"No new developments?"

I ask the question before dropping down on the couch with a huff. It's been a day almost to the minute since the death of the boy from Two, and once the horrible crunching sounds had stopped and the spider dragged the mangled body out for a hatch to visibly open and retrieve the body – this particular arena makes it impossible for hovercrafts to retrieve corpses so they've chosen a different method – nothing of interest has happened. The girl from Ten is still hiding in her cramped space and Sally hurried further into her tunnel when the spider came back out. Nobody else has done much of anything.

"Nothing," sighs Peeta, running a hand over his face. "Show's about to start."

I cross my arms over my chest in a sulking fashion and glare at the television, trying to will this horrible round of the Games to come to an end soon. It's torture to have it be so drawn out. All I want is for Tommy to be crowned winner and the rest of them to die as painlessly and peacefully as possible, and even though I know it's a naïve idea I can't help but feel more and more on edge with each passing day. The fact that there's a lot of downtime is starting to serve as enhancement to the anxiety and anticipation. Oddly enough I'm beginning to think it's a smart move on Magnus' part, to keep us all waiting for this long. It's certainly making me worry what grand finale we're building up to, and I can only imagine what people out in the districts and in the Capitol are thinking.

We watch the broadcast in silence right up until the very end. Then comes a twist we've all been expecting, as Caesar declares it is time to change things up inside the labyrinth. We're treated to a model of how the labyrinth is laid out and as predicted several of the tunnels are being closed. Not only that but new side-tunnels are opening, creating more ways for the tributes to accidentally run into each other. Caesar is practically giddy with admiration for the gamemakers' cleverness because all changes are happening in areas that are currently empty of tributes. In other words nobody inside the arena, I suppose possibly except for the spider, knows the changes are happening. Tributes who think they've mapped out certain tunnels or know roughly where a few of the tunnels lead are in for a surprise.

Half an hour passes. The main feed shows the boy from One making his way through the tunnels in search for a victim, muttering angrily under his breath. He limps slightly, having hurt his knee when he fell over escaping the spider mutt. I feel no sympathy. His so-called allies ended up dead and terribly injured while he ran to save his own skin. I wickedly hope the only tribute he'll run into is the boy from Eight, who could easily put up a strong fight using the weapon he got at the feast.

Then the feed suddenly changes and Tommy's face comes on the screen. The dirt he's used to camouflage himself has begun to wear off but he doesn't know it since there's not even a puddle of water to catch your own reflection in. He's moving quietly through a narrow tunnel, and I groan inwardly at how I can no longer tell roughly where inside the arena he is. The new layout has made me lose whatever landmarks I once had. I can only hope he's nowhere near the cornucopia. The spider is still there, at least as far as I know, and I want him as far away from that horrid thing as possible.

He stops to take a drink of water, and a sound catches his attention. For the benefit of us watching at home or at the tribute's centre the broadcast enhances the audio but it still takes a moment to realize what the sound is. Then we see the source and I close my eyes, feeling sick and desolate. It's the girl from Four, gasping for each breath of air and whimpering, moaning, groaning in agony. She lays flat on her back in the middle of the large tunnel, and doesn't seem like she has moved at all since we last saw her. I cannot believe she is still alive. Her torturous pain is impossible not to notice and my thoughts go to her mentors and to her family. What must it be like to watch your child, your sister, your friend suffer like this.

Tommy reaches the spot where his tunnel opens into hers and walks up to her with no hesitation. She poses no threat to him. Her glassy eyes barely seem to recognize him when he stops right beside her, looking down at her. Then he sinks down on his knees and lifts up her head to put it on his lap, shushing her mildly when she utters a trembling howl of agony at the movement.

"What happened?" he asks. "Who did this to you?" He asks as if they weren't inside a Hunger Games arena, as if it was a random crime committed out on the streets. His hand strokes her cheek soothingly.

"Sp… sp… s… spider…" she manages.

Tommy's brow furrows, and he seems to think she's delusional. Why would he think otherwise? Her injuries don't look like a spider bite and unless you've seen the beast that stepped on her you could never draw the conclusion that she's talking about something like it.

