TWO.

Relief swept over her in a whoosh that Beth felt throughout her entire body. It wasn't her. She wouldn't be boarding the train to Terminus – she wasn't going to die in the arena. Around her, the other girls seemed to sag as well, grateful that they would be staying too.

Except one girl.

Beth watched the thin slip of child that was Sophia Peletier stumble out of the crowd. She was all gangly arms and too-long legs and although Beth had never spoken to her, she knew Sophia was a sweet, if not quiet girl. Quite a bit like Beth in that way, actually.

The crowd was quiet, as they always were when a twelve-year-old was chosen. In all the ways that the Games were unfair, this felt like the worst: the near-assured slaughter of this innocent child. Beth glanced up at the face of Daryl Dixon, expecting to see him calculating her lifespan, but his head was down – the only indication that he'd even heard the name were his hands, spasms fisting them in his lap.

Sophia was halfway to the stage when Beth heard it – a broken wail erupted from the edge of the crowd. Beth turned as a woman with close-cropped grey hair dropped to her knees, shiny tears streaking across her face – Sophia's mother.

All at once Beth felt something hollow bloom in her chest. This was wrong – this whole thing was wrong. Sophia was walking to her death; there was no way she'd survive the brutality of the other tributes – and they all had to stand here as if they agreed – as if there was nothing they could do.

Except there was something she could do.

The words were out of her mouth before she even knew what she'd said, though they were more whisper than word, "I volunteer." A few pairs of eyes darted her way.

She moved: a jolted step forward toward the stage, her voice louder the second time, "I volunteer."

Now everyone was turning, looking at her in surprise. In other districts, where being a tribute was an honor not a death sentence, volunteers were common, but here – she couldn't recall there ever having been a volunteer from District Eleven.

Sophia had stopped walking, glancing around in confusion; her mother's tear suddenly choked into silence. Rowan Abernathy was eying the crowd, a frown painted on her face, as if she was unsure that she'd heard anything.

It was so quiet Beth couldn't understand how she could have missed it but she spoke again anyway, "I volunteer."

The other children parted before her, giving a clear path to the stage. As she reached Sophia, still stopped halfway there, Beth glanced at the girl who was so much like her.

"Go," she whispered and Sophia darted off through the crowd, diving into her mother's waiting arms.

Suddenly, it was as if the sound came back on in the world – or maybe the shock had just worn off – and Beth heard Maggie screaming hysterically behind her. She squeezed her eyes shut tight – she wasn't going to cry, I'm sorry Maggie.

Rowan Abernathy was waiting at the top of the stairs, her arms outstretched as if to beckon Beth into a hug. Then her magenta claws gripped Beth's shoulders and guided her to stand before the microphone.

The fear rushed back to her stomach. Oh, god – what have I done?

"Ladies and gentlemen," Rowan's voice was piercing and – Beth realized with stab of disgust – excited. "District Eleven's first volunteer! And what is your name, dear?"

"Beth Greene," she answered and her voice sounded small, weak. Good, she thought, let them think I'm weak. Then she could prove them wrong.

"Let's give a round of applause to Beth Greene, District Eleven's first tribute!"

To the everlasting credit of District Eleven, no one clapped.

Silence.

Which says: this is wrong. We do not agree.

For the first time in her life, Beth was wholeheartedly glad to be from District Eleven – proud of them, even for this small act of defiance – and it strengthened something within her.

After another moment, Rowan's own applause died out and she trundled over to the second glass jar. There was less show this time – maybe she'd realized that it was better to get through this quickly after all – as she pulled out the first piece of paper that she touched.

"Patrick Martella," she read.

They'd never spoken but Beth knew his face from school. He was only a bit younger than her – sixteen, she thought – but the horror on his face made him look like a little boy. She watched him push his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he shuffled onto the stage to stand next to her.

She could only imagine what people were thinking as they looked at District Eleven's tributes – two more dead bodies, mostly likely. She glanced at Daryl Dixon out of the corner of her eye.

He was staring – right at her – with something a bit like curiosity on his face; like he was trying to figure her out; then all at once he noticed her looking at him and turned sharply away from her.

