Peeta wanted to be trained alone. That was all fine and dandy with Effie, expected in fact. As novel as the whole 'tributes and friends' angle had been, it couldn't last forever, and truth be told she was much more comfortable dealing with the inevitable rivalry than an emotional unknown. They had made their impression, that was what mattered. Sponsors were watching them now, paying attention to them. If there was ever a year that District 12 wouldn't be discounted, it was this year.

Not that Effie had any particular love or loyalty toward District 12. She was a Capitol girl all the way. She loved the mirrored buildings, the white stone arches over the water, the furniture made of glass. She cherished her afternoon tea, light and sweet with delicate cookies that crumbled on her tongue. She had been so excited, those few years ago, to receive her assignment. She had imagined the bright, energetic faces of the upper district tributes, leading them on their happy, triumphant days between volunteering for the games and participating in them. She wanted to share their excitement, get to know them so she could cheer them on in the arena and, if she was lucky, escort them back home. So her disappointment when they handed her a certificate with 12 embossed on the title was immediate and crushing.

Still, in the three years she had been here, there were things she had found about 12 to like. Not many, but a few. The smell of the trees, the birdsong. The vibrant green. But the fact remained that her tributes came to her like wild animals, uncultured, afraid; starving and feral and very, very doomed. It was depressing, their hollow eyes, their defeated slumping posture. She tried hard to stay cheery for them. It was her duty, she told herself. The games could so easily be viewed as cruel, heartless, unnecessary. It was easy to forget what they really stood for, and she was the link between the Capitol, with all its idealism and rich history, and these people, who had never seen it before. Not to mention, it was easy to be scared when you were a tribute. Especially when you were like these boys and girls, untrained, going up against people who were groomed from birth for greatness in the arena. It was easy to lose sight of the big picture. That was her responsibility, at least as she saw it. Keep their spirits up, help them remember what they're fighting for. Let them see the grandeur of all this, and above all, be cheerful. There would be enough grimness in their lives soon enough.

So she was usually exhausted. But it was nothing she couldn't handle. A little effort put the sunshine back in her voice, a little makeup under her eyes covered the rings. She would massage her face at night, using the small metal stylus she had gotten from her stylist friend. It was designed to rejuvenate the face, and it helped when her cheeks hurt from constant smiling.

She had to entertain them, lead them about during their journey from district to Capitol like a tour guide. Keep their minds from wandering too much. When the two of them had to stick together, it was easy to show them around, teach them little things they may find interesting about her hometown. It was fulfilling to give them the small luxuries she had never thought twice about before her assignment, watch their faces as they experienced the new things for the first time.

But now they were being trained separately, and she had to watch them one on one while Haymitch had the other. Trying to hold a conversation with Katniss was like pulling teeth, but at least giving her food could usually keep her happy. It was the other one, Peeta, who truly posed a challenge. For the first time since she started, Effie truly did not feel like she knew what she was doing. He was so hard to read, and so quiet. Charming, but quiet. When he spoke he was funny, there was an ease in his conversation, but most of the time he was silent, and for some reason she was uncomfortable around him. She couldn't put her finger on it. There was something about the openness of his face, maybe. Or the thickness of his build that suggested he would have grown tall and strong had he been well-fed. He looked like he could look through you, could pick out dishonesty with the shrewd acuteness of a predator finding the weakest prey in a herd. She found herself more conscious of her emotions around him, of whether her tone reflected what she was really feeling. It certainly wasn't that he was cute, she had seen cute tributes before. But somehow they all seemed disconnected from her, distant, categorized. Cato was certainly handsome, but of course she felt nothing for him. Thresh had beautiful, elegant bone structures, but it stirred nothing inside her. The moment their names were called from reaping balls across Panem, they ceased being regular people and seemed almost fictional, like characters in a show you're deeply invested in but know aren't real. Of course, her own tributes never seemed that way, but they were more like children or animals, to be cared for. She had never found one of them attractive in any real, significant way. It would feel wrong, exploitative.

So she was really having trouble with this. There were only ever two types of problems in Effie Trinket's world: 'Nothing I can't handle', and 'Major crisis'. She was desperately trying to tell herself that this was the former, but it was getting harder and harder to deny that it was rapidly becoming the latter. He was sitting there, bent over in his chair, studying the design on one of her tea cookies. It was afternoon, and she had run out of ideas for things to show him. Besides, she felt worn to the bone from the anxiety and effort of this yearly ordeal, and her daily tea was in order. So she was hugely relieved when he agreed to take it with her. It was a chance to sit down.

Her quarters were heavily decorated, white painted furniture and walls, with colourful spots of beauty on the wall and the occasional animal printed knickknack. Most of those were gifts from her stylist friend, but she made use of them anyway, if only for sentimental value. The sunshine came in bright through a window and caught on his yellow hair, tangling in strands of spun gold. He was intent on his cookie, his tea half drank on the table. She had taken note of his love for hot chocolate, and made his tea rich and sweet with sugar and pure Capitol cream. He loved it, or at least seemed to. But his stare at the cookie as he turned it in his deft fingers was too intense, and the silence seemed stifling. She had to struggle not to tap her plum fingernails on the table.

"They're also good for eating, you know," she joked. She hoped it sounded lighthearted, rather than bitchy.

