly," says Finnick. "We were supposed to empty the trough in three more districts by the end of the month."

A zapping noise comes from the corner of the room where Beetee is tinkering with what looks like an old-fashioned radio. I have a feeling it may be more than it seems. "Working on it," says Beetee, his voice muffled by the wrench he is holding between his teeth.

Joanna stabs her finger into the heart of the map. "I'm more concerned with those trigger-happy assholes in the Nut. I don't trust them as far as I can throw my axe."

Cinna sighs, "We've been over this Johanna. No one's going to bury the hatchet until Coin's signal."

"Um, excuse me," pipes up Katniss. She sounds pissed. Everyone is talking in riddles and I can tell she's just as frustrated as me.

But Johanna's not finished. "You believe that, Haymitch?" Her eyes flash. "Last week Boggs had to send a fleet of hovercrafts to stop them blowing the top off the—"

"Hellooooooo?" Katniss waves her hands in front of Haymitch's face.

"You're all worried about the wrong damn things!" Haymitch cuts them off, still ignoring Katniss. "You think you're fighting with explosives, but this is a ground game. We don't have the base secured. We need. The damn. Propos." He holds up his hands as both Finnick and Johanna start to protest loudly. "Believe me, you think I want Effie fucking Trinket to be right-?"

Suddenly a knife slices through the air and sticks with a sickening thunk! In the paneled wall behind Haymitch's head.

"Could someone tell us what the hell is going on here?!" shouts Katniss, a vein pulsing in her forehead. Was she sleeping with that dagger strapped to her ankle? I wonder, both impressed and mildly terrified.

A stunned silence falls over the group.

But it doesn't last long. Haymitch has regained his swagger. He chortles heartily, raising his eyes to mine. "I knew I liked this one. She's got spunk."

This is where he misjudges me. Sweet, mild-mannered, Peeta. Well, I'm not in the mood for Haymitch right now. Because I also want to know what the hell is going on. I wrench the knife out of the wall and slam it into the table, inadvertently sending it right through the heart of the Capitol.

"You knew there was going to be a fire in Eleven," I say, rounding on him. "The way you asked the girl about it. I could tell. What are you keeping from us?"

Johanna snorts. "Only everything. You two are the sideshow." She skids her chair back loudly, standing up and throwing an exasperated look at us. "I can't believe I got stuck on the reality TV detail. I'm going back to bed. You two better go, too. You need your beauty sleep."

We watch Johanna stalk out of the room.

Haymitch sighs, then looks back at us, his expression grim. "Alright, I'm interested in keeping all my digits, so if you want to talk, let's talk."

The hours till morning tick down on the clock in the hall as we pepper Haymitch and the others with questions.

"Yes. We're part of an elite squad poised to make our way across Panem on the Underground Railroad."

"No. I cannot tell you everything."

"Why? Because none of us know everything, it's part of the damn strategy."

"What does emptying the trough mean?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"Has the Rebellion really begun?"

"Duh."

We learn that Seeder is a "station master" and the safe house is a "station." When runaways make their way across Panem they are known as "parcels" or "bundles of wood."

"Where are they going?" Katniss asks.

"North, most of them," replies Haymitch. "We call it the Promised Land. Don't know much about what's up there. Lore has it that some Covey made it there, long time ago. People passed it down in song. But it's hard to get word back. No one's really sure if they made it at all…but they keep going…anything's better than down here."

I've heard of the Covey before. We had a small band of them who had been forced to settle in The Seam after the first rebellion was put down. They're an itinerant people who are fantastic musicians and story tellers.

"And then some go to 13 obviously," says Haymitch casually.

"Thirteen?!" we exclaim simultaneously, looking at each other, shocked.

"It was obliterated after the Dark Days," I say. "We've seen the footage in school."

Several times a year, on various inconsequential anniversaries, teachers used to roll televisions into our classrooms to remind us of the rebellion and its consequences. I can vividly remember sitting in Mr. Finchley's room, Katniss' laser eyes on the back of my head, listening to the grandiose refrain of the Panem national anthem while shots of fire and destruction flit across the screen. District 13, a smoking wasteland, always featured heavily.

"No, Peeta. It was half obliterated. Bunch of damn mole rats over there. Had a massive network of underground tunnels and many survived." Haymitch pours some more white liquor into his coffee and stirs it grotesquely with his thumb.

"Not going there," he continues. "Goddamn rabbit's warren and their squinty leader, Coin, give me the creeps."

