Chapter Text
The curtain rises, the audience applauds, and Katniss feels like she’s going to throw up.
“Why do we live in Twelve again?” she moans quietly to Peeta from their little corner where they watched the gala. Caesar is out on stage, giving a shorter version of his speech from the night before, welcoming all present, and all watching from their homes, to the Prix.
“What?” Peeta asks her, distracted by Caesar's introduction of the judges, who are sitting in the middle of the house. Katniss can just see them behind their little table, small lights illuminating their faces from below.
“If we lived in One, we’d be going first and it would be over in five minutes. But no, we have to go last. We have to watch twenty-two perfect variations and then we have to go out there and flaunt our rebellion in Snow’s face. Why are we doing this? Is it too late, can we not do a pas?” Katniss is talking too fast, too loud. Someone shushes her.
“Katniss. Breathe.” Peeta grabs her hands, breathing in and out at a pace Katniss instinctively follows. Slowly, slowly, her panic subsides.
“Better?” Katniss nods, wide-eyed. Caesar’s talking about how they’re the future.
“The only thing we can control is the way we dance. So it doesn’t matter how perfect everyone else is. All that matters is that we are.” Peeta’s voice is low, but just the sound of it and the feeling of his hands in hers is calming. Katniss can tell he’s nervous too, but somehow he’s holding it together better than she is.
“Right. Perfection. No big deal.”
“Exactly,” Peeta says, ignoring her sarcasm.
Katniss looks back to the stage, where Caesar is waxing nostalgically over this year’s tributes as an introduction to the video that played during the gala. “And of course, the pair the entire country is buzzing about, partners in more than just pas de deux, the faces of the Prix de Panem, the tributes from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!”
Katniss and Peeta turn to each other at the same time. “Entire country?” he whispers, looking alarmed.
Katniss has no idea how to react. “Prim did say everyone on the train on her way here was talking about us,” she says uncertainly.
The lights go down as the video plays, and judging by the reaction of the audience, Caesar wasn’t exaggerating. There’s sighing, actual sighing, whenever they appear on screen together, and even scattered applause when Katniss smiles at Peeta during their onstage rehearsal. Katniss can only imagine what’s going on with the people watching from home.
“This is good,” Katniss realizes out loud. Peeta looks away from the screen and back at her.
“It is? Because I was getting ready to apologize again.”
“No, listen to them, they love us already. They love us. They’re going to lose their minds when we dance. So, um, no need to apologize. We’ll have to thank Mr. A, he knew what he was doing,” Katniss admits.
“Right,” Peeta says, looking back to the stage.
Caesar’s back in the spotlight, and Glimmer’s being ushered to one of the downstage wings. The Prix is about to begin.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please wish this year’s tributes the very best of luck, and welcome to the Prix de Panem!”
There’s applause, then as it dies down, the theater fills with a sense of anticipatory excitement. A whisper to Glimmer, and she walks out on stage.
Somehow time manages to drag and go by in an instant. One moment, Katniss is hoping that they’ll just get on with it and start the music. She blinks, and then Marvel is bowing at the front of the stage, and Clove’s preparing to make her entrance.
There’s a connection, between the audience and the dancers, pushing them on, feeding their energy. The mistakes, when they come, are so small, they’re almost impossible to notice.
Cato seems to have gotten over his jumping problem, because his cabrioles are almost as high as Thresh’s. The boy from Four is no Finnick, but his Ali variation thrills the audience. The girl from Seven manages to do her best at keeping the audience awake during Sylphides.
Katniss relevés over and over, keeping her feet warm, leaning over to stretch out her legs. Peeta walks in little circles, testing his knee, occasionally practicing his arms, checking in with Katniss with a raised eyebrow. Katniss gives him a thumbs up.
A Siegfried and a White Swan walk by them and Katniss realizes there’s only a few variations left before they dance. Her nerves, which she’d managed to forget about while watching the dancing, come roaring back in full force. She breathes out slowly, fanning herself with her hands, which does nothing to combat her panic.
Remembering how Peeta had calmed her before, she turns to him, only to find him facing her, a look of resolve on his face. “What?” Katniss asks, her worry only adding to her nerves. “Is it your knee?”
“I need to tell you something,” Peeta says, his voice wary.
Katniss waits for him to continue, but then Peeta shakes his head and turns away, shaking out his legs.
