Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games

Rated for: implied torture; mentions of death.

Dream On

One of his earliest memories was from when he was seven years old. He was in school. The teacher asked everyone what they wanted to do when they were older and Claudius, full of confidence, said loudly that he wanted to be a carpenter.

The laughter which ensued confused him but he'd never been a child who shied from attention: he laughed along with everyone else. It wasn't until later, when the teacher took him to one side that he realised there had been anything wrong with what he said. Not that the teacher said as much – she just asked if Claudius was being bullied. But the implication was clear. Claudius must have had a low opinion of himself, to voice such a dream.

He didn't say it but the truth was that he'd gotten the idea from a TV show. He couldn't remember the name of the show – it had just been on when he was in the room – but the carpenter had looked so happy that Claudius had wanted to be just like him. He didn't even know what a carpenter was. But that didn't matter to him. He could be anything he wanted to be and he wanted to be the man on TV.

He was a happy child who didn't want for anything. His parents were both involved in business and could pay for anything he wanted. He kept up with the latest fashions, he was popular and he was smart. What else was there?

He became involved in acting and then in filming. He began a part-time job at a studio. His parents, seeing his fascination with the world of TV, had a few words with a few acquaintances and Claudius was soon given his chance at being in front of a camera. And he liked it.

By the time he left school, he had a girlfriend. He had a job which was going places in something he enjoyed. He was going to be rich and famous. He was going to be on TV.

He married Murcia when he was twenty years old. He'd known her since the end of high school and had proposed to her when they were nineteen. Part of him wasn't really sure why.

If he was honest with himself, he supposed it was because marriage was "next" in his checklist of things he had to do to succeed in life. He had to be popular. Check. He had to have money. Check. He had to have a good job, with prospects. Check. He needed a beautiful wife.

It wasn't entirely superficial. He genuinely enjoyed her company. There were times when he thought he loved her. But he knew from his own parents' that love wasn't necessary for a marriage – it was just a bonus. He could be kind and caring to her and maybe they'd grow to love each other. But they certainly liked each other.

On the wedding day, she was stunning. Easily the most beautiful woman in the room. And when he kissed her, once the vows were done, he knew he'd made the right choice and everything was going to work out. Everyone would look up to him. He just knew it.

By the time he was twenty-five, Claudius had two sons he barely saw and a wife who hated him.

It wasn't his fault: he was busy. He was on the verge of breaking into the Hunger Games and working on a dozen other projects. Murcia didn't work so someone had to pay for everything. Besides, it wasn't as though they'd had much to say to each other after a year. Even the boys hadn't changed that.

He loved his family but he never felt quite so relaxed as when he was away from them. It was a complete contradiction of terms. He had the dream, didn't he? He had everything anyone could want. He assumed he needed more time, so that everything could slot into place.

Murcia left him a few days before their wedding anniversary. She took their sons with her. She simply left him a note which said, We're leaving. Not that you'll notice. If you ever realise we're gone, let me know when you want to see the boys.

When his job took on a more political role, he didn't mind. It wasn't as though his life plans had ever had any identifiable structure to them – he was willing to see where this went. He was the announcer for the Hunger Games but did little other film work. Murcia barely saw him anymore and his sons didn't speak to him often. He had money and fame but that was it.

The ironic thing is that although money and fame were on his checklist, they weren't things he'd ever seriously envisioned himself having much of. It was a bit like his plan, when he was ten, to become the President – it was never supposed to happen because it was just a dream. People aimed for dreams – they didn't get them.

Except he clearly had. So perhaps he should aim for more. Because what was the point of continuing if he didn't have something to work towards?

One of his roles – one of the less public roles – was to coax answers from people captured by the Peacekeepers. He didn't enjoy the job and one of his recurring nightmares was to be trapped inside a small room with a strange man asking him questions. But he did it anyway because whatever his current state of happiness was, it had to be preferable to being dead.

He was just glad he'd never decided to become a Peacekeeper.

Zeb was only eighteen when he met Claudius. The same age as Claudius' eldest son. Not that he was thinking about his son when he entered the room. He was just wondering how Zeb had even gotten to the Capitol.

Zeb was clearly from District 10. He had the same look Claudius had seen on every District 10 tribute who entered the Games and by now, Claudius had narrated for many of the Games. But Zeb refused to explain who he was, how he got to the Capitol or why he'd been arrested.

Claudius' general technique with these people was to be nice to them. The idea was supposed to be that this would lower their guard and it did, sometimes, work. The reality was that Claudius didn't have the stomach to do anything himself. He could narrate violence well but he couldn't inflict it.

The technique didn't work on Zeb, who was far too intelligent to be fooled by it. But Claudius found himself telling Zeb about his own life in the Capitol. Nothing detailed. But enough for Zeb to respond with a few superficial descriptions of his own life. There was nothing more to it.

The last time Claudius saw Zeb before Zeb escaped was when he had been told that Zeb would be moved for more intense questioning. As Claudius got up to leave, he looked at the young man and found himself saying, "Zeb, please tell me what we need to know. You're too young to go through what they have planned."