"The Rebel leader," corrects Finnick, giving him a look.

Haymitch doesn't answer, just takes a swig of his boozy coffee

Finally, Cinna stands up, stretching. "Ok, that's more than enough for one night. Knowledge is power. But it's also dangerous."

As eager as I am to know more, my head feels bloated, like an overfilled pastry bag, so I decide not to argue. As Katniss and I go to the leave the kitchen, I notice Cinna approach Beetee where he's still doing battle with the radio. He leans down to whisper something into his ear, then puts a hand on his shoulder, massaging gently. The gesture is oddly intimate, but I'm too tired to examine it.

As I pad down to the kitchen just a few hours later, the sound and smell of sizzling bacon accosts my senses pleasantly. Seeder is standing at the stove cooking breakfast and Katniss is already at the table with the little girl. She's adding a liberal amount of brown sugar and wild strawberries to girl's bowl of porridge and from the way the girl's eyes follow the progress of Katniss's arm greedily, it looks like it's been a good while since she's had a square meal.

"Morning," I say to them.

Katniss' eyes don't leave the girl, but she says. "Morning, Peeta. Meet Rue."

I bend down next to the girl's chair so that I'm eye level with her. "Rue, huh? Well, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Peeta."

I extend my hand to her and she takes it shyly, giving it an impressively firm shake. She still looks sad, her eyes rimmed with red, but her face is calm.

"Nice to meet you, mister."

We hear a crackling from the living room. Looks like Beetee has finally gotten a signal on the old radio. He jams a pair of headphones on and listens carefully, then dictates to Cinna, who is waiting with a notebook in hand. "Three dozen parcels on the move up the west meadow route. Mission went awry. Emptied the trough ahead of schedule…. Peacekeepers on high alert. Curfew in place …. Fire in Seam Eleven."

We all look at Beetee expectantly. "Is that it?" asks Joanna.

Beetee nods. "They're probably afraid to say more. Our tech is still better, but the Capitol has Wiress." A pained expression runs over his face. Cinna puts a soothing hand on the small of his back. "They'll be making gains on our advantage. Trying to listen in."

"Ok, that's it," says Haymitch, who has joined us in the living room. "Training starts at 11 and first Propo by the end of the week. We need to be on the move much sooner than expected."

"That's risky," says Seeder.

"Doing nothing is risky," Haymitch retorts grimly.

Katniss and I are told that as a rule we're a non-violent movement (though this proclamation makes Johanna mutter something crass under her breath), but apparently anything can happen along the rails. We've got to be prepared.

After we finish our breakfast, Katniss, Rue and I go outside. It's early spring, so it's still chilly. There's a light frost on the grass that should burn off by 10 with the way a warm looking sun is rising in the east. We find an old soccer ball in the half-collapsed shed on the side of the house and I challenge Rue to a game to distract her from what must be an overwhelming pit of sadness in her stomach. I try to impress her with some fancy footwork, but the little girl surprises me by stealing it easily from right under my feet and flying toward the makeshift goal we made from two broken lawn chairs. It's good to see the little smile playing across her face. And I'm not totally sure, but I think Katniss may have one too.

At eleven sharp, Johanna and Finnick join us on the lawn, dragging a large chest that we discover is full of weapons. Katniss is reluctant to let little Rue out of her sight, but finally acquiesces to let Seeder take her for a walk in the woods after being reminded that combat training could be retraumatizing. I also see, with some chagrin, that Gale is walking toward us, up over the little hillock that divides us from the hollow and then town. It's too suspicious for him to come here often. He has to keep up his normal routine in the mines for the sake of his and Katniss' family.

Katniss grips his hand fervently when she sees him. "How's Prim? My mom?"

"They're fine, Catnip," he assures her. "I'm making sure of it."

Finnick and Johanna lead us through a series of calisthenic exercises to warm up. It feels good to get my body moving and my heart rate up in a way that for once is not caused by proximity to Katniss. We start with knife throwing– "Since Brainless here already took a run at it last night," gripes Johanna.

Unsurprisingly, Katniss and Gale are quite good. After she gets a handle on the feel of the knife, Katniss hits the target over and over again. I'm much less successful. I have a powerful arm, but my aims not great. By the 10th time it slices through thin air instead of hitting wood, I'm pretty convinced that my hand eye coordination is limited to cake decoration. But Finnick demonstrates again, showing me a different technique to account for the strength in my arm, and I manage to hit the outer circle a couple times.