His hand leaves her cheek and travels carefully down her body, his fingers grazing just above her once beautiful skin, now marred and black and blue. He looks visibly shaken at the state of her, the dent in her sternum making him draw back his hand a little, but then he draws a breath and gathers his wits. He finds her trembling hand and holds it tight.

"I'm so sorry," he tells her. "It shouldn't be like this."

She begins to sob, tears falling down her cheeks and her face scrunching up in pain with each sob. He shushes her again, his free hand stroking her brow. Peeta, Haymitch and I stare with wide eyes, none of us having ever seen anything like this before. She's a career. He's been one of her targets from the start. He killed her closest friend in the Games. By all accounts an encounter like this shouldn't take place. Yet it does.

After a few minutes Tommy takes his hand off her brow and reaches inside his bag for his water bottle. He raises his eyebrows and she nods slowly. She takes a deep breath and seems to brace herself, letting out a guttural groan as he lifts her upper body a bit so that she can drink without choking on the water. He holds the bottle to her mouth and allows her as much water as she wants.

"He shouldn't do that," I say.

"Shouldn't do what?" asks Peeta sternly. "Offer a drink of water to a girl in excruciating pain?"

"She's not going to live. He needs that water more."

"You know, sometimes you can just be…" He doesn't finish the sentence and I don't ask him to elaborate.

When Tommy helps Ellie lie back down her shoulder grazes against the scythe hanging from his belt. Her eyes go to it, and then she looks up at our nephew.

"Please," she says, and there is no doubt what she is asking of him.

He doesn't answer her at first, making sure she's comparatively comfortable. I can see in his eyes and on his face that he understands her request perfectly well, and he seems to be pondering it. In my mind there can be only one answer. I remember Cato and his suffering, and how it took no hesitation to shoot that arrow at him. I knew I wasn't ending his life so much as I was ending his suffering. His life was over anyway, and the question at that point was merely how much he should have to be tormented before it was all over. It's the same now for Ellie. Maybe if she got medical attention she could pull through, but there is none to be had. She was dead the moment the spider's leg made impact, and she knows it.

"I can't do that," says Tommy finally, and at first I think I must be hearing him wrong.

"You have to," she begs, her voice barely holding up. Another tear falls down her face. "Please."

He turns his face away for a second, looking forlorn. Then he draws a deep breath and looks her in the eye.

"I just can't."

"What is he doing?" I ask, my voice rising with alarm. "Why is he even hesitating?"

"It's not so easy to do it," argues Peeta.

"Are you kidding me? It's cruel, inhumane even not to. You did it for that girl the careers tortured. I did it for Cato. Tommy already has taken a life, and this time it would be an act of mercy."

"Slicing her throat with a small scythe while she lays on his lap. That's what we're talking about here."

"Ending what could be hours or even days more of what she's suffering right now; that's what we're talking about."

"It's up to Tommy. If he can't do it, I can't blame him."

"You are both idiots, then," I scoff. "Not doing it is the worst possible choice. It's awful for her and it makes him seem weak."

"Not everything is about procuring sponsors, Katniss," snarls Peeta, his tone harsh enough that I recoil.

"That's enough out of both of you," says Haymitch. "The choice is Tommy's."

"It's a mistake," I say, hiding my face in my hands, trying to will the image of that poor girl out of my mind. "It's a mistake. It's going to haunt him."

In the arena Tommy shifts a bit to sit more comfortably, his hand still holding Ellie's. Her eyes are fixated on him, and she's begun to tremble more.

"I don't want to die," she manages.

"I know."

"I want it to be over."

"I know that too."

She closes her eyes for a minute and then opens them again, frantically searching until she remembers Tommy's face is above hers. She looks up at him again, and somehow he manages a comforting smile.

"Don't leave me alone."

"I'll stay," he promises. She whimpers loudly, and he begins to stroke her forehead again, rocking slowly from side to side. "It's alright," he says, bizarre words under the circumstance but what else can he say? "It's okay. You've been so brave."

They sit like that for a while. I think it's almost an hour that goes by, and even though she appears to be growing progressively weaker she clings to life with impressive fervour. Since Tommy won't end her life for her she seems to have gone over to not wanting it to end at all. She has never seemed more human than at this time, all the career mannerisms and haughtiness wiped away, leaving nothing but a frightened dying child.