Rowan Abernathy was speaking again but Beth didn't hear her. She knew what would happen now anyway: for the next few hours she and Patrick would be shuffled into some rooms in the Town Hall where they would be able to say goodbye to their family and friends. Then they would board the train with Rowan and Daryl and be on their way to Terminus. Their last look at home would be through the bullet-proof glass of the train windows.

After that it was only a matter of time.

When the door opened, Beth only had an instant before she was crushed into Maggie's chest, rocking backwards on her heels at the force of it. A wave of guilt swept over her then, even as she met her father's eyes. It had been the one thing she'd worried after: her father having to watch her die, like he'd watched Shawn – Annette – Josephine, Beth's mother. To put that anguish into his heart again, she had prayed with all her strength to avoid it.

But he wasn't crying for her. He was just staring, a little blankly, at her shoulder.

"What were you thinking, Bethy?" Maggie asked in a half-shout as she pulled away only so far to look into her sister's eyes.

Beth shrugged a shoulder and her eyes dropped to the floor. But no, that wasn't true. She knew why she'd done it: Sophia Peletier's tiny, scared face bloomed in her mind's eye and she looked back at Maggie, determination set into the line of her mouth.

"It's wrong, Maggie – all this, the Games – it's wrong. That little girl was goin' to die and everybody knew it – and still nobody was goin' to help her. But I could – I can – I have t' try." She realized that her hands were gripping Maggie's forearms so tight she was leaving splotchy red marks on her sister's skin.

Maggie looked like she was at war with herself: one half seemed to be begrudging admiration and the other determined anger and despair. Beth didn't blame her for the second part; Maggie wasn't stupid, she knew Beth was going to die.

She said as much, her voice dropping into a sad, tired whisper, "You'll die."

"I know, but Maggie, there's so many times we don't get to change what's happenin' around us – what's happenin' to us – this time, I could – I can – so I had to…" she trailed off for a moment, she sounded like her daddy. Her eyes to cut to him quickly, but now he was staring at the worn wooden planks of the floor. She looked back at Maggie.

"Every day we step out of the house and we risk our lives – look at what happened to Daddy – we don't have a choice, the only thing we can choose is what we're risking it for. I'm probably gonna die in there – I'm not strong like you – but I got t' try because no matter whether I got a shot to survive or not, that little girl didn't deserve to die."

She didn't sound like herself. Her voice sounded strong, not the frightened girl who had worried over whether her name would be picked from the jar or the shy, timid child who was polite and quiet and never bothered anybody if she could help it.

"We don't get t' be upset, Maggie – we all got jobs to do, this is mine."

Maggie was biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, tears welling in her eyes and dripping down her cheeks. She still hadn't let go of Beth's shoulders, her fingers digging painfully into Beth's collar bone. She wasn't used to Beth being the tough one – had been expecting her baby sister to be a weeping, frightened mess. She turned to look at their father, begging him to say something – anything.

Not that it mattered. Beth had volunteered. There was no going back.

Finally, Hershel looked up from the floorboards but instead of crushing despair Beth saw pride in her father's eyes. His stiff jaw belied his sadness but he still reached out, pressing his wide hand against the cheek of his youngest daughter. The warmth of his palm was soothing and Beth could only lean in closer to him.

"Be strong, Bethy," he said, his voice hushed.

"You too, Daddy," she knew there were tears running tracks down her face. Maggie's half-swallowed shudder was lost into Beth's shoulder as Hershel pressed both girls into a tight hug.

Beth's eyes dropped closed and she wished, desperately wished, that they could just stay like this forever; wished that the harsh pounding on the door would never come; that the guards, in their stark white uniforms, wouldn't pull her father and sister away as they cried out that they loved her; that she wouldn't be alone in the cold, empty room, waiting for Rowan to fetch her to the train.

Glenn came to see her, which made her inexplicably happy. He pressed his face to her forehead, crushing her against him like she was his own little sister. She made him promise to take the best care of Maggie – reminded him that she liked daisies the best and that the occasional peach, expensive though they were, would almost always soothe Maggie's exhaustion from the day.