“Oh come on, don’t do this to me,” Katniss agonizes. “Is it something about the pas? Are my jumps too slow and you waited until now to tell me because you couldn’t do it before?”
Peeta turns to face her, shaking his head. “No, it’s not about the pas.” He doesn’t continue, and Katniss can’t decide whether to force it out of him, or put it out of her mind until after they dance.
Katniss can hear Siegfried’s music playing, and sees Rue and Thresh being escorted to the wings. “It’s almost us, just tell me now, so we can get it over with and dance.”
“It wasn’t Mr. A’s idea,” Peeta says quietly. Katniss, her mind already racing, tries to figure out what he means. “What wasn’t?”
Peeta looks around awkwardly, like someone else will be able to explain this better than him. Eventually he gestures between them, pointing from Katniss back to himself. Katniss suddenly understands.
“The strategy? Us, together?”
“It was my idea.”
Katniss can’t understand why Peeta needs to confess this to her, now, of all times. “Okay, it was your idea. It’s working. And if it helps us win, I will give you all the credit," she says matter-of-factly.
“No, Katniss, that’s not—” Peeta is cut off by one of the Prix volunteers tapping Katniss on the shoulder.
“District Twelve?” They both nod, startled.
“Come with me.”
Katniss’ stomach lurches. She walks around the barre, following the volunteer over to where Thresh stands, Peeta a few steps behind her. Rue is running out onstage, her dress fluttering behind her. Katniss can feel the panic rising again.
“Hey. We’ve got this.” Peeta takes Katniss’ hands, looking deep into her eyes again.
“What were you saying?” she asks, trying to mimic his breathing.
Peeta shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s um, nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing. And,” Katniss looks over to where Rue is curtsying, “I need something to distract me. So just, say it.” She looks at him seriously. One tribute left.
Peeta takes a deep breath. Thresh is walking purposefully out of the wings. The music starts.
“Um, okay. I said it wasn’t all a lie, because it’s not. Because it’s all true. Except for you know, the obvious part. But the rest of it. I mean, maybe it’s not love, because it's not something I can define, but like you said, there is love when you dance, and I’ve never felt anything like the way I feel when I dance with you. Or when I’m around you. Or when I see you across the studio. Or when I when I was eleven years old and you let me help you.” Peeta’s voice is getting stronger as he continues.
“And I know this is the worst possible time to tell you this, but maybe it’s better this way, because if I screw this pas up, you’ll probably never speak to me again. But I just needed to tell you. That it wasn’t all a lie.”
Thresh is bowing. Katniss is stunned.
She’s known, for weeks now, that there is something between them, that their kiss wasn't just Juliet's longing, that it’s more than just partners, dancing, but hearing Peeta’s confession, it’s made real. And in understanding the depths of Peeta’s feelings, she begins to understand hers.
He’s still holding her hands.
She opens her mouth to respond, but the volunteer is tapping Peeta on the shoulder.
“I’ll see you out there,” Peeta says, and slowly leans forward and kisses her gently on the cheek. Katniss’ eyes flutter shut, and then Peeta is gone.
Katniss lets herself breathe, one, two breaths, and then she hears their music. This is it.
Katniss opens her eyes. She feels calm, composed, her nerves have disappeared. It’s not all a lie. She walks back to the wing she makes her entrance from, and watches Peeta turn.
And then she’s jumping onstage, the Firebird making her entrance. She can feel the emotions stirring within her, stronger than ever before, but she channels them into her dancing.
Katniss cherishes every step, every jump while she’s alone onstage, knowing this is the last time she will be performing that step, that jump, knowing the audience is watching her every move.
And now, she is not alone, stepping forward into an arabesque, Peeta’s hands settling firmly on her waist. She looks back at him, their eyes meeting.
The music cuts out.
Katniss inhales sharply, but manages to keep her reaction from showing on her face. She hears someone in the audience gasp, she can feel Peeta tense behind her, and for the space of a breath, she allows herself to panic.
Then she keeps going.
It’s a split-second decision, one she’s sure she will regret, but Katniss keeps dancing. She beats her arms, and struggles to get out of Peeta’s hold. Peeta, taking his cue from her, turns her in a promenade, and they continue to dance, in silence.
Katniss is suddenly grateful for the night before, running the pas without music, preparing for this disaster, without even realizing they were preparing. She takes her cues from last night now, highlighting the moments they found in the choreography, letting them linger onstage. She meets Peeta’s gaze, their connection so strong it’s almost tangible, holding arabesques for what seems like days, the tension reaching all the way through Katniss’ fingers, before the release.