After a quick lunch, we move on to booby traps. According to Finnick, and to Johanna's obvious annoyance, apparently these are our bread and butter. The whole non-violent thing. These traps are meant to avoid attack, not cause a lot of damage. He explains that this is especially true if we're trying to deter Merchant assailants.

"We have to remember who the real enemy is," Johanna grudgingly agrees.

This is where Gale really excels. I know he has a lot of experience catching game out in the woods. My dad used to buy his rabbits–trapped, not shot through the eye like Katniss' squirrels. Gale easily masters every snare Johanna and Finnick teach us (looks like there are some different techniques in 4 and 7), and then even teaches them a few new ones.

I'm finding the whole thing quite annoying until one of the snares Gale set at the edge of the woods catches an unsuspecting Haymitch by the ankle, yanking him upside down, screaming obscenities. I have to give him some credit for that one.

We finish up around 5 pm and Gale takes Katniss aside before he leaves. I watch them whispering from across the field. Then a tiny hand grabs on to mine. Rue.

"I like Katniss," she says.

I smile down at her sadly, "Me, too, Rue."

"She your girl?" Rue asks me, following my gaze across the field.

"Nah, not really," I say, trying not to sound too depressed.

Rue squints at me knowingly. "But you want her to be, huh?"

The look on her face nearly makes me laugh even though I feel like shit. She's got my number. I just tousle her curls and say, "C'mon let's go inside. I'll make you some hot chocolate."

The next few days pass in a blur. My muscles are sore from exertion at combat training and my nerves are increasingly frayed from the thought of filming our first Propo on Friday. Which is tomorrow, I realize with a gulp.

Katniss has been spending all her free time bonding with Rue in the woods. Rue is teaching her how to flit between the branches of the dense copse, leaping from tree to tree like a flying squirrel. I'm glad they have each other. Rue having just lost her brother figure, Thresh, and Katniss having good as lost Prim. Because who can say when we'll be able to go back? If we'll ever go back.

I decide to take a stroll in the woods today after training, too, hoping to take my mind off the Propo. But apparently taking my mind off things is not in the cards. I hear a light shuffle above me and then suddenly Katniss swings down from the overhanging Sycamore branch, dropping soundlessly to her feet in front of me.

"Oh!" I gasp. "Jesus, you scared me."

I open my mouth to comment on something inane like the weather or the menu for dinner, but I close it at the odd intensity with which she is staring at me.

"Katniss, are you ok–"

"Kiss me."

My heart nearly stops. "Katniss, wha–? Where's this coming from?"

"Please, Peeta. I don't want my first kiss to be directed by Effie Trinket." She moves toward me, reaching for my shoulders.

"No, Katniss, what are you doing?" I step back, stumbling a little on an errant pinecone. I can't believe I'm rejecting her, the star of every fantasy I've ever had since I discovered girls didn't actually have cooties. "I don't want our first kiss to be born out of fear of the silver screen."

I try to emphasize the "our" part so she gets the message. But I should have known that subtlety would be lost on her because she puts her hands on her hips and pouts.

"Why does it matter so much to you? I thought you wanted to kiss me."

Not like this, I think. She's right that I have imagined this moment over and over, but somehow in my fantasies it always seemed so much more romantic and so much less like walking the plank. And why does she have to look so damn cute when I'm busy warring with my emotions and the irrepressible evidence of my teenage hormones that is throbbing against the front of my jeans.

I open my mouth to respond but then suddenly–to stop me talking, I think– Katniss lunges forward and presses her lips to mine.

I tense up in surprise, just a fraction of a second, and then I can't help it, my body responds immediately–inexorably. Her lips are just as soft as I always imagined.

Katniss doesn't know what to do with her hands. She doesn't need to–I've been practicing this in my head for so long that I'm off script. I reach up to cup her face gently, tipping her chin up so that I can slant my mouth against hers at a different angle. My heart is trying to hammer its way out of my chest.

Maybe this is it. All we'll ever have. And didn't I tell her that I didn't have any expectations? That she had no obligation to want to be with me, love me? And then, when I feel her tongue slip timidly into my mouth, then dart back out, I think, is it really so bad, if this is all? I capture her tongue and draw it back, sucking on the tip until she makes a humming noise in the back of her throat.

And then it's over altogether too soon. She's pulling away, her heady scent of fresh air and lilacs retreating, her surprised arms dropping from my chest where they had somehow found their landing.

