Dsclaimer: I do not own Glee or The Hunger Games.

They've found me. I don't know how. I'm certain I wasn't followed and I was extremely careful when I disguised the mouth of the shallow little cave I'm taking refuge in. But all the precautions I took don't matter now because I can hear their feet snapping twigs mere yards from where I'm huddled against the cold stone wall.

I stand up because Kurt Hummel is not going to die crouched in the dark. I owe it to all the people that love me back home, and are undoubtedly watching my every move right now, to fight. Just the thought of my father, Carole, Finn, and Blaine watching with horror as a career tribute slides a knife hilt-deep into my stomach makes my lungs spasm and a sob threatens to escape my throat. But at the same time something steely twists in my gut and my fingers wrap around the handle of my long bladed hunting knife.

The footsteps outside come even closer and I can't help but fear that every foot fall is a death toll announcing the demise of Kurt Hummel. He was a brave soul, but let's be honest. He never really had much of a chance in these games, did he?

I try to peer toward the mouth of the cave, which I piled high with shrubs and brambles only this morning, but my eyes are unable to pierce the darkness. It's unnaturally dark, and I feel like I'm down in one of the coal mines in District 12. This must be one of the Gamemakers' tricks because fifteen minutes ago moonlight filtered through my make shift door to give the cave a bit of illumination, but now I can't even see the end of my own nose.

Then suddenly, I hear something pushed aside and the footsteps come running. I hold my knife before me, slashing blindly. Someone curses loudly but the next second a rough hand clamps around my wrist and renders it immobile. I kick desperately, and when arms wrap around my waist I thrash harder. I can feel the cold sting of sharp metal only seconds away as I ram my head backwards hoping to collide with a skull and find only air.

The arms around me tighten and I can feel a muscular body pressed against mine. I twist until my face is buried against the exposed flesh of my captor's neck and I open my mouth ready to sink my teeth in as hard as I can.

But as I press my face to the bare skin a familiar sent fills my nose and confusion washes over my mind. I expected to smell sweat, and dirt, and blood, and dusty grass, but instead I smell cinnamon, and coffee, and something a little smoky. This isn't a smell that sends terror racing through my veins; this is the smell of home.

The sounds of scuffling feet and violent grunts die in my ears as I realize a soothing voice is murmuring my name over and over and a pair of lips is pressing kisses across the top of my head.

I sag back into the arms that I now realize aren't those of a blood thirsty career tribute, but those of the man I love.

Blaine must feel the difference because he pulls back a few inches and asks gently, "Kurt?"

I let my eyelids flutter open and am met with wide honey brown eyes laced with flecks of green and filled with concern. "You're alright, I've got you. Do you know where you are?"

I nod heavily and pull myself closer to Blaine so that when I answer I'm mumbling into the side of his neck, "The most charming and well decorated house in Victory Village in the most unfortunately dreary District 12."

"Bingo," Blaine says, and I think I can hear a small smile in his voice as the tension in his arms relaxes slightly.

I pull away so that my head is resting on a pillow again. Blaine disentangles his arm from around my waist and twines his fingers through mine. "Was it the arena again?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

I nod.

"Harmony?"

I shake my head, "No, the careers."

Comprehension lights in Blaine's eyes, "Oh, I should have known. You almost bit me, didn't you?"

I grimace apologetically and sigh, "Yeah, sorry about that."

"I can't say I really mind your tendencies to bite," Blaine says with a smirk and a flirty waggle of his eyebrows, "but I think it's best if we limit that particular action to strictly nonviolent activities."

I can't help but snort at my utterly ridiculous boyfriend who makes lame sexual comments right after I wake up from a nightmare, but I'm reminded again why I love Blaine so much. Not only does he hold me as I thrash around reliving hell, but he knows how to make me smile even when I am on the verge of tears.

"It's been a couple of weeks since you've had a nightmare." He says casually. He's rubbing his thumb up and down the length of mine, soothing me with the repetitive motion.

I shrug, "I think it's all the stress bringing them back. The anticipation leading to today is killing me. The reaping has always been hovering in the distance, I suppose, but now that it's here I don't know what to do."

Concerned lines etch themselves in to Blaine's forehead. I wish he wouldn't furrow his brows like that because he's going to give himself premature wrinkles, although I'm sure Blaine would still be breathtakingly hansom, even with wrinkles. However, now probably isn't the time to fixate on the future of my boyfriend's skin when we're contemplating the future of innocent lives.

"Just do your job, that's all you can do."

I laugh humorlessly, "My job? You mean preparing innocent children for slaughter?"