They float through the lifts, Katniss looking down at the audience from atop Peeta’s shoulder, arching her back as Peeta lifts her up, looking into Peeta’s eyes as he pulls her to his side. The only sounds are their breathing, and the sound of Katniss’ pointe shoes on the stage, echoing in the theater.
What feels like both seconds and days later, they come to the end. Katniss pulls a feather from her tutu and presents it to Peeta before she leaps away, into the wings.
The second she’s offstage, Katniss runs to the downstage wing where Peeta will exit, ignoring the hushed exclamations from the clusters of tributes waiting for their final bow. Peeta looks wonderingly at the feather, holding it like it’s made of gold, before he turns and runs offstage. He stops just in front of Katniss, and they stare at each other, breathing hard, waiting. Was continuing without music a mistake? Have they just ruined any chance they have of winning?
For a long, tortuous moment, nothing happens. Then one person starts clapping, then another, until the entire audience is applauding, louder than they have been for anyone else. Like they had been under a spell, and now they have been released.
Katniss lets out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Peeta holds out his left hand to Katniss, the relief on his face evident, his grin as wide as she's ever seen it. She stares at it, uncomprehending, until she remembers they have to bow. She places her left hand in his, and he escorts her onto the stage.
The roar when they appear is deafening. Katniss smiles as she walks, with pride, with relief, with joy, acknowledging the bravas coming from each tier. They stand center stage, soaking in the applause. Katniss curtsies deeply, while Peeta bows behind her. She takes a step to the side, turning and curtsying to her partner, thanking him, hand over her heart.
As she comes up from her second curtsy, Peeta steps forward and takes her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it, a kiss Katniss feels all the way down to her toes.
The applause, somehow, gets even louder.
Katniss knows she’s supposed to let Peeta escort her offstage now, but all she can do is look into his eyes and feel the emotions, the one she’d channeled so well into her dancing, start to overwhelm her.
“Let’s hear it for our tributes!” Caesar is back, his smile wide, his excitement contagious, saving Katniss the embarrassment of remaining frozen center stage. Peeta offers her his hand, and he walks her to the side, joining the rest of the tributes in a line that spans the width of the stage. One last bow, the audience rewarding them with applause, and the curtain falls.
Around them, their fellow competitors relax. Their work is done, all they can do now is wait.
Katniss only feels herself growing more agitated. She sees Peeta looking at her, his face a mixture of trepidation and excitement. She grabs his hand, and starts pulling him across the stage.
Tributes nod to them in respect as they pass, acknowledging the impossible situation they’d been placed in. To dance without music, it’s beyond comprehension.
Katniss keeps dragging Peeta, not looking back at him. She can tell by his stumbling walk that he’s confused about where she’s taking him, but allowing her to guide him anyway. When they reach her dressing room, she pushes him inside, then follows, pushing the door shut behind her.
They stare at each other.
Katniss breaks first. An uncontrollable grin spreads across her face, and she spreads her arms as if to say she cannot even begin to comprehend the last ten minutes, what has happened between them, what has happened to them, what they have done, together.
Peeta raises his eyebrows, but he’s smiling too.
“So, you think we’re gonna win?”
The fact that this is the first thing Peeta says to her, after everything that’s happened, makes Katniss drop her arms in exasperation, lunge forward, and kiss him.
Peeta responds enthusiastically, lifting her up off her pointes, holding her to him like he has so many times before. Only this time, it’s much more than a simple lift. It’s intense, the kiss, Katniss pouring everything she feels into it, and she can’t help but marvel at the way they fit together, even now, after everything. Eventually they pull apart, if only to catch their breath.
“I like dancing with you too, you know.” Katniss would be embarrassed at how insufficient her response to everything that they’ve just gone through is, but she can’t remember the last time she felt this good, this free.
“I guess I was wrong about you never speaking to me again,” Peeta says, the smile on his face as bright as the sun.
Katniss’ response is to lean in again, but at that moment the door is flung open, Mr. A looking around with more energy than Katniss has ever seen him display. Rolling his eyes, he calls over his shoulder, “I found them, they’re in here, fornicating.”
“Excuse me?” Madame T’s voice is higher than Katniss has ever heard it, and she rushes into the room, followed by Cinna and Portia. Katniss reluctantly extricates herself from Peeta’s embrace, turning to face their team. Cinna is looking at both of them, awed. Portia looks like she’s been crying.