We stare at each other. Chests heaving, cheeks flushed.

I don't want it to end, so I reach back out as if to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but the moment has passed–it's gone with the north wind. Katniss takes a few hurried steps backward.

I can see her supple bottom lip looks pink and puffy. I want to capture it again with my mouth.

"Um, thanks," she says.

Thanks? Thanks is for the cobbler who just fixed your shoe. For the man at the Hob who sold you an illicit bag of pecans. Thanks is not for a first kiss. I feel irrationally wounded, used, and I might have told her so if she hadn't already disappeared into the hollow as if she were never really here.

Friday arrives like an unwanted houseguest.

I can't believe I'm about to become a reality TV star. When we show up at "set" -a black sheet clothes pinned across the massive bookcase in the study, with two plush looking velvety green armchairs in front– we get the shock of a lifetime. Caesar Flickerman is standing there, his perfectly coiffed blue hair looking wildly out of place.

"Wait–Flickerman's on our side?!" I say, gaping.

Katniss scowls at him suspiciously. Flickerman is swatting unskillfully at a fly that won't leave him alone, looking as though he's never been in such close proximity to an insect before in his life.

But we don't have time to gawk at Flickerman because we're being swept away to get into costume. Cinna puts me in a trim black suit that is interwoven with metallic orange thread so that it shimmers when it catches the light, almost like flickering flames. Somehow, it's a perfect fit despite that fact that Cinna took no prior measurements. It is so unlike the "monkey suits" that my dad and Bannock used to loathe so much. I wonder what they would think if they could see me now. Would I make them proud? My heart clenches thinking out them.

It takes Katniss a little longer to get ready and when she finally steps out of the dressing room, I am speechless. She looks stunning in a sleek, floor length gown made of a similar fabric to mine but encrusted with sparkling gems that seem to crackle with firelight. The golden Mockingjay pin in glistening at her chest. I am so taken by her that I almost forget how she tore my heart out and stomped on it yesterday.

Katniss is glaring daggers at everyone, so I try my best not to stare. She looks like she's ready to fillet Effie Trinket, who is clucking around her, oohing and ahhing and adjusting the lay of her hair, which Cinna has kept in her signature braid.

Haymitch steps forward and lays out the plan. "Ok, we're going to start with individual interviews. Remember, the goal is to convince the Capitol that this was just some big romantic gesture, not an open act of rebellion, while simultaneously conveying a message of hope and solidarity between the Merchant and Seam classes to the Districts."

So they're not even filming us together yet, I think bitterly, surreptitiously touching my lips. I can still feel Katniss' warm breath against my cheek.

"Super," says Katniss dryly.

"Piece of cake," I say, my desire to appear annoyed completely derailed by Effie attacking my face with a giant powder puff.

Katniss looks like she might pass out or vomit or both, so we all agree she can go first. She settles into the armchair opposite Caesar Flickerman and glares into the camera. Haymitch, Effie, Finnick, and Cinna all lean in to peer at the monitor and try not to grimace. From my angle I can see that Katniss' signature scowl appears somehow amplified on the screen.

"Can you try to smile or something?" Suggests the camera guy helpfully.

"Oh dear, that's worse," groans Effie.

I hear Haymitch mutter under his breath, "She looks like a rabid badger." Finnick howls at this, but it sends Effie into hysterics. I can't tell whether she is more concerned about the fate of our nation or her directorial debut, but I think I have a pretty good idea.

Then Caesar decides it's a good idea to reach out and grip Katniss bracingly on the knee, which nearly gets him a bloody nose. I stifle a laugh. He should have asked for my advice on how to approach with caution. It takes a little more shuffling and a few more fruitless smile coaching attempts from Effie, but finally she seems satisfied.

"Annnd Action!"

"Katniss Everdeen, as I live and breathe," says Caesar in his most charming voice. "You poor, sweet girl. Head of the household at such a young age. Forced to provide for your family…"

It seems like Caesar wants her to jump in here, but Katniss stays silent, looking mutinous.

He tries again. "Tell me, how are you feeling now? You had us quite worried after that ordeal in the square."

"I'm doing fine," she says through gritted teeth.

"Of course you are. So resilient." Then he leans in as if he and she are in on some kind of fun secret. "But now tell us what we really want to know. About you and that darling Mellark boy." He winks suggestively.

"Peeta is a good friend and a very good person," she says stiffly.