"Hey," Blaine says, the lines etching themselves deeper, "don't talk like that." One of his broad, warm hands cups my face and his thumb rubs gently across my cheek bone. I can't help but nuzzle into his touch. When I look back at his eyes his gaze is so intense that I feel my breath hitch.

"You listen to me Kurt Hummel You are the bravest person I know. You went through hell in that arena and came out the same caring, compassionate, boy I fell in love with.

"Today two innocent lives are going to be put under your mentorship and I know that you are going to give them the best chance possible of escaping that arena."

Hot tears slide unbidden from my eyes and when I'm finally able to speak the words are choked, "B-but what if I can't do it. What if they d-die, even in the best scenario one would have to die." I can't stop the sob that escapes my lips.

Blaine reaches out and swipes away the tears pooling on the soft skin below my eyes, "Well, then you are going to give them the best chance you can, and maybe they will find some peace and comfort in knowing that at least someone was looking out for them in their last few days."

I nod and blink the remnants of tears from my eyes.

"Now come here and let me give you a back rub," Blaine says, his tone suddenly light, "I'm sure your back is a knotted mess."

He props himself against the head board and pats the spot between his legs for me to sit. I pull myself, up marveling at how Blaine seems to be the master of some sixth sense that tells him exactly what I need. With a contented sigh I settle myself between Blaine's legs facing away from him.

Blaine's hands feel wonderful on my back. His fingers fan across my skin and rub up and down as if simply taking in the sensation of touching me for a moment. Then slowly they find their way to the tense muscles along my spine and across my shoulders. With practiced precision they kneed the knots out of my back, coaxing the stiff muscles to relax. It's not long before I'm melting under Blaine's touch.

"Thank you, Blaine." I manage to articulate between appreciative moans.

"Wow, gratitude before I'm even finished." Blaine teases.

"Not for the back rub, well for that too, but mostly for the other things, for what you said… for believing in me… for everything."

"Always," I hear Blaine murmur and his lips brush a soft kiss in between my shoulder blades.

Much to my delight the kisses continue in a trail up to my neck and, deciding that kissing Blaine is even better than a back rub, I twist around so that our lips can meet.

The kiss is gentle and tender but not lacking passion. After a few moments I pull away and rest our foreheads together. "I'm going to miss you, you know," I whisper. "I'm going to miss your lips," I kiss him again. "I'm going to miss your eyes," Blaine's eyes flutter shut so I can brush my lips against each of his eyelids. "I'm going to miss your curls," I plant a kiss on the crown of his head and scrunch my nose against the way they tickle. I must still be making a silly face as I come back to meet Blaine's eyes because his lips twitch upward in a small grin. "And I'm sure as hell going to miss your smile." I kiss Blaine again, and this time we're both smiling into the kiss.

When I pull away Blaine is beaming at me in his endearingly bright manner, but then his cheerfulness seems to falter and his eyebrows twitch together a fraction of a millimeter.

"There's still a chance you won't be missing me, not yet anyway."

Fear seems to creep into the edges of Blaine's eyes and I could almost kick myself for being so inconsiderate. Blaine has been comforting me all morning, and I haven't taken a moment to consider that he has to attend the reaping today, and there is a chance, albeit a small one, that his name will be called and he will be thrown into the arena just as I was last year.

"That's not going to happen, Blaine." I say with all the assuredness I can muster.

He won't meet my eyes, instead he's staring fixedly at the quilt beneath us, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't," I say, cupping his face in my hands and forcing him to meet my eyes, "but I have to hope that at least some of the odds are in our favor.

"And besides, you've never had to opt for a tesserae so your name has never been added extra times. Six slips of paper will have your name on it, which is far below average for District 12."

"There is still a chance—"

"Of course there is," I say as softly and compassionately as I can, "but like I said I have to hope that some of the odds are on our side. Either way, worrying about it won't change anything. Just try to relax until the time comes and then when they read those names and they aren't yours come back here and try not to forget me while I'm off being the capitol's little bitch."

Some of my determination must have rubbed off on Blaine because as soon as I'm done talking he pulls me into a deep kiss. When he pulls away he's smiling again as he asks, "Breakfast?"

We end up stumbling into the kitchen of my house, still shirtless with Blaine's arms wrapped around my waist and his lips engaged in sucking on a spot below my right ear.

Blaine groans as I disentangle myself from his arms but seeing as I am making coffee he doesn't complain. I don't have one of those fancy coffee makers from the Capitol, but I make due, and soon the kitchen is filled with the scent of brewing coffee.