Madame glares at Mr. A, and then turns her attention to Katniss and Peeta. “You two,” she says, her voice wobbling. Rushing forward, she gathers them both in a hug so tight, Katniss feels all her breath has been squeezed from her.
She meets Mr. A’s eyes over Madame’s shoulder, and the look on his face tells her everything she needs to know. Still, Katniss wants him to have to say it out loud. “How’d we do?” she manages to ask as Madame releases them.
“You did good, sweetheart.”
Katniss grins. Peeta takes her hand and gives it a tight squeeze.
“It was,” Portia pauses, at a loss for words. “You made us hear the music.”
Cinna leans toward them, taking each of their hands in his. “I am . . . so proud of you both. Not everyone could have done what you did, continuing on like that. I’m sure Snow expected you to fall apart, but you didn’t, and that shows how strong you two are. As dancers. But also as people.”
It may be the kindest thing anyone has ever said about her. All Katniss can do is step forward and hug him, whispering a grateful “Thank you,” in his ear.
Behind her, Peeta asks, “What do you mean Snow expected us to fall apart?”
Katniss breaks away from Cinna, confused. “Wait, what?”
Mr. A looks at them, the expression on his face suddenly grim. “I’d bet my life that he had your tape sabotaged. Or maybe he just told the booth to turn it off at a specific point. I already asked, they said it was technical difficulties, but I know Snow. This is what he does. He undermines, not in an overt way, he won’t throw acid in your eyes. But he wanted you rattled, he wanted you to fail. I promise you that.”
“But we didn’t,” Peeta says, apprehensive. “We didn’t fall apart.”
“No, you didn’t. And he’s not going to be happy, not with the way the crowd reacted, not even with the other two judges, if they found what you did impressive. Which it was. Not to mention you two are the darlings of the ballet world right now, they’re losing their minds over the thought of you two together.”
“We heard Caesar say something about that, but that can’t possibly be true, right? We talked to maybe forty people last night, nowhere close to an entire country’s worth,” Peeta says.
“They put the Prix video up for anyone to see,” Cinna explains. “And word travels fast among balletomanes. We’ve been hearing from people in every district. And let’s not forget, everyone in the country watched you dance just now.”
“But all of this is good for us, right?” Katniss asks.
Madame nods at her. "This will do wonders for your career, Katniss."
Mr. A paces for a second, comes to a decision. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you about this before, I didn’t want to jinx anything. But sometimes, if you win—”
Katniss breaks in. “Is this about the corps contract? Johanna already told me, we know.” Mr. A nods, looking serious.
“If he offers me a contract, I’m saying no,” Peeta says unhesitatingly.
“You may not have a choice, he might require both of you to sign. Or he’ll blacklist you across the country, although I’d like to see him try to control who gets picked in Twelve.”
“Katniss?” Peeta looks at her uneasily.
Katniss blinks at him, uncomprehending. “You want me to turn down a contract?”
“He might not even offer us one, why would he want us in his company? Just if he does, and if it has to be both of us . . .” Peeta trails off.
“It’s my career, Peeta,” Katniss says, incredulous.
“Snow’s going to retire soon anyway, and we still have two years left at the academy. Who’s to say he’ll still be at CBC by the time we finish? You can’t be blacklisted if he’s not there to enforce it. And we’re the darlings of the ballet world. We can go anywhere. You can go anywhere.”
“He does have a point, sweetheart,” Mr. A says, raising an eyebrow. Katniss considers this.
Peeta takes a step closer to her, speaking quietly. “I saw what that company with Snow in charge did to my mother. I couldn’t stand it if that happened to you. Or me.”
Katniss sees how intense the look in his eyes is, sees how he’s already beginning to flinch in expectation of her response, and realizes she can’t do this to him. Not after everything they’ve been through together. And if she’s being honest with herself, Katniss isn’t sure if she can be in the same room with the man who so brazenly sabotaged her, much less take direction from him, without taking a pointe shoe to his head. She can wait for CBC.
“Okay.”
It takes Peeta a second to realize what she’s said, and he looks at her disbelievingly. “But,” Katniss points at him severely. “Once Snow is gone, we join the company, and we dedicate our lives toward becoming principals.”
Peeta looks like he’s about to kiss her again, but under the watchful eyes of their team, he settles for picking her up and spinning her around. “I’ll get you to prima ballerina if it kills me,” he says, setting her down.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” Mr. A says with a touch of sarcasm.
