Chapter Twenty-One

Katniss

There's another knock at the door. Leon has vanished into his room, and she wishes desperately that Prim or Hector were here because they would know what to do, what to say to make this terrible situation seem better.

A pause. Then the knocking resumes. Katniss sighs, uncurls her legs, and stands from her position on the plush armchair. She sets down the list of possible strategies carefully underneath a pillow – if it's a Capitol official, she doesn't want any risk of him seeing her knowledge – and moves to open the door. For a brief, foolish moment she hopes that it will be blonde hair and dark blue eyes that greet her on the other side-

Eyes the color of Cinna's eyeliner stare back at her instead, framed by caramel skin and dark wavy hair. Jasper.

"Jasper," she says in surprise, moving back to let him in. He smiles wryly at her, tips his hat, and strides into the apartment, surveying the spacious rooms as if he owns the place. Which, as a Capitol puppet, she supposes he has more right to it than she does. She's more at home in the forest with only her bow and the trees to keep her company.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. He lifts up a pale pillow and examines it for a moment before setting it down gently. She releases the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding – that had been far too close to her map.

"Can't I just be visiting for the sake of seeing you?" he asks lightly. She watches him carefully.

"I guess," she says shortly, making clear from her tone that she doesn't believe him for a second.

To her surprise, he laughs, a full-bodied sound that instantly warms the air. She can't help but smile a bit at the way she can see a bit of boyishness peeking out from the dignified mask he usually wears.

"As pleasant as ever, I see," he says with a smile. Then his expression sobers. "But in all seriousness, I do have a question to ask you. When you were in District Twelve – did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Any sign of…less than savory activity?" he asks carefully. She stiffens; he wants her to report on any illicit activity, to betray her own District.

He notices her anger, for he hurriedly adds, "I'm sorry, Katniss, you know I do hate to have to do this…but my father is on the verge of urging Trinket to double the troops sent to Twelve in preparation of any dissension that arises when the people learn more about the Games. If you didn't see anything, I might be able to persuade him to retract his suggestion."

She doesn't trust him, but his face is all open eagerness, and his words do make sense. So she says levelly, "No. Nothing out of the ordinary."

He scans her face for a moment, and she keeps her chin jutted up defiantly. He nods.

"Good. I'm pleased to hear it," he says. Then he turns to face the window, and she notices that his hands are shaking a bit.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

He turns, notices her gaze, and smiles wryly down at his hands before shoving them into the pockets of his dark trousers.

"Nothing. Just…" he hesitates, glances around the room, and strides quickly to the golden lamp sitting innocently on the glass coffee table. He bends down, his fingers swiftly plucking something – a microphone, Katniss realizes with an outraged start – from underneath the delicate silk lampshade. He turns it over in the light, scanning its small black surface, before pressing something with a soft click. Her anger is quickly replaced by fear – has the Capitol been listening to every word she's said? They'll know – they'll know that she knows far too much about the Games than is possible. They are already suspicious about her sudden appearance.

Noticing her worry, Jasper says, "Don't worry. I've been receiving the feed from this room and every other room. I made sure to delete the…controversial sections."

Her shoulders relax, but soon another question comes to her. "How do you have access to the tapes?"

He looks genuinely surprised.

"You didn't know? I'm the Head Gamekeeper."

Her mouth drops open, and she steps back, her back bumping into the couch behind her.

"W-what?" the word is half-strangled. He looks almost…mournful now, a sheepish smile tugging at the ends of his lips.

"How did you think I was able to make you and your…friends Mentors so easily?"

Now that he mentions it, it does make sense.

She isn't sure what to think. The Head Gamekeeper. She doesn't know if she wants to hit him for not telling her sooner or to try and get as much information out of him as possible.

She settles for a combination of the two.

Swinging her arm up swiftly, she takes him by surprise and jabs at his chest in the way she's seen Cato do countless times before, upsetting his center of gravity so that he falls back onto the plush carpet with a dull thump. She pins him down with her knees, shoving his arms at a painful angle above his head.

He blinks up at her in surprise.

"I suppose I should have seen that coming," he says ruefully.

"Yeah," Katniss bites back caustically. "You should have."

To her horror, he looks like he's on the verge of laughter. He is not supposed to be amused. He is supposed to be intimidated. She scowls, pushing his arms further back. That makes him wince, and she pushes down a twinge of guilt.

Jasper has the answers that can save Leon and Hazel.

"What's the Arena?" she demands.