"Hm?" He looked up, then cracked a smile at her. "I'm sure. Sorry. They're just so beautiful. I was trying to figure out if something like this could be done at home." He looked down at the cookie sadly, and she knew what was going through his head. Not that it would matter, I won't be going home. She felt a sad, sympathetic flutter in her chest. He lifted the cookie to his lips and took a bite, and his smile when he looked at her again was smaller, and perhaps a little forced. Effie reached out a manicured hand and set it on his. Her voice was steady.

"When you get home, I'm sure you'll vastly improve them." She brightened considerably at the notion.

"And I'll come buy them from you for my afternoon tea!"

He looked up at her, and decided not to say whatever it was he was thinking, opting instead to take another sip of his tea. Effie noticed his hand still lay, warm and still, under hers on the table. She lifted her hand gently and set them together in front of her, looking his way and smiling.

"The sponsors really took note of your score, I think. I've heard talking," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh, is that so?" He seemed both amused and dismissive, and she felt the sudden, strong need to convince him he still had a chance.

"Yes! Yes, everyone I've talked to has had good things to say about you." She tried to sound convincing. He looked at her blankly and took another slurp of tea. In the back of her mind her inner color theorist tried to describe the pairing of his skin and his eyes as a color scheme, and couldn't find the perfect word for either hue.

"In fact, I think you have an excellent chance this year. And the interviews should certainly seal it." She was beginning to ramble, she could feel it.

"They'll see your charming personality shine through! And I'm sure the Capitol girls won't be able to resist you." She meant it to sound somewhat funny, but her voice failed to lilt on the end and it came out sincere. Peeta snorted a laugh in disbelief.

"Oh, I'm sure."

"It's true!" She lowered her eyes to her tea, shocked at her usual self-confidence for blowing away from her like a deflated balloon. She was suddenly glad her face powder was so opaque, the hot creep of a blush began to tickle her cheeks. It was something she hadn't had to deal with in ages, and she tried to will it away with very little success.

"You're not what people expect to see, Mr. Mellark. From yours or any district. Don't underestimate yourself." She wagged a finger at him, taking a toehold of control over her expression.

He looked at her questioningly, popping the remaining half of his cookie in his mouth. Obviously he was trying to gauge if she was being genuine or if this was something she told to every tribute who passed through. She felt his gaze on her and blushed harder. He could smell when people were disingenuous, it seemed, and he seemed eager to see all the Capitol people as fakes and liars. She looked him in the eye.

"I mean it, you know. Truly. You are..very charming, Mr. Mellark. Peeta." Her eyes dropped.

She saw him tilt his head in her peripheral and it struck her as strangely endearing. With his naturally sweet face it was like watching a gentle animal be offered food.

"I..um. Thank you." His voice was gruff, unsure. This was not a boy used to accepting compliments.

Effie stood, brushing the front of her jacket and skirt for errant crumbs and taking a deep breath, her voice high as wind chimes.

"Well then! Shall we head back?"

Peeta stayed at the table, his eyes narrowing in thought. Finally, as the effort of Effie's smile felt like it was stretching her face, he looked up at her.

"This is new for you, isn't it?"

She blinked, freshening her expression.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"This isn't what you normally say to tributes." It wasn't even posed as a question.

"No..no, it isn't. You show enormous potential." She nodded in an attempt to end the subject. But he wasn't going to let go of it. He stood and faced her. The light from the window was directly behind him, so her choices were to look him in the eye or squint. She looked him in the eye, and tried not to let her smile falter in the face of his unwavering scrutiny.

"That isn't what I meant."

She gave him something of an airy laugh.

"Well then I'm afraid I don't-"

His eyes never left hers, but his hand was on her arm. She glanced at it, then back to him. His face dared her to mention it. She refrained.

"Mr. Mellark. I really don't think it's-"

"I'm going to die in a week, Effie, don't you owe me a little honesty?"

She frowned slightly, a crack in her porcelain face.

"I really do think you have a chance.." His face wilted the end of her sentence.

He moved a few inches closer to her.

"Don't you have a girlfriend, back in..The Hem?"

"The Seam. And no, actually." He looked away for a moment, down at her waist. "I mean, there was a girl I liked, but she never cared for me much. And now I'm going to die."

Effie opened her mouth to protest, and he held up a finger.

"Probably."

She closed her mouth again.

"So if you're going to hit on me, drop the act and do it. It might be the only chance you get."

She found herself leaning forward, her knees unlocking.

"Mr. Mellark, this really isn't appropriate.."

"It's Peeta."

There was a long moment, and she looked at him. He was radiant, strong and wholesome. His hand slid down her arm and hovered over her waist. She lifted a hand daintily to her chest, and let herself fall into him, pressing against his chest.

"Peeta," she smiled.

He curled his other hand around her neck, pulling her roughly in for a kiss. Their lips smashed together and her eyes fluttered closed, his other hand floating over her waist and grinding into her ass, holding her to him. She made a startled noise into the kiss and her shoulder tilted away from him, blushing furiously.

Then, as soon as it began, it was over, and he took a step away from her. Her magenta lipstick smeared his mouth, and he smiled, looking truly strong and confident for the first time since she met him.

"See you at dinner, Ms. Trinket."

She held her hand to her wildly beating heart, leaning against the table for support when the door closed. This was definitely a Major Crisis. But, as she sat down and piled their cups and saucers on the tray, her knees clenched tightly together and her breath slowly returning to normal, the ghost of a smile plucked at the edges of her mouth. Perhaps it was also Nothing She Can't Handle.