At long last Tommy says her name and lifts their joined hands to rest just below where her horrible bruise ends.

"It's alright," he tells her. "You've done good. You've brought pride to your district. You fought bravely."

His words seem ludicrous. What does any of that matter right now? How can bringing pride to your district by being an efficient killer be spoken as a compliment, an achievement to be applauded? But even though I don't understand why he's saying these things, or why he hasn't ended her suffering, I can't help but love him and be proud of him. It's like watching Peeta in the Games all over again, that same kindness and compassion. A smarter tribute would have run away a long time ago. He's terribly exposed just sitting there with a dying girl on his lap, especially since the gamemakers have made the torches on the wall burn brighter so that we all can see everything that happens. The only rational thing to do is to have honoured her request and put an end to her misery and then taken shelter. Yet he just sits there with her, a girl who was his mortal enemy until this encounter.

"It's okay Ellie," says Tommy softly, reassuringly. "It's okay to let go."

She keeps looking at him like he's her lifeline, and perhaps right now he is. Her hand squeezes his in a cramped fashion, and then almost seems to go limp. Her tortured, ragged breaths begin to come further and further apart. Tommy leans down and manages to reach her forehead with his lips, pressing a soothing kiss to her brow. He pulls back up and their eyes meet one more time, and then she doesn't see anything anymore.

He stays frozen in that same position for close to fifteen minutes after the canon has sounded. Then he gets up, his joints stiff, and he picks her up in his arms. I don't know why he does it but he carries her into the narrow tunnel he came from, shielding her from plain sight. After he's laid her down he looks through her belongings and takes what he can have use of. He stops and stands there out in the larger tunnel for a moment, looking at her in silence. I think I see a tear falling down his cheek. Then he sighs and turns, walking down the tunnel in the direction of the cornucopia.

I can't sleep. I spend an hour tossing and turning until I hear Peeta grumpily asking me if I feel like getting up for some hot milk, then I try my best to lie still. He's lying on his stomach tonight, a sign that he doesn't want much physical contact, no doubt because I criticized Tommy's choice not to kill that girl. It's fine by me. I stand by my statement that our nephew behaved like an idiot, and I think Peeta is being an idiot about it too.

After a while I realize that my questioning of Tommy's decision might not be the reason why Peeta wants space. I remember the earlier discussion about the water he gave away, and Peeta's disapproval of my disapproval. I turn my head and look at my husband, his shoulders rising and falling steadily with each breath. How he's managed to fall asleep after tonight's event I'll never know. It suddenly irritates me that he might be lying on his stomach because I thought Tommy should have saved his water for himself. The implication, at least in my mind, is that I'm heartless, when I believe I am anything but. I don't even care that I'm not in the mood for physical contact either, the principle bothers me, and so I reach out my hand and give him a shove. He wakes with a snort and lifts his head groggily.

"If Tommy doesn't find another supply station or get a big nice donation from a sponsor he's going to get dehydrated real soon."

"What?" asks Peeta, still half asleep.

"The water bottle," I clarify. "He should not have given any to Ellie." A thought occurs to me and I immediately share it with him. "In fact he might have ended up prolonging her suffering."

"Yeah, well maybe his actions tonight made people want to sponsor him," replies Peeta drowsily, shifting to look at me more easily. It's dark in the room but I can still see how sleepy he is.

"Or he won't get any at all. People might choose to not sponsor him because he didn't have the decency to end her suffering."

"Are you saying my brother's little boy isn't decent?" He shifts again, propping himself up on his elbow, glaring at me.

"I don't know if he thought he was being kind but the end result was that she lived in that horrible state for longer than she needed to."

"You don't think Tommy is decent?"

"You know what I mean, Peeta," I deflate. How did I end up taking the conversation to this place when what I wanted to do was not feel bad over the water issue?

"Look," he sighs. "Whether or not he should have given her water is… Well it's a question without a definite answer. Nobody knows if hurt her more than it helped her, but I for one find it comforting that in the midst of all the other things that tortured her at least thirst was crossed off the list."