"Oho! Come Katniss, don't be shy. Just friends?"

"Well I…sometimes it's confusing, Caesar. How I feel. We were always taught Seam and Merchant should never mix. But um, Peeta never cared about that."

Caesar covers for her stilted delivery masterfully. "Star crossed lovers," he says, looking misty eyed. "I guess someone would have to love you very much to put themselves in danger like that."

Katniss looks far away, but she has dropped the scowl. "Yes, I…suppose they would…"

"CUT!" cries Effie.

She cajoles Katniss to do another 3 takes before finally putting her pink head in her hand, exhausted. "That's enough, my nerves can't take anymore."

"Get the boy up there," Haymitch agrees.

I swap places with Katniss and sit down in the chair, raising my arm to shield my eyes from the bright light behind the camera until my vision adjusts. Effie attempts to powder my nose again, which just makes me sneeze. I'm determined to do this right. As much as I'm hurting right now, this is not the time to be selfish. There are a lot worse things in the world than being a heartsick teenager. Katniss understands this. I have to get my head in the game.

"Well, well, well, Peeta Mellark. Aren't you looking handsome."

I smile winningly. "Thank you, Caesar, you're not so hard on the eyes yourself."

"And a charmer, too?" Caesar looks saucily at the camera. "Tell me, my boy, how did you find yourself in this chair today? I imagine there must be a lot of people back home surprised to see you here."

"Well, I mean, when you make a fool of yourself on national television like that, you need some good PR, am I right?" Caesar chuckles appreciatively

"Tell me about that day."

"I can hardly remember it to be honest. It all happened so fast. One minute I'm walking home from school and then the next…." I pause and gesture at my still-healing face. "Look, I'm not some kind of enlightened being here. Not better than any of the other Merchants back home..."

"But you jumped in front of the whip," Caesar says gently, fixing his gaze on me.

I swallow, feeling like there is a beach ball in my throat. "Yeah," I say weakly.

"Because…"

I look directly into the camera, eyes wide, and allow myself a long pregnant pause. "Because I love her. Katniss Everdeen."

I thought about telling them about the real moment I fell in love with Katniss. That day when she sang the Valley Song at assembly. But I can't bring myself to do it. If it's the last selfish thing I do, I just want to keep that memory, and the sound of her beautiful singing voice, to myself.

So I fib. "I've loved her ever since 2nd grade when she went around with two braids instead of one. I fell playing soccer in the schoolyard and got all scraped up. Katniss crept up on me like a mouse and shoved some medicinal herbs she had picked into my hand." I can picture the viewers smiling at this. Maybe remembering their own first loves.

"But I know we can never be together…" I say, trailing off, looking wistful.

"And why's that, Peeta?"

"Well, it's a tough one, Caesar. I know the people of the Capitol are good and that they know what's best –My Gran's from Capitol blood– so sometimes I think…that maybe if they could just see what Katniss means to me, what I mean to her, they might change their minds."

I'm performing, I know that, but I still can't keep the real emotion out of my voice, even though all I want to do is bottle it up and share it only with her.

Caesar clutches his heart dramatically, knitting his brows together in concern. "Ah young love! Is there anything more painful, ladies and gentlemen?"

Caesar's good at this. I can picture the bejeweled Capitol people from Gran's Formal in front of their giant televisions, soup dripping unnoticed off their spoons while they gape at the screen. Surely, despite all the reality TV they consume, they'll have never seen something quite like this. Though I imagine this Propo is just as much about reaching the normal Merchant folks in the districts, the people who both benefit from and suffer under this system of oppression.

"Cut!" Squeals Effie, clearly delighted.

Haymitch, who has been nursing a hefty bottle of white liquor this whole time, actually kisses me square on my lips. "Genius. Genius, Boy," he says, clapping me on the cheek. "They're going to eat this right up, lose it, then eat it up again!"

I swipe my arm viciously across my lips and raise my eyebrows...the Hell? Then Joanna explains to me in disgusting detail the Capitol habit of drinking a vomit-inducing serum so that they can gorge themselves at an endless buffet of fine foods.

I did so well at my interview that everyone seems to have forgotten how badly Katniss fumbled hers. Even though I'm still upset with her, I'm glad they aren't ragging on her anymore. She looks tired and I can tell by the way she is walking that the wounds on her back are still bothering her. And besides, when we watch the Propo back after post-production, we can see that with Beetee's editing and Cinna's costume design, Katniss looks positively ethereal. Imposing, almost on fire. It reminds me of the day at the Harvest Festival when she stared down the Peacekeepers with burning defiance.