There’s a quiet knock on the door, and Cinna pulls it open to find Prim looking around questioningly. “Is Katniss in here?”
“Prim!” Katniss pushes past Cinna and Portia to take her sister in her arms.
“You were amazing,” Prim says, her words muffled against Katniss’ side.
“I just hope I lived up to your expectations, District Twelve representative,” Katniss replies fondly.
“We’ll leave you alone,” Madame says, shooing Cinna and Portia out of the dressing room ahead of her. “Katniss, Peeta, they want you in the large rehearsal room so they can bring you to the stage once the judges have made their decisions.”
Prim, releasing Katniss, curtsies to Madame as she passes. “Mr. A,” she pipes up as he’s about to leave the room. “Do you think they’re going to win? Even without the music?”
Mr. A turns back. “If they don’t take the Grand Prix, I promise you, there will be riots in the streets.” Prim grins, Mr. A nods, and then they’re alone.
Katniss spots Peeta, standing awkwardly in a corner, trying not to intrude on the sisterly reunion, and smiles at him.
“Prim, have you met Peeta?” Prim shakes her head shyly, a rarity for her.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Prim.” Peeta takes her hand, bows over it.
“You were amazing too,” Prim blurts out.
“I don’t think I was as amazing as your sister, but thank you.” They share a knowing smile.
Katniss watches this scene unfold with narrowed eyes. “Okay, that’s enough, before you two get all cozy and team up on me. Let’s get you back to your seat before intermission ends so you can sit through whatever they’re putting on to keep you occupied while the judges decide our fate. What are they doing, anyway?”
Prim shrugs. “Something from some new choreographer, I think her name’s Paylor. I’ve never heard of her.”
“You’ll want to make sure you don’t miss it, then,” Katniss says, steering Prim out the door. “She could be the next big thing and you’ll want to tell everyone back at the academy about it.”
“Can’t I stay here with you?”
Katniss shakes her head, explaining, “I have to go wait with the other tributes. I think they want to make sure none of us die before the winner is announced.”
Turning, she sees Peeta nodding his head toward the rehearsal room, indicating that he’ll meet her there. Katniss goes to usher Prim back to where she can enter the house.
“The next time I see you, you’ll be a Prix winner,” Prim says as Katniss hugs her goodbye.
Katniss has a sudden lump in her throat. “I wouldn’t be here without you, Prim,” she manages to say, holding her sister tight. They stay like that until the lights dim, a sign intermission is almost over, and Katniss releases Prim, back to their mother.
The atmosphere in the rehearsal room is jovial, almost giddy. The relief of no longer having to compete, that everything is now in the hands of the judges, has left the tributes with nothing to divide them. Some are stretching, cooling down together, others are discussing their variations. Peeta has a group of admirers hanging on his every word about his thoughts when the music stopped.
Katniss starts heading over to him, but she’s waylaid by Clove and the girl from Five, whose name ends up being Lukida, a fact Katniss hadn’t bothered to learn until this moment.
She demurs when pressed on her reaction to the “disaster of epic proportions,” as Clove puts it, saying only, “I didn’t want to have to start over from the beginning,” and then asking Lukida about her Italian fouettés. No one speculates on who the winners will be.
Under the pretense of needing to cool down, Katniss excuses herself after a while, unable to shake the mindset of three weeks of competing in favor of being friendly. She parks herself on the floor against the mirrors, and shakes out her calves. Peeta detaches himself from his followers, and sits next to her. Katniss gives him a small, private smile.
“You certainly seem popular.”
“I just keep reminding myself that we might be dancing with them again someday, once we’ve left the academy. It can’t hurt to have allies,” Peeta says, flexing his injured knee. “They were asking if I’d really hurt myself that day I fell in class. I figured there was no point in lying now. They seemed pretty impressed.”
Katniss raises her eyebrows. “Look at you, working the crowd.” Peeta laughs.
They sit in silence for a while, eyes meeting occasionally, Katniss in a state of annoyance that they’re in a room full of people and she can’t have the conversation she wants to have, can’t act on the feelings she’s finally acknowledged. She’s about to give up on ever hearing the results, about to grab Peeta and pull him back to her dressing room to pick up where they left off, when there’s an exclamation from the boy from Eight, who’s been staking out the window in the rehearsal room door.
