We Got Married

(A/N: Inspired by a Korean reality show titled so. I would tell you what the show is about, but you'll see as you read on. It might give away the whole point of the story if I describe the premise of the show! As for the beginning of this story, it takes place in Chapter Two of Suzanne Collins' Catching Fire.)

"Why don't you just kill me now?" I blurt out.

President Snow doesn't lift up his eyes from stirring his tea. He doesn't have the decency to even make eye contact with the person he plans on killing. Instead, he shoots down my ideas of how exactly he'll make it happen. Certainly he won't make a martyr out of me by murdering me in public, and arranging an accident wouldn't make a strong enough point to get through to the people of Panem. The point he wants to reinforce is that if you defy the Capitol in any shape or form, directly or indirectly, you will be punished.

But I remain upright in my seat, hyperaware of my surroundings in this lavish house meant for Victors, and watch President Snow's every move. I can't say the thought of me lunging for his teaspoon and plunging it in his neck hasn't crossed my mind since I found him in this office.

Uncomfortable in the hanging silence, I say, "Then just tell me what you want me to do. I'll do it." I almost sound desperate, because I know if I go against him a second time, my mother and my little sister Prim are only within harm's reach.

The cookies my mother brought in are now receiving the special attention the tea was given a minute ago. President Snow plucks one from the tray and raises it to eye level, admiring its intricate icing details. Its soft pastel colors and deft hand techniques are only from the doings of Peeta, our District's fine baker and my alleged lover.

"Your cousin," he prompts so suddenly, "what's his name?"

"Gale," I say in the most resolute way I can. Somehow I know, in this tangle of lies people—namely my mentor Haymitch—have spun for me in order to back up my relationship with Peeta, President Snow sees through it all. Gale is indeed not my cousin. He is my best friend. One who only put yet another kink in the mess I'm trying to control, by blindsiding me with a kiss while we were hunting. I try to convince myself that there's no way that President Snow could know. But I shake it off and keep my composure, in case President Snow decides to pencil in another kill in his books.

He takes in a whiff of the cookie in his hand and says, "He won't, by any chance, pose as a problem, will he, Miss Everdeen?"

"No," I answer, and I take a moment to swallow down a dry patch in my throat. "Peeta and I…we will be the same." In love. Granted, one more than the other can ever be, but Peeta and I will be in love.

"I am only concerned because I care." His tone makes it hard to believe. "All twelve districts have been duped. Your participation in the Games, and Peeta's love struck feelings towards you have led them to believe that love conquers all." He finally stands from the desk chair he's been sitting on and offers me the cookie he chose not to eat. "That your love gives the people of Panem hope."

Hope for what? And then I remember the news once Peeta and I were hoisted from the arena. When we were crowned the first ever Victors of the Hunger Games…

I had heard rumors about District 11 causing trouble, but that was only after they had lost their 12-year-old tribute Rue. But a second rumor spread about when the Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane caved and allowed two winners to come home. In spurts, the uprisings began. First the families of murdered tributes rebelled against some Peacemakers. Then friends of those families formed alliances and refused to feed into the Capitol's wants by not working in their factories. I can only hope that not many were harmed for their defiance.

Another piece of gossip is flying around, something more recent. It has something to do with me and Peeta, and our relationship, and it's causing the uprisings to deteriorate. Like the rare few from the Capitol, small bodies of people here or there—maybe a bitter mother, father or brother, sister of a tribute—know better than to believe the televised star-crossed love. They suspect that it was all a strategy to stay alive. They weren't wrong...

"So what are you saying?" I ask him, my nostrils twitching from the vague stench of blood as he circles my chair.

"As it turns out, Miss Everdeen, our people of Panem are catching on," he says as the curve on his lips sends shivers through my spine. "Not all, but the numbers are growing quite tremendously. You see, unlike Seneca, there are those who are not fooled. They will try to find the cracks in your attachment with Peeta Mellark, and doing so will result in a settlement that the Capitol would never have to take part of."