His face abruptly closes off, all traces of amusement vanished from his tanned face.

"I can't tell you that," he says levelly.

She snarls. "What is it? An ocean, a desert? What?"

"I really cannot tell you anything," he says coolly. And she can see that he's telling the truth – his eyes are closed off now; there's no trace of the usual warmth she sees in the amber depths.

So she sighs, getting up and allowing him to rise.

Jasper does so with as much dignity as he can muster.

He's looking at her coldly now, and she scowls to mask her guilt. He's a Capitol puppet, she tells herself firmly. He's the head gamekeeper. She should not be feeling bad for pushing him.

And yet…she can't help but feel a stubborn nagging pull on her conscience.

He moves as if he's about to leave, but something stops him –

"My father will be wanting to speak with you soon," he says quietly, not looking at her.

"Your father…?" she repeats. What would Jasper's father want to do with her? Is he going to speak with Clove and Cato as well?

He nods, a short, awkward jerk of his head that looks out of sync with his usually graceful movements. His hand rests on the sleek metal doorknob as if he can't wait to escape the apartment.

"Yes. My father," he echoes. Then he's gone, leaving only soft whispers as the icy doors slide shut once more.

It's only later that Katniss realizes he never returned the bug to the lampshade – a small peace offering on his part.

It doesn't help her efforts to push down her guilt.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Cato

The crowd is roaring, and he is deathly quiet.

Ophelia and Ajax are hopped up on nerves, bristling with the nervous energy that sends them darting around the stables, stopping only to chastise the anxious-looking stylists when they come too close.

Clove is silent.

Cato is silent.

Finally Ophelia notices and approaches them in a wave of glittery gold armor. Cato bites down a harsh laugh; they look just as ridiculous as he imagines he looked back on that night. It seemed like some things didn't change; their stylists had continued the whole Romanesque armor angle.

"Cato," she whines. "Don't you think my skirt should be shorter? I'll get more Sponsors that way." Ajax, who has approached them by this point, rolls his eyes at Ophelia's words. At least he's gotten some sense knocked into him.

He resists the urge to shake her, to tell her to focus, to shut up about her stupid costume and realize that attractive looks only got you so far in this bloodthirsty forest of ravenous mouths and groping fingers –

"It's fine," he snaps.

Her face falls, and he watches her coldly for another moment before sighing.

"Your costume isn't as important as your aura. You need to be coldly confident. You are above the others. You are Careers, and the audience out there is lucky to have the privilege to even gaze upon you," he says.

Ophelia and Ajax exchange long looks. When they meet his eyes again, they are wearing twin expressions of utter solemnity, their mouths curved down into determined lines that look like the sleek line that stems from a knife kissing skin –

He shoves down the memories of his kills before the ghosts can return.

He summons his mental armor once more [he shakes slightly. No one notices] and straightens his posture, adjusting his shoulders so they are broad and unapologetic.

"Now get out there and show those bumbling clowns what they've created," he says fiercely, his mouth curling up into a jagged smile that doesn't meet his eyes.

They nod in unison, and he watches silently as they jump onto the golden chariot with athletic ease.

When the last echoing clops of the golden horseshoes soften and he can no longer see the last of the red and gold-plumed costumes, he allows himself to let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"This is weird," Clove remarks.

He nods. It is odd to see two Tributes dressed so similarly to how they'd been dressed. Just a few days ago it had been Clove and Cato, standing so confidently on a chariot identical to the one Ophelia and Ajax were on right now…

He shakes himself awake. Now is not the time for memories.

He glances down at the small, black-haired girl beside him and feels an unexpected rush of brotherly affection [a small, cowardly part of him is glad he is out of the Games and does not have to kill this girl he's come to see as the sister he's never had].

"Try to drop that ugly frown, Clove," he says. She looks over at him sharply, her mouth dropping open, before she recognizes his words as the teasing insult that it is.

"Easy for me to smile, Cato. Not so easy for you, I'm afraid. You can't drop your absurd cheeks," she retorts. He raises an eyebrow and sneers down at her.

"Absurd cheeks?" he repeats slowly, drawing out the words so it's clear what he thinks of her pitiful excuse of an insult [it's actually accurate – even as a child his cheeks have never been full. They've always been slightly gaunt. He is sharp angles and unforgiving slashes of bone and muscle, a machine trained to kill and rake his hands through the ashes of his enemies and laugh, for cold Careers do not feel, they merely kill and know only honor and blood, blood, blood].

