Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or the Hunger Games

Snow-

Your smiles are weird.

Granddaughters sometimes remarked on the strangest things. I had been subject to a lecture on braiding, a giggling fit, a tirade on the unfairness of early bedtimes. And yet, that one, off-hand comment was what caught my attention. Especially now, as I stare into the mirror.

She was right. In the rare moments where a picture was taken, my smile looked stretched, fake. A gash of a mouth that twitched spasmodically at the corners. That was my definition of a smile. Smiles were for happy people. Happiness was a myth, a waste of time for the idle.

But my warped definition would have to be changed. Because as I stare into the mirror, the smile that I see is wholly different. Like a twisted, crooked scar, that someone fit haphazardly onto my features. One that you're not really sure where it came from, but one that you know has some significance you can't quite grasp.

This smile actually isn't forced.

Perhaps because it isn't a smile of happiness. It's a vindictive smile, a vengeful smile. An expression that had slipped onto my face when I thought. Specifically of Katniss Everdeen and the future that was in store for her. There was no doubt that she would not be happy with me. If she stayed alive, that is. But when all was over and done, there was no doubt in my mind that my grim, mocking smile would slip out again.

Katniss-

Inanimate objects in my room receive glares far more often than appropriate for a sane household. I glare at the bed covers when they tangle up and twist around me while I revisit the Hunger Games in my dreams. I glare at the window that- instead of giving me the view of familiar faces and dingy surroundings- lets me look out upon the bleak and empty Victor's Village in all its lonely glory. And I glare at the TV screen.

Come to think of it, I spend a lot of time glaring at the TV screen.

And yes, there is good reason for that. I do not have mental problems. Well, not extreme ones anyway. No, the reason for my glaring at anything and everything in the world is now standing in the middle of the screen, his face an emotionless mask, his hands tightly clenched around a box of index cards.

President Snow.

Yeah, glaring at him is justified.

He's always on all these "mandatory viewing" shows. Talking about boring stuff that I really couldn't care less about. It may be mandatory, but that doesn't mean I have to pay attention as the man drones on and on and on…

So, if after a "mandatory viewing", you walk into my room and see a huge amount of arrows embedded into a President Snow poster, think nothing of it.

Unfortunately, I actually do need to pay attention to this one because it chooses what horrors will be encompassed in the Third Quarter Quell. He'll draw the rules out of a box of index cards- same as every year.

That same box of index cards may seem fairly unthreatening, but somehow, Snow has managed to turn every eye to that innocent row of pristine white papers.

Including mine.

I breathe out as slowly as I can, snuggling further into my solitary pillow, hoping the heaping blankets will be able to purge my body of its involuntary shivering.

"For the Third Quarter Quell-" He's enjoying this. You can tell he's enjoying this. The way he draws out his words, the slight flickering at the corner of his mouth, his fingers dancing on the edge of the box. Honestly. Just when you think you can't hate a guy anymore than you already do.

He smirks, a fake twist of the mouth that makes me want to vomit, as he draws a card. There is dead silence- both on the screen and in my bedroom. Then, "There shall be twenty-six tributes. Two provided by every district and two provided," I swear, he's drawing this out to torture me- "from the Capital."

The silence has not broken. Mostly because everyone's mouths are hanging open.

Then someone in the audience makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. The floodgates open.

The Capital, the biggest supporters of Snow and his bloodbaths, rises as one and starts a sound wave that makes the speakers crackle.

Snow doesn't care. He raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms, and says quietly into the microphone, "I haven't finished."

The noise cuts off abruptly, as if they're all hoping he's going to start laughing and shout, "Fooled you!"

Unsurprisingly, the next words out of his mouth do not pertain to relieving the Capital of their newfound burden. "The tributes from the districts shall come from the existing pool of victors."

I blink uncomprehendingly at the screen. "Existing pool of victors?" I repeat blankly. My subconscious gets it before I do, because my fingers clench on the bed sheets and my whole body is suddenly wracked with shivers.

"Existing pool of victors." I say again, a note of dread creeping into my voice.

I'm going back.

Annabeth-

I have to smile as I watch Percy hack off heads and arms. Sure, it's not nice to the dummies (Or the people who have to repair them, which, thankfully, isn't me. I can take down a empousa with a sewing needle, but I can't use it for its actual purpose. That's a little sad. But I digress...) It's still amazing to watch Seaweed Brian whirl like a devil and see the glint of silver and hear the thump signaling another dummy's horrific end. He finishes off the last one with one quick stab to where the heart would be and breaks out in a grin. "Well? How was that one?"