When he left, she sat back in the rickety wooden chair – the only bit of furniture in the room – and waited for the guards to come back for her. She wasn't expecting anyone else to visit. She had no more family and while she had a few friends at school, Maggie had always been her closest companion; so when the door opened and Sophia Peletier was standing there, Beth bit back a breath of surprise.

She wasn't alone, Beth realized quickly, noting the protective way her mother was suddenly standing behind her. But Sophia looked a little bit stronger than she had when she'd scurried away from the stage and into her mother's arms and Beth was glad at least for that.

Sophia walked into the room and Beth awkwardly got to her feet. What did you say to the person whose life you were saving – whose place you were taking in the death march? Apparently, Sophia wasn't quite sure either.

It was Carol who finally spoke. "We wanted to thank you for what you did – what you're doing – I don't know of a single person who'd choose to – who'd do what you did for my little girl."

Beth nodded, she tried for a smile but it felt too tight on her face. She glanced down as Sophia tugged on her hand, turning her palm over and dropping something shiny onto her skin. "You can bring something with you – from your District – will you wear this?"

Beth looked at the necklace in her hand. The chain was fine and easily breakable; dangling from the end were two thin, flattened pieces of steel, cut in the shape of hearts, one smaller than the other – rough, like most of the jewelry in the District, but as delicate and elegant as anything Beth had ever owned.

"Thank you," she said, looking at the waif of a girl in front of her, nodding that she'd wear it.

Sophia looked satisfied for a moment and then something odd crossed her face. When she spoke, her voice was certain in a way that Beth wasn't sure Sophia had ever sounded, "You could win."

Beth felt the weight of that assertion fall heavily onto her shoulders. I can't, she thought, I won't. But she couldn't say that to Sophia, couldn't press that guilt onto a child. Sophia wasn't stupid; she knew what would happen now that Beth had taken her place. But maybe it was easier to think that the choice hadn't condemned Beth to death.

"There's a lot of us," Beth replied gently.

"But you could," Sophia urged. "Promise me – promise me you'll try real hard to win?"

Sophia's eyes were so sincere, so hopeful in her belief that Beth had even the slightest chance of ever stepping foot in District Eleven again; it was painful but the thought of crushing that hope hurt so much worse.

She nodded slowly, "I will."

The thump of knuckles on the door had Carol jumping a bit. It was time for them to go but Beth didn't want them to – even these near-strangers were better than sitting alone. Something frightened clawed up her chest as Sophia threw her arms around Beth's waist for a moment. Then Carol was pressing her hands against Beth's face and pulling her in for a tight hug and then they were gone.

She was alone.

We don't get to be upset.

She wasn't going to cry anymore. Crying, she decided, was for people she loved and she'd left everybody she loved back in District Eleven. Besides, she didn't want people thinking she was a weakling. It was helpful for the other tributes but she needed sponsors to help get her things in the Games – food, medicine, anything she wouldn't be able to find on her own – and they weren't going to bother if they didn't think she was worth it.

When the guards had finally come to take her to the train, the cameras had come with them. It would be a chance for the audience to get to see the tributes up-close, a teaser for the later parts of the show when they'd do interviews and get paraded around Terminus like prize animals. Patrick had been with her then, as Rowan had loaded them into a fancy car bound for the tracks.

This time she really looked at him. He wasn't much taller than her, and probably about as wiry. His dark hair was haphazard, as if he'd been running his hands through it frantically. She might have thought that he was cute, younger though he was, if she didn't know that eventually they would have to try and kill one another.

As soon as they'd gotten on the train, Rowan had felt the need to show them every inch of the space. They could go into any of the compartments, she said, except the conductors' of course. It almost felt like freedom, but it was an illusion. This was a cage.

Albeit a gilded one, with a luxurious spread of food in the dining car; it was more than Beth had ever seen in her entire lifetime and one glance at Patrick told her the same. She almost asked who else would be eating with them – a meal this size could feed her family, and Glenn, plus probably Patrick's family with some to spare – but she realized that this kind of excess was common for the Terminites when Rowan sat down and began to fill her plate.