"I think it was the wrong way to go. He could have put her out of her misery instead. It's what she wanted. He knew she wasn't going to live. He may feel right now that he did the right thing but I guarantee you that once dehydration sets in-"

"If that happens Tommy will still feel he did the right thing," says Peeta calmly. He's fully awake now but at least not irritated. "You know this."

Giving it some thought, I realize I do. That's what those Mellark boys are like. Deep down I have to admit to myself that I probably wouldn't have been able to deny that girl water either. Suddenly I feel terrible for having felt that he should. I exhale in a huff and stare at the ceiling, wondering what is wrong with me. This isn't like me. Has the stress of one of my loved ones being in the arena really made me so callous that I no longer care that other tributes suffer?

I feel the bed dip as Peeta shifts beside me, and then he's right next to me, his body aligning to mine and his hand coming to rest on my stomach, just above the waistband of my pyjama pants.

"It frustrates you to be so powerless."

"No shit," I mutter, feeling strangely close to tears. I don't know how much longer I can stand this situation we are in. I don't want to see our nephew trapped in that arena one more minute, and just like Peeta I'm beginning to worry how this experience will change him. It certainly seems to have changed me. How could I have been so annoyed that he gave a tormented, dying girl water? "If anyone is indecent here it's me."

"Quite the opposite," says Peeta.

"It seriously bothered me that he wasted his water on her." I take my eyes off the ceiling and look at Peeta. "What kind of a person does that?"

"One who wants nothing more than for the young man she loves to come through the Games and return home to us."

"Yeah well…" I scoff and look up at the ceiling again. "There are still ten more tributes that need to die before he can come home. Ten more people I have to wish dead. Sally included. All the while I can't do anything to help Tommy."

"What he did this evening… It may have been prolonging her suffering not to cut her throat, but if you can't do it you can't do it. What he did, though, sitting there with her, comforting her… In that terrible situation he managed to hold on to the good inside of him. He's been affected by the death of that other girl, and now I think he found a piece of himself that he lost that day."

"Because he's like you."

"No Katniss…" Peeta's lips land on my cheek, my nose and then my mouth. I look at him and I'm comforted by what I see. "Who do you think inspired him to do what he did?"

"Nobody. He's a Mellark. You people are either like your mother or like you. Kind and nurturing."

"He stayed with her tonight because of you."

"Nice try," I say dryly. "If you want to try and make me feel better at least go with something that could possibly have a smidgen of truth."

"He may not have covered her in flowers after her death, and he may not have sung to her, but he was doing what his aunt would have done. You can be sure of that."

Memories of Rue suddenly fill my mind, as clear as if her death had happened yesterday. It's still painful, all these years later. It's still so wasteful, so inhumane and wrong. But even with the fresh wave of grief that her name brings tonight I feel comforted. I can actually believe that Peeta is right. I'm not as sure of it as he seems to be but it's not beyond the realm of possibility. Tommy may not have been born yet when I watched life leave Rue but he's heard about it and even seen it once on television, even though it's a clip they hate to show.

I wrap my arms around Peeta's neck and pull him down to me, burying my face against his comforting warmth. He shifts a little and then pulls me closer, wrapping me in his embrace like a warm and comforting cocoon.

"You may not be able to help him physically in there," whispers Peeta in my ear. "But helping him hold on to his humanity, to who he truly is, is just as important. Otherwise what does it matter if he is crowned victor, if all that he was when he went in stays in that dreadful labyrinth?"

"Thank you," I whisper back.

"Thank you,," he answers.

With Peeta's arms wrapped around me and his left thigh draped across my legs I bury my face against his skin and realize how exhausted I am. His hand cradles the back of my head and I whimper quietly, pulling him just a little bit closer.

It doesn't take me long to fall asleep after that. Despite everything I make it through the entire night without nightmares, and when I wake up I'm still enveloped in Peeta's comforting presence.

Re: Tommy not performing a mercy kill, this is something I find somewhat interesting. I'd like to say that I would be able to put a person out of their misery if I knew they were suffering and wouldn't survive but I'm definitely not sure I would be able to bring myself to do it. Tommy, unlike me, actually has killed someone before but that doesn't mean it would be easy for him. I don't know what you guys think but I find it's an interesting grey area even though it might seem black and white at first glance.