I marshal my mouth into a stern line and check my watch. "One minute, ten seconds to hack down ten over a large area."

"See? I'm getting better-"

"Ten dummies who can't move and don't offer any sort of resistance." I add smugly. He may be my boyfriend, but that doesn't mean that I make life easy for him. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Percy laughs, his green eyes dancing. In one quick fluid motion, he pulls me to his side teasingly.

I swat his shoulder. "Hey, no! You're all sweaty!" Neither of us miss the fact that I could have flipped Percy over my shoulder with ease. Or that I don't jab him in the side- where, to his eternal shame- he is extremely ticklish. Or that I kept my knife in its sheath. I could get away in a million possible ways if I wanted to, but I don't.

Soon we're walking on the beach, leaving two pairs of footprints in the sand behind us, his arm around my shoulder, mine around his waist. It's a weekend, meaning a break from school and the chance to see each other. Not that we'll admit that last part aloud.

Percy- still stuck on the fact that I apparently don't appreciate his sword skills- bursts out, "Have you done better than one minute, ten seconds?"

"Of course, dummy." I retort, lying through my teeth.

He raises an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"Got a problem with that?" I grin and place my hands on his back. With one swift shove, he's in the water.

That's when a gigantic hand made from the lake reaches up, wraps around my torso and starts dragging me in. I dig in my heels. The ruts left behind look like something out of a badly directed horror movie. "Unsportsmanlike!" I manage to splutter before being dunked underneath.

I start kicking towards the surface, waiting for the moment when Percy wraps his fingers around my wrists and conjures up an air bubble or something equally ridiculous. It doesn't come.

I break through the water, blinking over at Percy. He's staring up at the sky, his jaw hanging open. And when I follow his gaze-

"Percy," My voice is small. "We're going to need those sword skills."

Katniss-

I can't even muster the energy to glare anymore. Sunk so far into my bed, it's almost as though I think I'll escape just by hiding under the covers.

There's a sort of blank silence hovering around my bedroom. The type that won't leave you alone, won't go away until you break it. But breaking this silence means going back to the Hunger Games. And I'd rather just delude myself a little more before I face that reality.

Life has a way though, of making you face your demons.

Mine comes in the form of a door opening and a tentative call up the stairs. "Katniss?"

Frozen. That's what happens when life makes itself known in all its harsh reality. I freeze. Sitting with my legs folded under me, hair tangled and untouched, fingers clenched into fists, eyes trained on the door. Frozen like a deer in the spotlight.

Hesitant footsteps sound on the stairs. A hand raps on the door. I don't answer.

Prim pokes her head in anyway. "Katniss?"

My little sister looks uncertain. Buttercup is cradled against her chest, her fingers buried in the cat's mangy fur. Her hair is pulled back into one of my mother's trademark braids, but wispy strands have come free, framing her face. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, her cheeks flushed as though she's run the whole way from school. She probably has. A year ago, she would have burst out sobbing and run towards me and I would have held her as she cried into my shoulder.

Now though, she leans against the doorframe and takes in a shaky breath. "It was on. In school, I mean. That you're- you're going back."

"Yeah." I choke out. "Mandatory viewing." For all except Gale, who believes that "mandatory" actually means the same thing as "not mandatory at all" and therefore spends it sitting in the woods and ignoring everything. I haven't actually seen Gale in… forever. Ever since the Hunger Games, we never talk, never hunt, never rant about the Capital. Another bullet to add to the "Why I Hate Snow" list.

Snow's the reason that I can't look Peeta in the eye. Snow's the reason Gale avoids me like the plague. And Snow's the reason why Prim is suppressing tears. For God's sake, that in itself should be enough.

Prim gives me a tremulous smile. "You'll be fine."

That's either a blatant lie or an overoptimistic hope. I can't decide which.

"You better be fine." Her voice has suddenly gone harder, her blue eyes narrowed. "Got that? You have to survive."

"Prim…" I drop my gaze. Prim is only a reminder that I do need to survive. But seeing as I barely made it through the Hunger Games without experienced players, my chances of lasting through these Games are… minimal at best. I can't tell my little sister that.

Suddenly, a finger pokes me in the chest with no little amount of force. "Katniss Everdeen, I'm telling you right now. You will kick butt. You will win. And you will come home." Prim glares at me, looking quite scary. "Got it?"

Nothing like having a thirteen-year-old give you a pep talk. "Got it."

For the first time in a long time, I smile.

