Chapter Text
District 2, July 73 ADD
A golden summer evening bathed the District in warmth. After a long day and hearty dinner, the young trainees of the Career Academy were slumped on the sofas in their common space. With the Games only two days away, their usual trainers were called on for extra duties in town, so the students were permitted a reduced rota so they could watch as much of the Games as possible. Agrippina and Livia were slumped on one sofa together, worn out from their boxing match earlier, though their eyes were fixed sharply on the screen in front of them. Sheen, a former Career student from District 1, was curled up on a bean bag, slowly sipping on apple juice, his eyes occasionally drifting to Maia, who was stretched across the rug in front of him. Libby and Tiber, who disliked watching reruns of previous Games, were keeping themselves occupied with a chess game.
A small shuffle behind Darius told him Flavia was coming back from the kitchen. With feline fluidity, she slipped back down onto their shared deep chair, curled up next to him and offered up some of his favoured snacks. “Here, Darry.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” Darius smiled, rewarding her with a cheesy kiss that earned him a playful glare until he brushed the stray cheese powder off her cheek with a napkin. “Still perfect.”
“When am I never?”
“Hmmm,” Darius hummed in agreement, wiping his own mouth before affectionately dabbing her neck with kisses, which she much seemed to prefer. At least, she did until Flickerman and Templesmith finished their review of last year’s Games to begin looking back over the 71st. “Darius, stop… look this is a good one.”
“We lost remember.”
“No, but we did come close. And I can still respect Mason. She was a savage,” Flavia grinned, her voice truly burning with admiration. With a theatrical groan, Darius withdrew and joined her in watching the review. Still in character as a weak and feeble fool, District 7’s Johanna Mason entered the Bloodbath by scavenging a few paltry packs from the outskirts of the arena before tearing into the woods. Her District partner fell in the Bloodbath trying to snatch an axe from the District 1 girl.
Afterwards the usual song-and-dance began. The six Careers, who all survived the Bloodbath and joined that year by an unusually brawny District 10 girl, who claimed to have built her muscles on her family’s cattle farm. When they ventured into the swamps to hunt, they found Johanna Mason soon enough, but she squealed and tore off pelting through the trees in a seemingly random direction until she led the Careers right on top of a smaller pack of tributes, who were possibly the only other major rivals in the arena: a union of District 11, District 3, District 6 and 11 boys and District 12 girl. With no choice on either side, both engaged, resulting in a vicious massacre that surpassed even the Bloodbath. The Career’s were stripped down to District 2 and the rival pack was broken with only the District 11 girl and District 6 boy escaping the slaughter in different directions. Not that the latter got far – a blow to the head in combat meant that when he slumped down to rest he never woke up.
Once the rest of the tributes were taken care of bar the District 11 girl, Kale, and Johanna, District 2’s Secunda made a fatal mistake. Whilst he slept, she slit the throat of her District 2 companion. Confident in her ability to take down the injured Kale and pathetic Johanna. Unknown to Secunda, however, it was not Kale who had killed the last two tributes to fall – it had been Johanna Mason, the secret warrior who had played the fool until she could get her hands on an axe and was now revealing deadly proficiency. With her partner, Secunda might have been able to take Johanna, but without him she was vulnerable. After finishing off Kale, Johanna came for Secunda, leaping down from a tangle of vines on top of her. Still, Secunda fought valiantly until the end, making her District proud and forcing Johanna to amputate her hand and half the fingers on her other before she could bury her axe in Secunda’s head.
When it came to the terrible moment of Secunda’s betrayal of her partner, especially knowing it was all in vain, Darius had to look away. He knew often the Careers had a chance of ending up crossing their partners in the last two, but most of the time, when the moment came, they went their separate ways in hope that at least they would not have to kill each other. If it came down to the same District children in the final two, it was always a bittersweet victory. Secunda’s betrayal was rare and terrible, made all the more poignant by the camera zooming in on her partner’s horrified realisation as he looked into the face of his friend who murdered him whilst he slept. Whom he had guarded loyally and with not a hint of betrayal merely a hour before.
“Are you alight?” Flavia whispered, her eyes creasing in concern as she spotted Darius’s white face. “You look ill. I told you not to eat too many of those cheese things.”
“No, it’s not that,” Darius mumbled. “It’s just… this is hard to watch.”
“What… oh, yeah,” Flavia agreed, grimacing. “It’s tough, of course. But she did what she had to do.”
“What she ‘had to do’? She betrayed her partner.”
“Yes, it was stupid of her to get rid of him before sorting out Kale and Johanna. She could have won. It was arrogant of her to think it would be easy from there,” Flavia huffed. “But would it have been easier if it came down to a final dual? And he did score higher than her at the Academy that year. Maybe Secunda didn’t think she could take him?”