"You know what the best part of dating a victor is?" Blaine says inhaling deeply.

"The coffee?" I can't help but laugh because Blaine has made this a kind of running joke that really shouldn't have been funny after the first fifty times he said it, but I find something about the silliness of it charming that I end up laughing every time.

"Yup," he hums happily as I pour each of us a mug and he takes a sip. "Mmm, so much better than that shit the miners drink." He takes another large gulp and smiles.

"What's that?" he asks gesturing toward a brown cardboard box on the counter.

"Oh," I say, brightening excitedly because this is something I forgot to tell Blaine that I'm sure he'll absolutely love, "I picked up a little something for our families. A little going away present from me."

Blaine curiously raises an eyebrow and reaches a hand toward the box, looking back at me for permission. I nod and he removes the lid.

"Oh, Kurt, they're gorgeous."

He looks down at the two beautifully frosted cakes, each about the size of a small plate. Blue and yellow icing flowers bloom out of the centers, their petals curling delicately outward. Intricate spring green vines creep from the blossoms to twine around the sides of the cakes, swirling and looping in graceful patterns.

"I figured our families could eat them tonight, you know since dinner after the reaping is supposed to be a celebration." I shiver involuntarily, because no matter how hard the Capitol tries to make people celebrate the beginning of the games I know that people will really be celebrating their children not being shipped off to the arena, while two families inevitably won't be able to stomach any food as they stare at the empty chair where their child should be sitting.

"I didn't even know they made cakes this beautiful!" Blaine exclaims in childlike delight and looks at me in amazement, "How did you get them?"

I shrug casually as I place my hands on Blaine's hips and rest my chin on his shoulder, "I had to flirt with the baker's son for them."

Blaine snorts, "And he was receptive?"

My lips curve into a smirk and I kiss the side of Blaine's neck, "I got the cakes didn't I?" I drop my voice into what I hope is a more seductive tone and brush my lips along the shell of Blaine's ear, "Unfortunately for him, I'm not into the blond, stocky type."

"Oh, really?"

"Mm hmm, I prefer the dark haired, deceptively muscular type." I kiss across the back of Blaine's neck.

"Can we eat one now?"

I raise an eyebrow although Blaine can't see me, "Blaine, I told you…"

"I know , but it's not like my parents are going to care, and beside they'd probably be happier and more likely to celebrate if I did get chosen."

Something icy cold curls in the pit of my stomach. "Don't say that!" I scold, even though I knew what he said was true.

"Please, Kurt?" He twists his neck so that he can fix my gaze with those big puppy dog eyes, his hand already fishing for a fork in the drawer in front of him.

"Oh, alright."

Blaine lets out a triumphant whoop and lifts the cake out of the box to set it on the counter. He grasps the fork in one hand and plunges it toward the cake, then stops it millimeters away from the waves of sculpted sugar. I watch as he tilts his head to the side considering the cake for a moment, "It's so pretty, I feel bad eating it."

I laugh and shake my head fondly, "Go ahead Blaine, that's what it's for."

A huge grin splits Blaine's face as he finally digs his fork in and pulls away a large chunk, revealing the deliciously golden inside of the cake.

I expect him to shove the bite into his mouth, but instead he raises it to my lips. I can't help but smile, because Blaine is truly adorable, then I open my mouth obediently so Blaine can feed me.

The cake is heavenly, sweet and sugary with the distinct flavor of vanilla. As I finish chewing Blaine presses a chaste kiss to my lips. When he pulls away his tongue darts out over his own lips and he hums happily, "You taste sweet."

He forks a morsel of cake into his own mouth and groans as the sweet flavor hits his tongue.

We continue eating the cake bite by bite for a few minutes, simply relishing the delicious flavor and the proximity of our bodies which I know I will sorely miss in the days ahead. I'm holding onto this moment because as soon as Blaine walks out my door I won't get the chance to touch or even talk to Blaine for what could be close to two months.

"You know," Blaine says finally, "This frosting matches your eyes." And before I can even catch on to what he's doing he plunges his finger into the blue frosted flower in the center of the cake. He quickly flips around so that he's facing me, and with a mischievous grin curling the corners of his lips and brightening his eyes, he swipes the iced finger across my cheek.

I shriek in surprise and narrow my eyes at my boyfriend's overly large grin. "You're going to regret that Blaine Anderson."

I arrive at the square early. It's still practically empty, aside from the peacekeepers setting up the roped off areas where they will sort the children of District 12 by age and the camera crews that scuttle across the rooftops preparing their equipment.