“They’re done! The judges! They just walked by!”
There’s a hush as the tributes process the news, and Katniss watches as there’s a mad rush to the door to see if he’s telling the truth.
“Was it them?” she asks Glimmer, who had forced her way to the window, knocking three people aside to get there. Glimmer nods. Katniss feels all of her panic resurface in an instant.
She feels Peeta grab her hand, a preemptive measure to keep her breathing. She looks over at him gratefully. “You had that look on your face,” he says. Katniss tries to smile, but she’s pretty sure it comes out as more of a scowl.
What feels like hours later, Katniss drumming her heels on the floor for lack of any better way to get out her nervous energy, the door opens.
“We’re ready for you.”
Katniss lets Peeta help her up and they find their places at the end of a long, snaking line that stretches the width of the studio.
“You okay?” Peeta’s leaning toward her. Katniss is holding onto his hand like it’s a lifeline. She nods quickly.
“You were right, by the way.”
Peeta frowns at her, confused. “Right about what?”
“Prim loves you.”
The look on Peeta’s face, Katniss thinks, is almost as good as winning the Prix. Almost.
The line starts moving, and Katniss takes a deep breath. Before she knows it, they’re at the stage, jostling for space in the wings with the dancers coming offstage. Katniss notices more than a few curious looks being thrown her and Peeta’s way from the CBC dancers.
Katniss can see the three judges standing onstage with Caesar. The tributes make their way onto the stage to welcoming applause, forming a loose clump stage right.
“I’m sure everyone is anxiously awaiting the results of the competition,” Caesar beams, “but first, let me introduce the judges once more!”
Katniss tunes him out and tries to find Prim in the crowd as Seneca Crane steps forward and bows indulgently, first to the audience, then to the tributes, who applaud him. Katniss claps halfheartedly. Next is Alma Coin, who steps forward and inclines her head in a brief nod before stepping back.
Katniss’ eyes narrow as the last man steps forward, a crowd-pleasing smile on his face, but Katniss can tell it’s all for show. Snow bows, she thinks, like he’s still performing, like he just finished a variation on this very stage. He doesn’t acknowledge the tributes, and as he steps back, Caesar is joined by a woman holding a tray with seven flat boxes on it.
“And now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Caesar says breathlessly. “The winners of the Prix de Panem.” He pulls an envelope from his suit jacket, and slides the piece of paper inside into his hand.
“Ladies first.” Caesar sounds so much like Madame in this moment, Katniss has to stifle a laugh.
“The winner of the bronze medal is . . .”
Katniss knows that as part of a pas de deux, she cannot win an individual medal, but her nerves don't seem to realize that fact.
“The Cupid variation from Don Quixote, District Eleven!”
Rue actually looks around for a moment, searching for the winner, before she realizes it’s her. Thrilled, Katniss reaches for her, feels Rue trembling as she hugs her, pushing Rue to take her place center stage.
The tributes as one, applaud her. Rue accepts one of the boxes and cracks it open to show the medal inside. Photographs are taken. More applause. The silver medal goes to Clove. The girl from Five, Lukida, takes the gold.
Caesar moves onto the boys, announcing that Marvel’s Jewels variation has won the bronze medal, and Thresh, the silver. Peeta claps especially hard as Thresh bows.
“The winner of the gold medal is . . . the Solor variation from La Bayadère, District Two!”
Cato steps forward, almost haughtily taking his bow. Katniss can tell he’s disappointed with gold, that he wanted the final award. She wants to rip the medal from his hands, give it to one of the other tributes, one who will appreciate it more.
“And now, for our final award, the Grand Prix,” Caesar says solemnly, giving the award the weight it deserves. To win the Grand Prix is to dance perfection. To be more than the best girl, the best boy. To exceed every dancer in the competition.
Katniss searches blindly for Peeta’s hand.
She knows deep down, despite Mr. A’s insistence, that they won’t win the Grand Prix. Snow would never allow it. But until they call someone else, she allows herself to hope. She turns her head slightly to see Peeta is watching her, not Caesar. Her eyes lock on his.
“The winner of the Grand Prix, for this year’s Prix de Panem is . . .”
Katniss’ grip on Peeta’s hand tightens, almost to the point of pain. All they have worked for, all they have sacrificed, comes down to this moment.
“The Firebird pas de deux, District Twelve!”
Katniss goes numb.
They did it. They won.