Something is flying at him, and his hand jerks upward automatically, his fingers snapping shut reflexively to catch the smooth, slightly cold object. He brings the object closer, shaking his head slightly when he sees that it's a green apple.

"Green? Sour, like your soul," he says [he's grateful it's not red].

Clove shrugs, baring her teeth in an unapologetically feral smile. "I ate all the others," she says, and he knows that this is her way of trying to protect him from the ghosts that slide against him with their empty eyes and gaping mouths [he fears they will never leave them alone].

The crowd is roaring; Ophelia and Ajax must be doing a good job. He sighs, pockets the apple, and jerks his head toward the door.

"Shall we?"

"And into the lion's den we march," Clove mutters.

And so they swallow their fears, assume the blank, confident masks they've been trained to wear, and walk boldly into the horde of Capitolites waiting outside.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Katniss

They're at the training center now, the Tributes eying each other with wary suspicion. The gaudy costumes are gone, replaced by simple black training uniforms that are designed to facilitate movement. Remembering Haymitch's advice, she's instructed Leon and Hazel to focus on the survival stations. This late in the game, it makes more sense to teach them to survive the perils of the Arena than attempt to teach them last minute target training.

Her gaze wanders over to where the other Mentors are standing, most talking with hushed voices as they discuss strategy. She is grateful that Hector is here with her, a quiet, comforting presence beside her. The more prosperous Districts [the ones who weren't cloaked in fire and screams during the rebellions] are gathered at one end of the room while the rest are pooled at the other end.

District Twelve stands alone.

She feels someone's gaze on hers; she whips her head around, her eyes meeting dark, dark blue eyes for a split second before Cato looks away, whispering something to an athletic-looking woman with pretty dark eyes and hair.

She laughs, tossing her head back. It's a pleasant, full-bodied laugh, and Katniss is taken aback for a moment, unused to such unapologetically loud behavior from a woman. It seems that the whole sexist behavior is concentrated more in the upper class of the Capitol, the families that can afford the ostentatious dresses and mannerisms. She wonders briefly at how the Capitol puppets are so invested in a fashion trend that they are willing to invest themselves so deeply into the obviously prejudiced mannerisms – and how the woman accept their new roles without a word of protest.

The woman is looking at her, eying her up and down with a calculating look in her eye. Katniss stiffens; she knows that she hardly casts the most threatening image in the simple blouse and pants she's been forced into [she slipped the dress into the shower and "accidentally" destroyed it]. Seeming to come to the same conclusion, the woman rolls her eye and whispers something back to Cato. He stiffens for a split second – if she hadn't been watching him carefully, she would never have noticed it – before smiling arrogantly, his Career mask firmly in place.

She notes the small red "1" emblazoned on the woman's jacket. So he's making alliances already. She swallows thickly, tearing her eyes away from the Career Mentors as she focuses once more on her Tributes.

Hazel is showing Leon how to set a trap. Leon, though young, is quick to catch on, and he soon has a clumsy knot tied that manages to catch hold of the thrown stick and tighten. His mouth widens into a boyish smile, and he turns to the large glass window and grins excitedly at Katniss.

She pushes down a wave of grief – this boy cannot die – before managing a slightly shaky smile in return.

Then she turns swiftly from the window and says, "I'm going to talk to the Mentors from Eleven." Hector nods, still surveying the other Tributes intently.

She allows herself a brief second to gather herself, straightening and pushing back her shoulders, slipping a confident smile on her face, before she turns toward the other Mentors.

She strides forward, her arm outstretched for a friendly handshake.

"Hello," she says, giving the other Mentors' hands a firm shake. "I'm Katniss."

If getting Leon and Hazel meant pretending to be friendly with people who would not blink at their deaths, then so be it [she ignores the nagging suspicion that she is getting far too invested in these children and that if she doesn't leave soon she'll never be able to leave].

Author Note: I've returned to a more drabble-like style of chapter organized more as a collection of scenes than one continuous event. We'll see how this goes.

As always, thank you so much for reading! I've always loved writing this because it gives me an opportunity to experiment with my prose c:

Side note – thank you so much to the guest who went back and reviewed every chapter to this story! To be honest, I was having a major case of writer's block, but your reviews inspired me to get writing again! Thanks to you and every other person who reviewed! It really means so much to me :)

All reviewers will get a teaser of the next chapter.

(wow I just realized that I published this story exactly a year ago. That's so very odd to think about)