“He trusted her to watch his back,” Darius insisted.
“It’s the Hunger Games, Darius. Trust matters little when it’s your life on the line,” Flavia reminded him. “You cannot go in there thinking you won’t be able to avoid killing a friend. At the end of the day, your District partner is just another tribute standing in the way of you coming home. Secunda understood that at least.”
Darius swallowed bile. As bitter as it was, it was a truth he struggled to swallow. Just another reason he despised these Games and how they not only turned the Districts against each other, but also the District’s against their own people. Following Secunda’s betrayal, her younger sisters had been conveniently expelled from the Career Academy and her family, according to Marcel, were facing severe isolation. The girls were now in the mines earning pittance. Biting back the urge to make a joke and instead found the truest words he could think of. “Perhaps its hypocritical of me, but I am grateful I was never placed in that position. I mean, I didn’t like Marilda, but I don’t think I would have been able to kill her. Not someone I knew for years.”
“I would.” Darius’s eyes shot towards her at the simpleness at which she spoke. “I would try to make it quick, but when I volunteered for the Games, I knew I would be going in there to win if I were chosen. No use pretending to be sentimental about it.”
It took a moment for Darius to recover his wits. He wanted to protest. To insist she was wrong and ask how could she say such things. But he was unable to find the right words. Flavia has been a devoted Career student in the Academy and was a strong contender to be the female tribute in the 72nd Games. Marilda had beaten her by the skin of her teeth. All Volunteers knew what it meant. That only one of them would be coming back. That no matter how long you might train with someone, the Arena was an unpredictable and vicious place. Allies could be torn asunder. Tributes forced to watch as their friend of years was butchered. One needed to do what they needed to do.
It still stung though to hear the words fall from Flavia’s lips. To avoid further injury, he avoided a joking ask if such sentiment would even extend to him. He knew what the answer would be.
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District 12, July 74 ADD
Darius did not have much of a chance to speak with Purnia until the next morning as she was on duty for the rest of the night. Even then, it was hard to pin her down as she seemed to be determinedly avoiding him at breakfast, morning roll call and in the armoury before their duties. But before she could escape to the Square, Darius chased after her and pulled on her arm until they were away from the crowd.
“Ow. The fuck, Darius?”
“What is going on with Cray?”
“What?”
“You know what? Cray and the Marsh girl last night. You knew she was in there, didn’t you? I got an eyeful too by the way. How long has that been going on?”
“I don’t know. As long as he has been Head Peacekeeper here, I imagine.”
“And nothing has been done?”
“Don’t be so fucking naïve, Darius. That’s beneath you,” Purnia snapped, eyes flashing thunder, but she took a breath and calmed down. “Look, Cray is a lecherous piece of shit, but do you have any idea how much easier life is here in 12 because of his lazy arse. The Seam folk can get fed because they’re able to get into the woods to hunt. The Hob runs uninterrupted as long as they don’t push it too hard. We don’t do whippings. We don’t do raids. And when there is a hanging, the bodies are returned to the families instead of being left to rot. Have you even been in any other District? Besides 2 and 12.”
Darius glowered. “No…”
“I thought not…”
“…but my father was a senior Peacekeeper in District 11 before he returned to 2, and I know how he earned his commission to return home.” Confused for only a moment, Purnia remembered soon enough and closed her eyes for a long moment. Darius grimaced, feeling a little guilty. “He finally called me last night. He’d heard from old friends in District 11 that were riots after their girl died in the arena. Wanted to be sure we were alright too.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. 11 is a tinderbox. They just keep pressing down harder and harder and all it does it build up the pressure. I think even your father would blush at some of the things they do there to people now. I can’t tell you how happy I was to get out of there.” Purnia shuddered violently, turning a little green. Darius didn’t ask, but when she met his eyes again, he saw the question burning there. “It was three years ago. You probably didn’t hear about the riots. There were a group of seven who were particularly rotten: four men and three women. One was our principle whipper and always looked far too happy with his job. His girlfriend liked to film him do it too. Any excuse, they would jump out at someone in the work line and beat them up, and sometimes made a game of knocking the children out of the trees whilst they were working.”
“Well, one evening, they went too far. Dragged off a fifteen-year-old girl, who had escaped the reaping when someone volunteered in her place. They took her to a warehouse and raped her. Violently. Filmed the whole thing. Slit her throat,” Purnia shuddered. “They thought she was dead, but somehow she was still alive. She crawled out into the streets and that was where I found her. She’d made it four hundred meters from where they had brutalised her, leaving a trail of blood all the way. I carried her back to her family. The whole neighbourhood saw us. Saw me holding her and sobbing. I think my tears must have spared my life, because for all they looked like they wanted rip me apart no one touched me.”