So the uprisings are only succeeding under the example of Peeta declaring his love for me, and I for him? The people are learning that there is power in numbers, and the people of Panem know that the districts' populations put together largely outnumber the measly amount of Peacemakers. Should they all rally as one, they can bring down the Capitol. But…if they find out that our romance in the Games was all a scam, it would be a great toppling over. More trust would be lost than the amount possibly gained, and all I would have to show for it is that I'm just as twisted as the Capitol power. And everyone I had come into contact with since the Reaping would be targeted as conspirators as well for going along with it. My family, Gale, Peeta, and Haymitch would all be shunned in this already divided nation.

"And?" I prompt a bit shakily. A part of me wants to know where he is going with this interrogation, but a huge part of me doesn't.

"As President, I am fair, and a happy Panem…well…" He stops himself because maybe he even realizes how ridiculous he sounds. He wants nothing but a desperate, weak Panem, the kind that he can control. "I only assume that you would want to prove to your people that what you and Mr. Mellark have is genuine," he says matter-of-factly. "I can provide you with that opportunity."

Why give me the chance to add fuel to the uprisings? A wrinkle forms between my brows until I realize that this is President Snow. Although he's not the Head Gamemaker, he surely has a hand in the Games. He's giving me another Game to play. His oh-so generous offer shows that he has faith I will fail at whatever he has planned for me.

But his plans have failed before. "Yes, okay," I challenge back, "I'll take it. What do I do?"

"I can arrange, let's say, a public announcement." He gestures at one of the guarding Peacemakers and takes an enclosed envelope from him. Snow unravels the twill that holds it together ever so slowly, as if to heighten the tension in me, and looks over the first page of a twenty-odd paged packet. "It'll be ongoing," he continues explaining. "You and your better half Peeta will move in together." He catches a flash of panic strike my face and adds, "Almost like your own little cave, but with bed accommodations."

My reflexes fail me for an instant when President Snow hands me the packet. When I take it from him, I flip through it quickly and realize that this is a contract, complete with a necessary signature on every other page. "Okay," I say. "Where's the pen?"

"Ah, but there's more, my dear Katniss," he informs me, and I should've known by the contract's thickness. "I have cameramen set aside to personally follow you and Peeta around, watching you both live your happy life as the first Victors to come home alive. Every week we will broadcast an episode of your married life, and the people will have the chance to see what it is like to be a winner of the Games—the money, the food, the house…"

"Married?" I croak, stuck between a gasp and scream. I thought it was all over but it's like a spinoff of the Games;we might as well volunteer to be part of another one. To provide more sheer entertainment to those that are privileged, and envy to those who aren't. "I have to—"

"Marry him?" he finishes for me. "Why, yes, of course, Miss Everdeen. Or shall I now call you Mrs. Mellark?"

"Why?" I ask. My attention falls back to the contract and my shoulders start to lose their rigidity.

President Snow stands beside me, patting at the packet in my lap. "As always," he says lowly, his pungent breath wafting at the side of my face, "we only want a good show." He begins to take his leave.

"I'll be convincing," I speak up in a whisper before he exits the room. My body remains paralyzed from the overwhelming challenge.

"Convince me," he elusively chuckles. "Wouldn't want the people to know about the kiss between you and your dear cousin, do we?" When he finally leaves, with the promise of keeping in touch, I suddenly become conscious of the breath I was holding.

If I even so much as stammer in saying "I love you," President Snow wins.

(A/N: As you can see, I'm jumping on the HG bandwagon pretty late. I've just finished reading the second book, and I'm in love with the series. For this story, I hope to update from time to time, and hit the main points of the book and still stick to my rendition of at the same time. We'll see how that goes…

I know my hiatus from writing on here has been too long, and I had every intention of continuing my other stories, but this idea was too good to pass up. I hope you all like it! Please review and tell me what you think of it!)