But Zeb simply smiled and waved. Claudius left the room. He didn't sleep at all that night.

Sometimes, he found himself wishing he had more power. Really, that was the only problem. He was famous and he was rich but he had no control over his life. In an ideal world, he would have had his family back for the world to see, his money and he'd have been able to control what went on.

When the Rebellion occurred, he found himself fighting hard for the President, to keep hold of what he had. This was everything he had ever worked for and no one had the right to take it away from him. He still stopped short of the truly dirty work but he maintained his other roles. He might not have had control but if the rebels won, he'd have even less power. He'd die.

He was arrested by the rebels just hours after the bombs fell on the children. They led him to a building and locked him in a small room. He couldn't help but smile as the irony hit him. All he needed now was a strange man to start asking him questions and his nightmare would be complete.

On the third day of his imprisonment, the guard asked if he was OK in there. Claudius nearly fell over. He told Zeb that he was fine in as calm a voice as he could manage.

He asked Zeb what was going on outside and Zeb related the events. When Claudius asked what was going to happen to him, Zeb remained silent. Claudius tried to keep his composure inside his cell. Whatever it was he wanted, it wasn't death.

After a few minutes of silence, Zeb asked him about how filming worked. Claudius answered his question and then, for lack of anything else to do, asked Zeb about District 10.

It began a strange friendship through the closed door. Whenever Zeb was on guard, Claudius would tell him stories about life in the Capitol, about filming, about how social structure worked. In response, Zeb would tell him about District 10, about life under Peacekeepers and how families lived together in such close confines.

Claudius described his wife and his two sons. He found himself voicing regrets he didn't even know he had. Murcia's habits that he missed, sixteen years on. Wishing his parents hadn't died so that he could ask them questions. Somehow wishing that he'd done more with his life even though he'd already done plenty.

In return, Zeb told him about his family. He was twenty-one years younger than Claudius but he seemed to have his own share of regrets. Leaving his girlfriend and family behind at age eighteen. And smaller things. Missing nights of music and stories. Lazy evenings with his friends under the Peacekeeper's eyes. His parents yelling at him.

But Claudius never voiced his fears about the future and Zeb never tried to reassure him. They never spoke about the hours imbetween Zeb's guarding him. Zeb never talked about what he'd undergone in the Capitol. Claudius didn't mention his nightmares.

Time ticked on. Claudius lost weight. He ran out of funny stories to tell Zeb and he stopped mentioning the sad ones. Zeb remained silent about the ongoings of District 13. He mentioned that President Snow and President Coin had been killed and that it was the Mockingjay who had done it. Claudius had tried to feel something for the man who had led Panem but there was nothing. He couldn't feel any sympathy for Coin but that wasn't surprising. She was the one who'd put him in here.

Claudius was taken out for a trial. He didn't pay any attention to what went on because he knew how these things worked. He told himself that since he'd already had the money, some power, a wife and kids, the next logical step was death. Not something to aim for. But something all the same.

To his surprise, Zeb spoke on his behalf as a character witness. The picture Zeb painted of Claudius was not flattering but it wasn't bad either. He didn't know if the man described even was him but the bad characteristics – egocentric, selfish, melodramatic – certainly seemed to fit.

He didn't actually listen to the verdict or his sentence. He was already wondering if this new Panem had such a thing as probate law and what his sons were going to think when the father they barely knew was shot on live TV. It wasn't until Zeb clapped him on the back and asked him whether he was excited about his new home that he began to wonder. He tried to ask with a completely straight face what his sentence actually was. Zeb just rolled his eyes.

Claudius was exiled to District 10 to work on the animals there. He didn't know if this was supposed to be symbolic or not but he didn't ask. If it was symbolic, he couldn't work out what it was a symbol of.

Zeb showed him the ropes. The work was hard and sometimes exhausting but it felt simpler than all of the intrigue of the Capitol. His make-up had worn off long ago but he was pleased to notice he had a tan.

People either ignored him or glared at him. He spent a lot of nights in his assigned block, fully aware of the guards who lounged nearby, waiting for him to escape. He never did. He wasn't sure why. He didn't even know why he was there.

Years went by before the guards stopped guarding him. Claudius had gained muscle and was skilled at his job. His friendship with Zeb deepened and it was he who arranged Zeb's wedding and looked after Zeb's daughter when she was born.

Some people never stopped treating him with suspicion. He wasn't allowed to leave the District and part of him knew that his two sons – now men in their own right – weren't going to come and see him. He didn't have much money.

But most people had accepted him. Kids loved him because he always took the time out to play with them and put on funny voices. He even organised the first District 10 play. When he fell ill, neighbours came to check on him daily. He'd lost count of how many "nieces" and "nephews" he had. He didn't feel as though he was constantly being watched or that he had to make alliances and not friendships. Nightmares stopped bothering him.

Zeb commented one day that all of the dreams Claudius had described in his cell had turned to dust. Claudius thought about this for a while and finally concluded that Zeb was right. But it didn't matter, he realised. He didn't need his dreams anymore.

After all, he had his happy ending.

Fin