“Fuck, Purnia…”
“I didn’t bother changing before I made my report to the Deputy Head Brush. Head Peacekeeper Cross was away for two weeks on compassionate leave to see his dying mother. I don’t think his expression changed once. When I was done, he ordered me to clean myself up and go to bed. He mobilised the troops and sent them out into the District. Stupid fool tried to clear the neighbourhood of the vigil they set up for the girl, but they knew they were coming. They were ready for them. One of the old folk tried to hold them back, saying they just wanted to be there for the girl and let her die in peace, but they pushed on through. It all exploded from there.”
A few tears leaked from the corners of Purnia’s eye. She scrubbed them with her wrist and turned away. “Head Peacekeeper Cross was recalled and very displeased at having to miss his mother’s dying breaths. He might be possibly one of the worst human beings I ever met, but he was perhaps the only one who could restore order at that point. He couldn’t release any of those imprisoned or make any concessions, not without looking weak, but he made his displeasure clear in other ways. Brush was sent back to the Capitol with instructions that he be demoted and assigned to managing the sewers. The gang were broken up and scattered across the District’s. One of the girls lost her eye in the riots. He refused to sign off on a mechanical eye for her to see again. Then he had me announce to 11 that all the dead would be returned to them for proper burials as long as the violence stopped. I did as he commanded then requested a transfer. He was decent enough to grant that at least.”
Slowly, so as not to startle her, Darius laid a hand on her arm. “I am sorry for what you had to see. For what happened there. But that doesn’t make what Cray is doing here any better.”
“Would you like to see him replaced though? With someone like them?” Purnia scoffed bitterly. Darius looked away. “I thought not. So just leave it alone. Maybe make sure to take some bread to the Marsh girls. That way Brooke doesn’t need to come back again so soon.”
Resolving to do just that, Darius dismissed himself and marched off. He was on patrol in the merchant district that morning, ensuring there were no stirrings up with the Games. It was hardly a great task. Being comfortable and well-fed, there were rarely stirrings in this part of 12. When he stopped by the bakers to pick up some bread, the shop was unsurprisingly silent. The sour-faced Mrs Mellark served him, complaining all the while about her husband and sons refusing to help her whilst ‘blubbing about the inevitable’. Darius did not bother hiding his disdain for the woman. Parents coped in all sorts of ways when their children started a long death from illness, infection or starvation in the Games. Most of the time he empathised with their anger, bitterness and even their blank coldness. Mrs Mellark’s disappointment in Peeta, however, was something rarely seen even in the proud parents of Career tributes.
Abandoning his duties, he stopped by the Marsh’s house, making sure to accompany his delivery with a few flowers in the garden. Poor Brooke Marsh could hardly meet his eyes, but she accepted the food all the same. She could not afford not to. He had just enough time to grab a small bite of lunch before heading down to the square for his afternoon shift. It was not a particularly eventful day of the Games. Katniss had apparently received some bread from 11 earlier, another small act of defiance, but otherwise everything had lulled. Cato and Clove had abandoned the Cornucopia when Marvel did not return, scavenging what supplies they could before retreating to the woods. In a very short few hours, the Career pack alliance had halved and their food stock eliminated. They needed more shelter and time to regroup. At one point, Cato counted off who was remaining with Clove – Thresh of 11, Katniss and Peeta of 12, Mairee of 5 – debating if it was time to go their separate ways. Clove had stared blankly at him for a moment, before shaking her head.
“The traitor will die soon,” she reasoned. “But if we’re going to be taking down Thresh or Katniss, we’re going to need to do it together. And neither of us have seen Mairee since the beginning of this thing. We don’t know what she’s up to.”
“Then it might come down to the two of us,” he had reminded her with a voice of stone that set Darius’ nerves on edge. Please no.
“It might. Or one of us might die fighting them. That will make it easier,” Clove shrugged, twirling her knife slowly between our fingers. “But at least until we get Thresh, we stick together.”
Cato nodded in agreement, then began sharpening his sword. “He’s strong, and he’s had control of that field for days. We’ll need some other advantage as well.”
“Like what?”
“Some body armour would be nice,” he mused, flashing a charming, cocky grin up for the cameras. Darius had to bite back a nervous laugh. “Just to take the edge off his blows.”
“Ha, good luck getting something as nice as that. You’re not as pretty as Finnick Odair,” Clove smirked, earning a small glower from Cato before he turned back to his task though. As soon as he looked away, though, Clove’s eyes hardened on him. The knife she was twirling between her fingers rested in her palm, grip hardening. Darius swallowed. He hoped Marcel would not have to watch one of his best friends kill each other.
