Hunger Games Moment of Truth

Peeta stared down at the girl. He wasn't sure what to do, despite having confidently told Cato and the others that he would deal with her. He had thought he knew what he was getting into when he came into this clearing. He'd known these games were a fight to the death. He'd known he was supposed to kill, that at some point he would _have_ to kill. That didn't make this moment any easier.

She was writhing on the ground in front of him, her eyes wide and terrified. Over the distant sounds of Cato's taunting laughter, Peeta could hear the rustle of the damp leaves as her feet scraped through them. He could hear the laboured breathing as he watched her life ebb away. It might be easier if he just let her die, Peeta thought. If he allowed her to writhe herself to a stop, then he wouldn't have her death sitting on his heart.

He could lie easily enough – Cato would never know if he'd killed her or if she'd just died. The cannon would go just the same. Peeta felt slightly queasy as he looked at the girl, at the blood pooling under her body. Her pain was making him anxious. Watching her like this seemed a little voyeuristic. He gave a bitter laugh at the thought – this was all _designed_ to be voyeuristic. His presence was probably less intrusive than the lingering, loving close up shots the Capitol was getting of the girl's face as she gasped out her last breaths.

Feeling sickened by his complicity in sensationalising what should be a private moment, Peeta dragged his thoughts back to the clearing he was in. What if this was Katniss? he asked himself. How would he feel then? This girl would never survive; it was just a case of how long it took before she died. In this situation, wouldn't Katniss prefer to die quickly rather than endure a long drawn out painful end for the entertainment of the cameras? Wouldn't he himself?

Would this girl be any different? He looked into her terrified eyes again. _Please_, she mouthed weakly. _Please_. But what was she begging for? To be given mercy? For him to put her out of her obvious pain? Was that just Peeta's mind trying to assuage the guilt he felt knowing he had to kill her?

Remembering that the cameras were recording all of this and were likely dwelling on this moment, possibly showing close ups of his face as the girl died, Peeta finally made up his mind. He pulled out his knife and knelt beside the girl. _I don't even know her name_. The thought flickered through his mind as he smiled at her gently. The smile faded as he realised how hypocritical it was to try to turn on the charm here, with this girl he was about to kill. _I won't play their game like that,_ he swore to himself.

'I'm sorry. I have to – for Katniss,' he told the girl, determined to give her the truth – the one last gift he could give her. 'I have to stick with the Careers; it's the only way to protect her from them. This is the only way I can get them to trust me.' Her hand snaked out and gripped his, the pull surprisingly strong for someone in so much obvious distress – someone whose life was draining out of her as he tarried over this moment. Her eyes were even wider now; the terror had ratcheted up a notch. Peeta swallowed hard. 'I'm sorry,' he told her again.

Choking down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him, Peeta laid his blade carefully against her throat and pulled it across in one strong, practised cut. A small amount of blood squirted as her hand went limp in his and finally flopped to the ground. Her eyes took on a glassy, blank stare as she died. It wasn't so different to the small animals he'd killed over the last day, after all. Feeling disgusted with himself for the thought, Peeta gulped and laid a hand on her head – he wasn't sure if he was giving her a last farewell or asking her forgiveness. 'I'm sorry,' he said again as he pushed back on to his feet.

As he headed for the rest of his group, Peeta steadied his steps and composed his face. It was essential that he not allow the Careers to see how badly the experience had affected him. For the first time, Peeta realised that trying to stay true to himself, _and_ protect Katniss, _and_ stay on-side with the Career pack was going to be harder than he had expected. The naiveté of the boy who had told Katniss on the rooftop that he didn't want to be changed, and who had confidently asserted that he _wouldn't_ be changed, was being burned away in this arena. It was leaving behind someone harder and more bitter. Someone Peeta wasn't entirely sure he liked.

As he ran back to the Careers, Peeta made a new commitment to himself. It was no good hoping to stay the same. He knew he was going to change; the short time he'd already spent in the arena had shown him that. But he was going to do his best to change in a way that made him stronger, better. He could, at least, stay true to the heart of who he was. He would die, when the time inevitably came, with dignity. He would die knowing he had done everything in his power to ensure Katniss survived. It was the best he could do to honour the promise he'd made to himself – the game was to survive, but Peeta refused to play it. _His_ game was to ensure another's survival. That was the best he could do to rebel against the Capitol.

By the time he reached Cato, Peeta was ready to play his game. For Katniss, he would make sure these people trusted him. For Katniss, he would survive as long as he could. For Katniss, he would swallow his distaste and do whatever he could to make sure Cato, Glimmer and the others needed him. Killing the girl had been the first step; he could only hope he wouldn't have to kill many more times to achieve his objective. But he would do what he had to.

Peeta would die, Katniss would live. It would be enough.


End file.

Hunger Games