The tributes around them are clapping, most looking genuinely happy for them. But all she can see is Peeta, who isn’t even smiling. He just looks shocked. Katniss knows how he feels. For all her posturing, for all her declarations, on the inside, she never truly believed it could happen. But now here they are, Prix de Panem winners.
Katniss tugs on Peeta’s hand. He looks down at where she’s pulling him, looks up at Katniss, and suddenly he's grinning, realizing what they've accomplished. They walk center stage to the cheers of the audience, giving them a standing ovation. They stand, triumphant, the first pas de deux to win, ever.
Katniss curtsies, deeply. She stays down, her head bowed, letting feelings of relief and joy wash over her. They’ve won. The audience shows no sign of letting the applause fade. She comes up, turns to Peeta, and curtsies to him, an acknowledgement that she could not have done this alone. He bows in return, his eyes only on her.
Someone hands her a bouquet of flowers, white roses. Katniss cradles them in her right elbow and plucks a single rose from the center. Tradition, still. She kisses the rose and offers it to Peeta, who accepts it, a grand gesture. Caesar presents Peeta with the flat box containing two medals, made of diamond.
The applause fades quickly, and Peeta begins to escort Katniss to the side to join the medal winners, to allow Caesar to make his closing remarks. They stop when they see the reason for the sudden silence stepping forward.
“I think we can all agree that this has been one of the most exciting competitions in recent memory,” Snow addresses the audience and the tributes on stage. The audience claps for them, again, showing no signs of tiring.
Katniss tenses. This is it. The offer. She's suddenly glad that they had been forewarned, that they've decided ahead of time. She practices the words in her head. Thank you for the honor, but we would like to complete our studies at the academy.
“It is in large part thanks to these two dancers.” Snow gestures to Katniss and Peeta, frozen in the act of walking away. “To show such fortitude in the face of adversity, is a quality all dancers should strive to achieve.” Katniss thinks it’s rich that Snow doesn’t mention that he’s the reason for the adversity they face.
“And so it must come as no surprise, that I am here today, to offer the Grand Prix winners—”
Slowly, almost lazily, Snow turns to look at Katniss. Before the words even leave his mouth, she knows this is a threat. He’s daring them to reject him.
“—soloist contracts with the Capitol Ballet Company.”
Katniss’ mouth drops open. Soloists. Not the corps de ballet. But soloists.
Her mind races. They cannot turn this down, it would be incomprehensible. Instead of the diligent students, the darlings of the ballet world would become the arrogant tributes, too good for the generous, unprecedented gift Snow is offering them. No artistic director would ever accept them into their company, the spoiled Grand Prix winners who refused to become the youngest soloists in history.
Before Peeta can say anything, Katniss responds.
“We accept.”
A roar from the crowd, back on their feet again. They will not have to give them up, the Firebird and the Prince. Katniss is determinedly not looking at Peeta, but she can feel the shock radiating off him in waves.
Snow slowly lets a smile spread across his face, a duplicitous thing, and looks offstage and nods. The woman with the tray comes back out, but instead of medals, the tray holds two sheaves of paper, one ornate pen.
Katniss blanches. She didn't realize they'd have to do this here, now, but it seems that Snow wants to ensure their acceptance is iron-clad, that Mr. A will not find a way to get them out of it after the curtain falls.
The woman stops in front of Peeta, and slowly, like his arm is resisting him, he picks up the pen. He turns his head to look at Katniss. She can see the hurt at her betrayal in Peeta’s eyes, and she knows what she has done is unforgivable.
But he signs. Katniss is next, and when she looks up, Snow is looking directly at her. There is triumph in his eyes, and Katniss meets his stare with what she hopes is a look of defiance. He must see something that impresses him, because Snow raises an eyebrow and gestures toward the front of the stage.
“Take a bow, Miss Everdeen.”
Katniss looks out at the audience, then at Peeta. His expression is blank, but Katniss takes it as a good sign that he's still standing next to her. She takes his hand, squeezes it. Sometimes when they dance, Katniss is certain he can read her mind, the way he anticipates her movements. She hopes that he can understand her now, why she did what she did, that it was all for them.
Caesar’s shouting, excitement making his voice ragged.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the newest Capitol Ballet soloists, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!”
Katniss meets Peeta’s gaze. Flicking her eyes toward the audience, she asks him, “Together?”
He’s still for a moment, his eyes searching hers, and then Peeta nods, slowly.
“Together.”
And they step forward into their uncertain future.