Author's Note

Thanks for reading my new story! This story is a Canon-divergent story isolated to the Victory Tour - assume everything up to the Victory Tour is as the books described it, but I plan on straying a little bit in the re-telling. Italics that aren't flashbacks are direct quotes from Suzanne Collins.

The Start of the Tour

A visit from President Snow. Districts on the verge of uprisings. A direct death threat to Gale, with others to follow. Everyone I love doomed. And who knows who else will pay for my actions? Unless I turn things around on this tour. Quiet the discontent and put the president's mind at rest. And how? By proving to the country beyond any shadow of a doubt that I love Peeta Mellark.

I can't do it, I think. I'm not that good. Peeta's the good one, the likable one. He can make people believe anything. I'm the one who shuts up and sits back and lets him do as much of the talking as possible. But it isn't Peeta who has to prove his devotion. It's me.

I hear my mother's light, quick tread in the hall. She can't know, I think. Not about any of this. I reach my hands over the tray and quickly brush the bits of cookie from my palm and fingers. I take a shaky sip of my tea. "Is everything all right, Katniss?" she asks.

"It's fine. We never see it on television, but the president always visits the victors before the tour to wish them luck," I say brightly.

My mother's face floods with relief. "Oh. I thought there was some kind of trouble."

"No, not at all," I say. "The trouble will start when my prep team sees how I've let my eyebrows grow back in." My mother laughs.

My mother offers to draw a bath, and I accept. I've been trying to let her do things for me. Let her take care of me. Or think she is, anyway. Trying to mend the disrepair in our relationship will never be easy, but I can't punish her for the rest of her life. If I learned anything in the Arena, it's that some things are beyond our control. I let my body soak in the steaming water, the air fragrant and thick with the scent of dried flowers and lavender oil. I let my fingers pucker and I think.

Who should I tell? Should I tell anyone? Obviously not my family, that's out of the question. Not Gale. He'd overreact, and there's nothing he could do about it anyway. If anything, he'd cause more trouble. I don't need to fan the flame of fury that kindles within him. If I'm forced into another game with Snow, then I need people who know how to play. I want to tell Cinna, but I don't want him in any more trouble than I've already put him in. I should tell Peeta, I know that, but where do I even begin? Hey, Peeta, remember how I told you I was kind of faking being in love with you? Well, I really need you to forget about that now and act extra in love with me or the president might kill Gale. I can't hurt him like that. Not again. Besides, Peeta will perform whether he knows he's supposed to be or not. He knows the ride we're on.

So… Haymitch. My drunken, curmudgeon of a mentor, who I just poured a basin of water on. He's kept me alive once before. Maybe he can do it again. I wish I could disappear into this bathwater. Evaporate into the air like the steam leaking from the surface. Linger for a moment as mist, then dissipate and be done with it all. My heart hurts. I take a deep breath and let my head sink under water, my body drifting heavily until my back rests on the bottom of the porcelain tub. I open my eyes and see the blurry world through two feet of water. It reminds me of staring at the sun from underwater in the lake. I slowly exhale and watch the bubbles burst on the surface one by one, until my lungs are empty and straining for air. I guess my respite is over. I pull myself up, only to be overtaken moments later by my prep team. They're early.

I stand and the water cascades from my body. There is no modesty here, and they don't even react to my nudity. They know my body better than I do. Venia grabs a towel from the rack on the wall and pats my body dry. "Katniss, your eyebrows!" she shrieks as she reaches my face.

"Oh, and look at her nails!" Octavia exclaims as she holds my fingertips in her own. She and Venia twitter like birds between themselves.

"Well, it appears she left her hair alone, like I asked!" Flavius boasts. He looks at me over his shoulder with a sly smile and teases, "It's because I'm your favorite, isn't it? I know it is!" I don't tell him it's because I'm lazy and don't care what my hair looks like.

They spend an hour massaging goo in my tresses and waxing my eyebrows. Between the scent of chemicals and the pain, my eyes are watering. Put me in an Arena, scorch me with a fireball, I can take it. But sitting perfectly still while someone rips every hair from your body… No one on my prep team seems to notice my discomfort. They chirp and cluck on about life in the Capitol, about shoes and birthday parties. About how excited they are for the Quarter Quell.

When they finally spin me to the mirror, I can see Cinna has asked them to make me look feminine. Girlish, not sexy. Good. I can handle girlish. My mother comes in and demurely says Cinna asked her to demonstrate how she did my hair for the Reaping. My prep team is absolutely fascinated as they watch my mother's deft fingers weave and knot my hair into an intricate braid. My mother blushes at their bountiful compliments, and I feel a sense of pride in my whimsical crew.

I dress and head downstairs, where I find Cinna in my living room. He flashes me a smile and his gold eyeliner shimmers in the lamp light of the early evening. He sweeps me into an embrace and I let myself forget all the bad things, just for this one moment.

Effie Trinket clears her throat. Her pumpkin-colored wig perches precariously high on her head and she claps and reminds everyone of our tight schedule. With a quick peck on each cheek, she waves in the camera crew and orders me into position. They film as I tour through the racks of clothing that Cinna, I mean, I designed. Cinna prepped me on the phone, and I do my best to sound flighty and carefree. We wrap up, and I catch Prim watching me from the kitchen, peeking around the corner on her tiptoes, like a tiny winged bird about to take flight, when – Bam! I lose my breath. I feel like I'm suffocating, like someone has punched me in the chest. I see Rue, my little bird, flying from one tree branch to another like her feet had never known the ground. Rue, who would sing to end the work day. Rue, who I let die. Who I let bleed to death in front of me. Who I couldn't save. Who else will I fail to save? My eyes dart around the room desperately, and I know this moment is just for me. I'm trapped in this torture in my own mind. I'm compliant as Cinna dresses me, but I feel like my throat is closing. I try to breathe. There are people I need to save from President Snow. I couldn't save Rue, but I'll save my family. And Gale's.

I barely notice as Cinna pins my mockingjay pin to the outside of my jacket. He ties a scarf around my neck, and it feels like a noose. She's standing right next to me, but Effie Trinket's normally piercing voice sounds like muffled discord. "Attention, everyone! We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greet each other at the beginning of their marvelous trip. All right, Katniss, big smile, you're very excited, right?"

I've barely made out the words before she quite literally shoves me out the door. The icy air robs my cheek of the fire and I can feel it filling my lungs. The cold drags me back to reality. The snow is coming down in earnest now, but I can see Peeta making his way from his door. The world gets very quiet, and dark, and I hear Snow's directive echo in my head, "Convince me."

And I know I must. My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta's direction. Then, as if I can't stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg — and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that's where we have our first kiss in months. It's full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I'm not alone. As badly as I have hurt him, he won't expose me in front of the cameras. Won't condemn me with a halfhearted kiss. He's still looking out for me. Just as he did in the Arena. Somehow the thought makes me want to cry.

Panem got what they wanted.

The rest of the evening moves faster than I want it to. I hug my sister close before I pull away and board the train. I watch her on the platform. The train pulls away and she gets smaller until she finally disappears into the night.

The Victory Tour has begun.