I wait off to the side of the temporary stage that has been constructed in front of the Justice Building. I try to stare blankly at the colorful banners hanging limply in the windless air, but my eyes keep shifting to the stage and the two large glass balls filled with slips of paper. Inside those glass balls are the names of innocent children and from them two names will be randomly selected that decide the two tributes, one male one female, from District 12.

I feel someone tap my shoulder and flinch involuntarily before turning around to find myself face to face with the most insufferable woman that I have ever had the misfortune to meet, Effie Trinket.

"Hello, Kurt!" Effie beams, her teeth looking unnaturally white against her lilac painted lips. She looks appalling in a bizarrely cut turquoise skirt suit with unflattering asymmetrical lines. A pinkish beehive wig balances precariously on her head and her makeup is in shades of lilac that make her look horribly washed out. If her outfit is any indication, styles in the Capitol have become even more horrendous since the last time I was there.

I gather myself enough to at least be polite and gift her with a terse, "Hello, Effie."

"Isn't it a beautiful day?" Effie gushes and I know she's either trying to win some of my favor by complimenting District 12 or she's completely delusional, because the low hanging clouds tinted grey with coal smoke give the sky an utterly dreary appearance.

"I have a good feeling about this year," she says in a conspiratorial stage whisper. "I wouldn't be surprised if we could pull off another District 12 victory!" She smiles smugly.

I raise an eyebrow in contempt. Not only is Effie Trinket obnoxious but she views the games as a way to boost her career and social prominence. She doesn't seem to care that it was the exploitation of children being forced to kill other children that paid for her atrocious wig.

I told myself I would be civil to Effie but I feel my resolve slipping. So I do what I do best and smile disgustingly sweetly and say in a voice dripping with sugary sarcasm, "Yes, let's hope we get one of the big burly eighteen-year-olds so they can snap the little twelve-year-old tributes in half with their bare hands." I feel a small burst of triumph as Effie's smile falters.

"I was there in that arena last year Effie," I say never letting my tone be anything but sickeningly cheerful, "I killed four children, children that could have had futures if it wasn't for these horrific games. And just because I'm a mentor now doesn't mean I like them any better. So please, while you're gossiping about which district will win an playing dress up with our tributes, try to remember that we are destroying children and ripping apart families." I give her the biggest smile I can muster and wink playfully for good measure.

By the time I finish talking Effie's eyes are huge and her mouth is opening and closing soundlessly, making her look rather like a large purple and blue fish.

Finally she gains enough composure to speak, "Well, um yes I'll try to keep that in mind." She straightens her precariously perched wig and with some of her trademark cheerfulness back in her command says, "Well then I must be getting ready, see you on the stage!" and trots off.

I really hope Effie takes what I was trying to say to heart because our partnership isn't going to work out very well if she doesn't. I try to push Effie from my mind for now. God knows I'm going to have to spend far too much time with her in the coming weeks, and if I don't kill her because of her insensitivity and aggravating personality, I may just strangle her if she doesn't get a better wig.

My eyes focus back in on the now rapidly filling square. Every citizen in District 12 is required to attend the reaping and serious consequences await those who don't.

I've never been on this side of the reaping before and it's odd to know that I have faced what these grim faced people fear and managed to survive. I hope, although I know it is impossible, that none of these people will ever have to go through what I went through, but that comes with an even stranger realization because I am then wishing myself to be forever isolated, for no one to ever understand my pain and my struggle. But I guess I would rather be estranged than have any one suffer as I did.

I search through the crowd for a familiar tattered cap and finally locate it near the back of the square. I can't see my dad's face hidden behind the crush of bodies, but I'm sure his jaw is set firmly as he clasps Carole's hand in his.

I think back to last night and my father's parting words as we said good-bye for what was sure to be a few long weeks. He had clapped me on the back and muttered, "You'll do alright Kiddo, just don't let them make you forget who you are. Love ya Kiddo."

I blink back tears that I can't allow myself to indulge in at the moment and search the area at the very front of the crowd designated for eighteen-year-olds for Finn. I find him almost instantly, due to the fact that he towers over the rest of the crowd. He's shifting awkwardly from foot to foot but he doesn't look as scared as some of the other faces around him. One of the things I will always admire about my step brother, no matter how many withering looks I give him for it, is that he is an eternal optimist, a trait that would either drive him crazy or get him killed in the arena.

Finn fiddles with the cuffs of my dad's old suit jacket that he's borrowed for the occasion. I don't believe in God but if there is some type of benevolent being that runs this disaster we call life, I pray that it will not choose Finn to be a tribute. The innocent desire to be optimistic needs to live on in the few people who naturally possess it, because it is a virtue the world is fast forgetting.