As I'm about to leave the study, I hear a quiet voice call after me. It's Cinna.

"Peeta, can you hang on a moment? I'd like a word."

"Oh, um, sure"

"You look a bit…down today. Is everything alright?"

Um let's see…we live in a racist, fascist dictatorship run by a megalomaniac, I've left my family and everyone I love behind in Twelve, and the love of my life is being forced to act with me in a melodrama about our fake courtship, so what do you think?

But I can't say that, so instead I say, "You don't know me."

Cinna looks at me mildly. "True, but I do know heartache." He stands very still, letting the silence stretch out between us.

It's finally too much for me. I break.

"We're just caught up in this…thing. This thing that's so much bigger than us," I say, running a nervous hand through my hair. "And I know it's selfish but…sometimes I just wish we could have let this…relationship –or whatever it us we have–play out on our own terms. Even if it didn't go the way I wanted."

Cinna doesn't respond right away, but he nods as if he understands, gazing out the window into the dusk. Finally, he says, "I may not know much. But I do pride myself on being a pretty good judge of character. I wouldn't give up on your Mockingjay just yet."

He turns to go. "See you tomorrow for the next session."

But seeing as we're on weirdly intimate footing now, I decide to go ahead and ask him what I've been wondering. "Hey, can I ask you something else?"

Cinna pauses, looking back and nodding. "Of course."

"Are you and Beetee…together?"

He considers the question carefully, fixing me again with his mild, yet penetrating gaze. I guess he decides on honesty because he says simply, "Yes, Peeta, we are gay."

"Oh," I say.

"Does that bother you?"

I shrug. "In school we were taught homosexuality is an abomination."

"And what do you think?"

"I guess…I think I know what's it's like to have the Capitol tell you who you can and can't love." Then I think for another moment and add, "Not a fan."

Cinna laughs warmly. "You know, Beetee and I have been together nearly 20 years? Mostly secretly, even among the rebels. Sadly, bigotry knows no bounds of class or race. If only love could cross the fences we've built around ourselves so easily."

"I have a lot to learn. Or unlearn, I guess."

"Yes, young Peeta. But give it time. The first step is an open heart and an open mind, and I do believe you possess both."

As the days go by, one God awful Propo after another, I can never tell what's real. There is no visible affection or even conversation between Katniss and I when the cameras are off and when they're on, the sweet little scenarios we act out are confusing. Sometimes I think I feel a little spark here or a heartfelt moment there, but it's like they are always just out of my grasp, like a spot on the horizon that never gets closer no matter how long you run toward it.

In any case, Effie seems happy that Katniss is more natural in the casual settings we construct than she was in the interview. Sometimes it almost feels like we're on a real date. My favorite was the day we went for a picnic in the woods. We filled a wicker basket with the best food we'd ever had, courtesy of Effie's Capitol connections.

Katniss always looks so happy in the woods, slipping softly over the forest floor as silent as a wild cat, dappled sunlight filtering through the trees and alighting on her face. It makes me feel like I have unlocked something secret about her seeing her like this, in her natural habitat. But I have to admit that there's also a small jealous voice within me that whispers: This is how Gale always gets to see her. Authentic, uninhibited. But this is just a mirage for you, an Effie Trinket production. I don't like the voice. It is ugly and coarse. I try to push it back down deep within me where it cannot escape.

My mood soured further when Effie made us film this ridiculous kissing scene where we were supposed to tumble together into a field of wildflowers in the clearing. My allergies were acting up and I kept sneezing. Katniss' acting was getting better because her face was smiling, but her body felt stiff in my arms. I think I miss the scowl. At least I knew where I stood.

All this almost made me almost look forward to combat training. I'm certainly no great fighter, but it feels good to get my aggression out. The burning shame and self-loathing. And I guess it's fueling my performance because I get in quite a few good hits on Finnick the day of the picnic.

When he fixes me with his droll grin and says, "You and Katniss looked pretty cozy out there," I accidentally clock him so hard that he nearly goes unconscious and we have to send for Seeder to bring a cold compress.

"What's your deal anyway?" asks Finnick when we're back in our room getting ready for bed. He's lying on a jute mat on the floor getting in a quick strength workout. There is an ugly purple bruise blooming on his jaw where I hit him earlier. "All this moony business. I mean, it's good TV, I'm not going to lie, but it's an act, right?"