Following the conclusion of Cato and Clove’s heavy conversation, the camera began panning back to Thresh, Katniss and Mairee. Peeta, who was bleeding out by the river, was not worth such consideration. Katniss was quietly sheltering in a glade, recounting her supplies. Mairee tactic of scavenging from others, which had worked well so far, was now starting to fall apart. Katniss, Thresh, Cato and Clove were all too dangerous to steal from and did not have enough supplies anyhow to make the risk worthwhile. She was carefully rationing her last scraps stolen from the Careers before the explosion, but, already, her bones were poking through her skin. She wasn’t getting much from the sponsors either. Poaching in the Games was hardly glamourous enough to want their attention. Thresh, by contrast, was doing much better. In the field of wheat, he had food, shelter and plenty of coverage to set traps. His only shortage of supply was water, which he had to leave the shelter of the field to collect from the lake. Last time he had tried, the day before, the Gamemakers had tried setting giant newt mutts on him, which he beat back with his sword until they turned and fled. An impressive display that earned him enough fresh water to last him for two extra days.
Possibly another reason for the riots in 11. If they saw their boy targeted with such vicious creatures the same time their girl was martyred.
An unusually quiet day in the Games. Too quiet. Perhaps easing the pressure on the children until they could get the riots under control. No deaths. No mutts. No traps sprung to push them together. Just letting them sit quietly, count their supplies and plot further engagement.
Or maybe they were just letting them take a breather before hitting them with what came next.
“Attention all tributes. Congratulations on making it to the final six. We are disturbing your Games for a special announcement. The stipulation that there can only be one Victor is being suspended. From this point on, two tributes may be crowned Victors only if they both come from the same District. This will be the only announcement.”
Templesmith’s voice rang out again for good measure, but Darius could hardly hear it over the flurry that burst up from the crowd in 12.
“Two Victors…”
“Two Victors from the same District are allowed!”
“And Peeta is not dead yet!”
“Peeta is still alive. And look! Look! Katniss! Katniss is already going to find him!”
“Where are the Mellarks?”
“Two Victors!”
“It’s not possible…”
“They could both come home! They could both come home!”
Tiber, who was standing next to Darius, grabbed his hand to stop him from toppling over. Fighting to right himself before he lost all his dignity before these people completely, Darius sucked air desperately into his lungs, gripped Tiber’s hand back and turned back towards the screen. Watching hungrily as Katniss screamed Peeta’s name at the top of her lungs before plunging into the forest undergrowth, racing down towards the river. Envy clawed up his throat, but he desperately stamped it down. Who am I to be envious? Of Peeta. A boy she hardly knows. Who comes from her District. Who she has more in common with than she ever will with me. His eyes drifted back over the crowd, bubbling now with excitement and joy. They deserve to have them both brought home. And Katniss can do it. If anyone can bring Peeta back, it will be her.
Though one camera kept their eyes on Katniss’s pursuit of Peeta, the other swiftly roved elsewhere. Mairee would likely be sinking into despair – her companion having been killed in the Bloodbath – and Thresh squaring himself to potentially battle two teams instead of just one. This news was likely a death sentence on them – fewer sponsor gifts than ever. Loneliness in the face of companionship. For Districts 12 and 2 though, this was everything.
As the final chimes of Templesmith’s voice echoed to silence, Darius’s friends celebrated in jubilation. The icy, stony viciousness cracked and melted from Cato’s face and Clove dropped her knife in shock, mouth agape. Then their eyes met and smiles slowly stretched. Not the savage, hungry ones they had absorbed and adorned for these wretched Games. Ones Darius remembered. Toothy. Wide. Joyous. Exhilarated.
Hopeful.
Then, with a girlish cry of delight, Clove leapt to her feet and flung herself towards Cato, who jumped up too to embrace her. Though she was near as tall and solid as he was, Cato still lifted her off the ground with ease and spun her around, fists clutching tight at her hair and shirt. She did the same, gripping his arms and pushing him back, still bouncing on her toes and shaking Cato furiously with excitement. “Cato! Cato! We could go home! Together!”
“Yes! Yes, we can! We will, Clove! We will go home!”
“Together!”
“Together, Clove! And we’ll reign like Gods!”
“Oh, who gives a fuck about that,” Clove laughed, pulling him back into a hug. “We’ll go home and see all our family and friends again! And we can go to the park and celebrate together and… and…”
“We’ll do anything we want! Together!” Cato roared with joy hiking her up for another swing. Clove’s laugh was musical, a perfect harmony that the mockinjays of the arena sung jubilantly. All the way down to the river, it carried as Katniss scrambled around the river, finally finding Peeta buried under moss, rocks and mud and pulling him close. Darius’s heart thrashed as the cheers in District 12 soared.