My eyes wander away from Finn but they don't get very far before they meet the one pair of eyes in the whole crowd staring directly at me. I can't see the flecks of green in Blaine's honey colored eyes from this distance, but I can see the fear. Anyone else would think he was cool and collected, but I can see all the flaws in his impassive façade even from this distance. He's holding himself too straight, the corners of his mouth are too tense, a line has appeared between his eyebrows, and his eyes are open too wide. Behind that calm exterior, the boy is terrified.

Blaine had seemed confident enough when he had washed the remnants of blue frosting out of his hair and kissed me goodbye this morning, but I know all too well how any sense of comfort could vanish once you are herded into those claustrophobic pens for the reaping.

Blaine looks so young when he's scared. All I want to do is hold him and tell him everything will be alright but I can't, and I don't even know if it will be alright. All that I know is that Blaine deserves better than this. Blaine who has faced hatred from random strangers, violence from Peacekeepers, and disapproval from his father for being who he is; Blaine who has always put on a brave face and tried to help others better their own lives, who has never failed to lend words of encouragement. He deserves better than this screwed up world.

I find myself chewing nervously at the inside of my cheek, because even though with so few entries it's unlikely Blaine will be chosen, the idea causes me so much stress that I can't stop myself. Finn being selected to be a tribute would be upsetting, but Blaine being selected to be a tribute with his big heart and fragile courage would be devastating. He deserves all the happiness that he tries to give to others.

I'm ushered onto the stage by Effie who seems to be in an excited tizzy at the prospect of the cameras finally turning on, and take my seat next to the only other living victor from District 12, the town drunk, who is unfortunately my neighbor. I can tell he is absolutely wasted again, so as I cross my legs primly I do my best to sit as far from him as our neighboring chairs allow. I wrinkle my nose and scold him under my breath, "You smell homeless, Haymitch. Homeless."

Haymitch fixes me with a bleary stare and slurs, "Nice to see you, Kate," before his head lolls forward and he's asleep drooling onto his already stained shirt.

I will never understand how I survived the Hunger Games with a mentor too drunk to remember my name, or my gender for that matter.

The mayor steps up to the podium and begins to speak but I'm not paying attention to what he says because I realize that Blaine is still watching me.

I give him a tight lipped smile and raise my right hand a few inches of my knee to subtly wave at him. It's not much but he seems to notice and his shoulders relax some as he gives me his own small wave and the ghost of a smile.

Blaine's told me several times that any fear or anxiety he feels get exponentially stronger when he's not with me, a side effect of the trauma he went through watching me in the games. It makes my heart ache when I think about it because I would spend every day of my life with Blaine if I could, but certain obligations, such as my upcoming stint in the Capitol, make that impossible. I hope he'll do alright without me. At least when we're separated this time he won't have to worry about me getting killed every second.

The mayor rattles on for a little longer until finally Effie stands up and I'm forced to pay attention to her, because this means its only seconds until I discover who the two children that I have to turn into blood thirsty killers are.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Effie chirps as she beams at the cameras and unsmiling faces of District 12. She bubbles on for a while longer until she finally plunges her hand into one of the glass bubbles with a jolly, "Ladies first!"

The square is dead silent until Effie reads, "Sarah Mayflower!"

I know I really shouldn't be relieved but I am because it's no one I know. Still, I feel my heart breaking as stick-thin little Sarah Mayflower emerges from the area designated for fourteen-year-olds and makes her way to the stage sobbing.

Sarah looks broken; her shoulders slumping and chin dropping with no sign of fight in her. I curse under my breath because it is obvious this girl gave up as soon as she heard her name read. I scan her undernourished slightly gawky frame. She has neither looks nor apparent physical ability to recommend her and I steel myself knowing that I am going to lose this tribute.

Of course no one volunteers to go in her stead, no one ever does.

I stand to "congratulate" Sarah as is my job. I end up trying to comfort her as much as possible with a brief hug. To sympathize too much with her fear on national television wouldn't be looked on in a positive light by those in positions of power.

Then I fall back but remain standing as Effie approaches the glass balls a second time. I forget about Sarah as Effie's hand hovers over the second glass ball, the ball that holds so many slips of paper with the names of people I love. I feel suddenly nauseous as her hand plunges downward.

The whole square holds its breath as Effie's fingers latch onto a slip of paper. She pulls it out of the ball and I think I should have sat down because my knees are wobbling dangerously beneath me.

Effie's lips part and she speaks a single name that makes my world freeze, "Blaine Anderson."