Annabeth-

I've heard of black holes. Studied them, actually. There are tons of theories surrounding them. Some things make complete sense. Others make none. Either way, nobody's quite sure how they work. One thing that I know for sure though is they do not usually frequent Long Island, New York. So, why is one hovering feet from me?

Okay, I'm assuming.

Smart people do not assume.

But how else am I supposed to define this- this thing in front of me?

It looks like a tear. A rip in the fabric of the world. It's as if the scenery of the Big House and circle of cabins is all just a painting. Someone put a hole in the middle and suddenly the blank paper behind is visible. That's the only way I can describe it.

Then a head pokes through.

I would scream, except for the fact that I'm right next to my boyfriend and I do not scream while right next to my boyfriend.

"Um, Annabeth, please tell me this is somehow something intimidating looking but very cute and fluffy on the inside? Mrs. O'Leary's cousin, maybe?"

I sigh. Even in the heat of the moment, Percy manages to be completely… Percy-like.

"Percy," I say wearily. "I have no idea what it is."

Percy's jaw drops even further. "What?" He yelps. "I thought you just said you didn't know something. Must have water in my ear." He frowns and starts shaking his head like a wet dog.

"Can you be serious for ten seconds?" I groan.

"Not likely, no."

"Least you're honest."

However distracting the banter may be, it's not enough to take my attention off of the man coming through our own personal black hole.

The guy falls out and belly-flops into the water, making a gigantic splash. It would have been comical if not for the fact that I'm worried he's going to turn into some demigod-eating monster. "Hey, Percy, can you, um, monster test?"

Percy blinks. "Which means…?"

"Stick him with your sword?" I say, exasperated.

"Ohhh." He grins. "Right."

So he sticks his sword in the guy (who scrambles backwards unsuccessfully). "You're mortal?" Percy says, frowning. "Well, this is useless then." He recaps Riptide and stares at the guy like he's from another planet. Although, to be fair, he might be.

"I don't get it. He's mortal. How's he in the camp?" Percy turns to me, his eyebrows crinkled together.

"I don't know." I hate not knowing.

"Oh. Oh. This is bad."

"And you just figured that out?" I mutter.

The guy has finally figured out how to stay afloat, despite being dressed in one of those suits that people wear to nuclear sites.

"Percy, we can't just go around killing mortals." I say as I swim farther back from the guy.

My boyfriend stares at me. "Annabeth, he just fell out of a hole in the sky, is dressed like a government guy and seems very eager to meet us. And mortals aren't supposed to be in the camp in the first place! How do we even know that he's mortal?"

"Do I need to teach you the first grade demigod course again?"

"Nope." He shudders. "That was scarring enough the first time."

Then there's another splash. We both swivel in the water. "Oh great. There are more." I groan.

A lot more, as it turns. Somewhere around a dozen. "You know, I think this counts as an invasion." Percy decides.

"And for once, I agree with you. Except, we have no weapons, there are six to one odds against us-"

"I like those odds." Percy grins. It looks almost predatory.

I shrug. "Fine. Let's go."

Fighting without a knife feels like drawing without a pencil. But that's okay, because these guys seriously suck at fighting.

They fumble around in the water, lashing out clumsily, and knock into each other. Honestly. It's like fighting kindergarteners. Only problem? There are tons of them. Just when you think the black hole's done spewing out white-coated weirdos, another two pop out.

Then a guy reaches down into his belt and the number of problems notches up to two.

They have guns. Large, intimidating guns.

"Annabeth?" Percy says out nervously. "I can't shield you from bullets." He's already

knocked about six unconscious and I've at least gotten four, but the sheer numbers and the firepower they have is a serious disadvantage for us.

Percy's got a point. We're fighting a losing battle. "What do you want?" I call warily.

One of them dares to inch closer. I raise my hands defensively. He stops. Or she. I can't really tell with all these huge shapeless things on them. I'm just going to say "he". It's less confusing that way. "We want you to come with us. Peacefully, if at all possible."

Behind me, I can hear Percy snorting not-so-subtly.

"For what?" I decide to ignore Percy for the time being.

He doesn't answer for a minute. "You'll just have to find out." He says eventually.

"And if we don't?" Percy sounds as if he's gotten a bad cold. Which, I know from experience, means he's trying not to burst out laughing.

Which is really quite annoying, because now I have to fight giggles.

We really don't take these life-or-death situations seriously.

"Then we'll have to shoot you." The guy actually sounds strangely sympathetic about this. "It will not kill you. Just knock you out. Very painfully."

Percy glances at me and shrugs infinitesimally.

I shrug back. Was shaping up to be a dull weekend anyway.

Together, we step through the void.

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