"No. It's real," I say miserably, flopping onto my bed, feeling utterly pummeled by the day. Why deny it? My sad love life is already out there for the entire world to see.

Finnick shrugs and goes back to his push-ups. Now in forced proximity to his rippling pectorals, I try not to think about the sultry way he greeted Katniss at the council meeting. "If you say so," he says.

"What would you know?" I snap.

Finnick grunts, finishing his set and then sitting up against the dresser, dragging a towel across his sweaty brow. He raises a bronze eyebrow as if he didn't expect to hit a nerve.

"I just know a thing or two about acting, that's all." There's an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well, I'm not," I scowl, snapping off my bedside lamp and slamming the pillow over my face. I wonder vaguely whether it's possible to smother oneself.

It's the last day at the station before we're set to move tomorrow morning. Effie isn't coming with us, so she's eager to get in one more Propo before we go.

Katniss and I are seated on the bank of the little creek down the hollow. This one feels a little different because the camera is placed on the far bank of the creek and both Effie and the camera guy are well out of earshot. This is just B-roll to run behind some of our other interviews, so we have no lines or marks to hit.

Katniss has her shoes and socks off and is swishing her feet through the cold spring current.

"Aren't you freezing doing that?" I comment.

"No. Feels good. The cold helps me think clearly."

"What are you thinking about?"

Katniss runs her fingers across some moss on the rock pensively. She finally says, "That thing you said at the interview about the day you…fell in love with me. That never happened."

"Oh, yeah. I made it up," I say, scratching the back of my neck.

"Why?" She doesn't sound accusing. Just curious.

"I don't know. I guess because the Capitol doesn't own me and neither do the rebels. The real memory is mine and I want to keep it."

Katniss' face is impassive, but I feel like I can see her thoughts coursing below like the current in the stream.

I spy a small rock on the bank and pick it up, testing its heft in my hand. Lighter than it should be for its size. I give it an experimental tap on the big rock we're sitting on, then a sharp whack. The rock splits open revealing what I suspected.

I hold it up to her, showing the sparkling white interior. "A geode," I say, smiling.

"It's beautiful," she gasps, looking at me with some surprise. "How did you know what it was?"

"My dad used to take me geode hunting in the old quarry when things got bad at home…" I trail off, and unexpectedly, Katniss puts her hand over mine. I don't think it's for the cameras.

"Anyway, rough exteriors can hide a lot. You just have to know what to look for." I don't mean this to sound prophetic, but I realize Katniss has caught a deeper meaning.

"I've been pretty rough on you lately, haven't I?" she admits, removing her feet from the creek and folding them under her so that she can face me more directly.

I shrug as if it doesn't matter. As if I've barely noticed. But she can obviously see my bluff.

I hand the geode to her, closing her fingers around it. "For you."

She meets my eyes and there is something different about them. They look full of fire.

We kiss then. It's sudden. Unscripted. Uninitiated by either one of us–more like an inexorable force drawing us together, welcome, but unbidden.

She scrambles onto her knees and I feel her breasts flatten against my chest. My arms come around her back and one hand tangles in her braid, drawing her closer, closer. I run my tongue along her bottom lip, seeking entrance and she opens to receive me, gasping into my mouth. I feel a tug behind my navel, a fizzing in my veins. I feel drunk on her. Our lips move together hungrily and I moan in spite of myself when my tongue finds hers. How long has it been since we began–minutes, hours, days? Time feels irrelevant.

When we finally pull away to breathe, I don't even try to stop myself from gently kissing each of the blushing apples of her cheeks, then her forehead.

"Oh," she says quietly, sounding surprised. She lets her eyes flutter open, meeting my gaze. Then– "…Oh." Her eyes widen, as if in realization.

"Yeah, I felt it, too," I say breathlessly, unable to contain the smile spreading across my face.

Finally, we stand up, camera forgotten, and turn back towards the station. I keep a hold of her hand.

And she lets me.

Author's Note: I don't know what inspired me to finally finish this after a decade! If there's anybody still out there waiting for an update, my profound apologies. Life caught up with me-multiple moves across the globe, grad school, pandemic, meeting and marrying my own Peeta... Anyhow, there will be at least 3 more chapters after this. My day job is intense, so it may take a while, but I'm determined to give Peeta and Katniss the ending they deserve this time.