Chapter Text
Katniss stood beneath the shower spray in the Training Center, letting the hot water beat against her shoulders until the glass walls around her fogged with steam. For the first time since her second Reaping, the tightness in her muscles began to ease.
Figures.
The first real moment of peace she'd had in days came courtesy of the Capitol. A shower with enough settings to change the scent of the water, soften her hair, smooth her skin. Ridiculous. Excessive. Warm enough that, for a few minutes, she could almost forget where she was.
Almost.
She pushed the thought aside. There would be plenty of time to hate the Capitol later. Right now, she'd take a few quiet minutes wherever she could find them.
She tipped her head back, closing her eyes as the water ran over her face, washing the last of her makeup from the Tribute Parade down the drain.
It didn't take long for her mind to wander.
An echo of Finnick Odair’s teasing voice as he crunched down on a sugar cube drifted back to her.
“Sorry you had to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you.”
Did he know?
Had they all known?
The thought should have unsettled her more than it did. A month ago, the idea would’ve sent a cold, twisting knot through her stomach. Every kiss, every interview, every hand she’d held in front of the cameras had been another promise to Snow that she’d keep playing her part. As long as the Capitol believed she belonged to Peeta, Prim stayed safe.
Now? None of it seemed to matter.
The arena awaited her, and she was going to die.
Snow had dragged her back, dragged them all back, to make an example of her. To show the districts that the Girl on Fire could be extinguished with little more than a flick of his wrist. He wouldn’t let her win, not this time: she knew that as surely as she knew the water pouring down her skin was hot.
Her fingers tightened around the bar of soap.
Peeta, though…
Peeta–steady, kind Peeta–still had a chance.
He deserved mornings in the bakery before the ovens had begun to warm. He deserved to frost icing flowers for children who only knew him as the baker’s son, not the Victor. He deserved the years she’d stopped expecting for herself long ago.
As long as Prim had those years, Katniss had never needed to imagine her own.
She’d already made it clear to Haymitch before they left 12. If one of them walked out of that arena alive, it had to be Peeta. If the other Victors had seen through the romance, it hardly mattered anymore.
Unbidden, another face surfaced in her mind before she could stop it.
Johanna Mason, District 7.
Katniss scrubbed the soap against her skin harder.
Seriously?
She caught a glimpse of pale, muscled skin behind her eyelids.
Katniss frowned.
Why that? Of everything that had happened that day, why was it the elevator that refused to leave her alone?
The glare of the lights.
Her utter lack of embarrassment.
That crooked, infuriating smirk, as if Katniss had been the strange one for looking away.
Katniss forced her eyes open, blinking at the rush of steam.
The memory refused to dissolve.
With an irritated twist of the handle, she turned off the water so abruptly that the pipes groaned slightly in protest, willing the heat to die down.
Cold air met damp skin.
The flush creeping up her neck remained.
Katniss reached for her towel, shaking her head. Tomorrow, she’d be back in training. She’d have more important things to think about than Johanna Mason.
She repeated the thought until she almost believed it.