The food was delicious and far richer than anything Beth was used to. Rowan's voice wasn't nearly as unpleasant as it usually was at the Reaping and Beth found that if she tried, she could almost pretend that this wasn't a horrible situation – that she wasn't being carted off to her inevitable death – and she was just eating a glorious meal for the sake of it.

But like the sense of freedom, this was all just fabrication. Tributes couldn't be skin and bones when they arrived in Terminus, that wasn't pretty nor was it beneficial for survival. The Terminites weren't terribly concerned about the children surviving once the Games really started, but they couldn't have tributes passing out from starvation in front of the audience. It was poor entertainment.

So they fed them extravagant meals, gave them beautiful clothes, made them look desirable for the audience's enjoyment, then sat back gleefully as the Terminites cheered on their favorites and applauded when others died.

Beth's train of thought dropped off sharply when she heard the compartment door sliding open and Rowan's voice say, "There you are – finally."

There was a decidedly disapproving tone in her voice, Beth noted, as she turned around to find Daryl Dixon framed in the doorway. He didn't look hung-over anymore, she thought; actually he seemed quite alert as he glared at them all. Beth felt a shiver run down her spine when his gaze landed on her and she realized again that he was appraising her. Not in the way boys used to do in school but in that cold, calculating way he had during the Reaping.

It was unnerving. She looked away and he dropped into a chair on the far side of the table.

"So tomorrow," Rowan began, chipper attitude back in place, "We'll be arriving in the Capitol around noon. Then we'll have a few hours when you two will be with your stylists, getting made-up and then it's parade time. That's where we'll really introduce you to the world."

Patrick seemed to be paying attention to Rowan at least but Beth had lost interest almost immediately. Instead, she was trying to subtly glance at Daryl out of the corner of her eye, feigning pulling apart a roll as she watched him tear at a chicken leg. He was a bit like a wild dog, she thought; from a distance, he seemed tame – kept to himself, didn't talk much – but get close and he'd bite your hand off.

She wondered whether he'd always been like that or if it had been because of the Games.

Either way, she felt a pang somewhere in her chest.

"Well!" Rowan's voice broke into her thoughts again. Beth looked over at the bubbly woman who was daintily placing her napkin on the table and pushing her chair back. "You two better get to bed – we've got a big day tomorrow!"

Daryl didn't seem interesting in moving from the table at all. In fact, he was pouring himself a drink in defiance of Rowan's suggestion. But Patrick was yawning and Beth realized suddenly that she was exhausted. It was hard to believe that it had only been that morning – a few hours ago – that'd she'd been snuggled in bed with Maggie.

Rowan showed her to her sleeping compartment at the end of the train. There wasn't much more than a bed and a thin, door-less closet. Beth was a bit surprised to find clothes already on the hangers. They were pretty and they looked soft but something about it made her skin crawl.

How many other girls had stood in this room, looked at those clothes, slept on this bed?

Resisting the urge to vomit up of the rich food she'd eaten for dinner, Beth stripped down to her underwear, and ripping the fancy Terminite clothes out of the closet, hung up her mother's pale blue dress. She wouldn't sleep in the bed, she decided, so she bundled the clothing up into a makeshift pillow and curled up on the cool metal floor.

She thought of Maggie then, and her father and Glenn. She thought of Sophia and Carol and her mind wandered to the other people she'd left behind in District Eleven – people she'd never been close with but whom she suddenly missed as if they'd been her best friends. But she wouldn't cry – we don't get to be upset – and the faces just seemed to hover at the edges of her vision, lulling her.

She fell asleep with strangely familiar blue eyes on her mind, though in the morning she couldn't remember whose they had been.

Notes:

And we're off to Terminus! First off, thank you to those who have followed or reviewed this - it's so wonderful to know that people are reading and maybe even enjoying this little jaunt. I'm enjoying writing this, which is weird because I haven't enjoyed writing anything in awhile. Apparently Bethyl just inspires me (as evidenced by the four or five AUs and other Bethyl stories I've got in my brain right now).

Also remember how I said this was going to be a slow-moving romance? Think of it as glacial. But Beth and Daryl have had like zero interaction with one another ever, in their lives, and takes a bit of time to break that hard-candy coating of his after all.