II: An Unlikely Friendship

He finds me during training the next day, when I'm trailing Katniss and Peeta.

"You watch them a lot," he says. "It's because she volunteered for her sister, isn't it?"

I nod.

"It is. I have little siblings, and they're all too young… but if things were different, and one of them had gotten reaped, I don't know if I would've done what Katniss did."

Marvel shocks me when he offers a lopsided smile.

"Of course you would've. You're too good not to."

I'm surprised to find that his words actually sound sincere. I don't know if I agree with him, but he makes me smile nonetheless.

Only then he keeps talking, and suddenly I'm not smiling so much anymore.

"I feel stupid when you talk like that. About volunteering like it's a sacrifice. Something to be done as a last resort, to save someone else." He nods towards Katniss. "She threw her life away for something. I… jumped on the chance to do so, when I really didn't have to."

"Your father-" I start.

"If I have to do this to gain his respect," says Marvel, looking straight at me, "I don't think it's worth it."

I realize that my words and my pushing have caused him to regret his decision to volunteer, and it makes me feel so guilty that it hurts. I've made this harder on him than it needs to be, because I wanted him to recognize me as a person. Now he does, but he also he wishes he wasn't here even though it's too late to do anything about it.

I can't imagine how that must feel.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

He looks at me sadly.

"So am I."

Then he makes his way back over to the Careers and starts laughing and joking with them, except I notice a stiffness in his posture and a sadness in his eyes that wasn't there before.

…

"I told my mentor about you," says Marvel that evening. "He says that I'm stupid and lack discipline."

"You aren't stupid," I argue. I make to throw a knife, but he grabs my arm and stops me. Adjusts my grip. I toss it and it sticks in the dummy's stomach and then I look back at him. "But you do lack discipline. If you were like Cato or Clove, you wouldn't have let me get to you."

He scowls.

"Believe me. I know."

"I'm glad you're different… I like spending time with you like this," I go on gently, hoping to make it better. His scowl softens but doesn't go away, and I know that he isn't happy with himself. Trying to lighten the mood, I say casually, "You got a nine in training. Did you throw spears?"

"Of course." He shakes his head. "And you got an eight. I'm not sure if I should be impressed or disgusted that a twelve-year-old almost got the same score I did."

"Only because you helped me," I assure him. "I was just going to show them what I could do with the climbing ropes, but I did the knife throwing too. I think it gave me an extra point or two."

"Either way, it's sad," says Marvel. "I've been training my whole life. You've been practicing how long? Two and a half days?"

"I got most of my points from climbing, and I've been doing that my whole life," I remind him.

This seems to appease him somewhat, and with something of a smile, he says, "I suppose so. In any case, the look on Glimmer's face when she saw your score was worth it." A pause, and then he adds, "It was even more priceless when she saw Fire Girl's eleven."

I hit the dummy again and say absently, "I wonder what Katniss did."

"Something exceptional," says Marvel. "It doesn't matter how good you are with a weapon; if there isn't something that makes you special, you won't get more than a ten." He shakes his head, like he still can't believe it, and adds, "There've only been four elevens in history. Finnick Odair is the only tribute you might remember… probably got his by throwing his trident around naked." He smiles crookedly. "I should've tried that—might've gotten me an extra point or two."

"You're too gangly," I say, poking at one of his long arms. There is muscle there, but definitely not Finnick Odair-caliber muscle. "Probably would've lowered your score instead."

He laughs off my comment.

"I have a sister near your age," he says. "She's a little bitch too."

He says it affectionately, so I ignore his kind-of-insult and instead focus on the other half of his comment.

"You have a sister?"

"She's nine," he says. "And spunky. She's the only person I can think of who I really care about."

I don't know what to say to that, and he seems embarrassed that he let the words slip. I wonder if he's so open with me because I remind him of his sister, but it doesn't matter either way and so I don't ask. Instead, I turn and look at him and say, "I think I'm as good with knives as I'm gonna get. Let's work with you instead."

Marvel groans theatrically, but follows as I lead him over to the open stretch of floor we'd practiced on last night. I start us out dancing, this time with a more complicated one. He does well at first, but his long legs and big feet are getting mixed up before long, and we both wind up sprawled across the floor.

I can't help but giggle, and then Marvel starts laughing, and I almost feel a little bit happy.

We do get a little more serious after that, but not by much. He insists on trying the dance again, and we go through it until it's perfect. Then I suggest we work on jumping and running by playing tag, and the two of us chase each other around the room and through the equipment until we're both red-faced and too tired to keep it up.

Marvel stops me by the door before we go.

"Can you… come down here again tomorrow, after the interviews?" he asks haltingly. "I know it's the night before the Games, but… I want a chance to say good-bye."

Tears well up in my eyes and I reach out and wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tightly, wishing with all my heart that things were somehow different.

"I don't like good-byes," I admit hoarsely. "But I'll be there."

He reaches out and ruffles my hair.

"You don't deserve this, Rue."

I cry myself to sleep that night.

…

Marvel winks at me as he saunters onto the stage for his interview. My palms are sweaty and I feel like I'm seconds away from hyperventilating, but something about how unafraid he is calms me down.

I smile at him, and he sends me a crooked grin in return.

His interview does a good job at pushing back my nervousness too. He's really funny. I mean, I'd known that he wasn't as serious as the other Careers, but he laughs and jokes with Caesar in a way that's very natural to him. It looks like he's almost having fun, and I wonder if maybe this is what he's like normally, when the Games aren't hanging over him.

It's brilliant, how loudly he gets the audience laughing. He has the most ridiculous facial expressions, says the most over-the-top things, and even I can't help but laugh. When his buzzer goes off and he sees my eyes dancing with mirth, he looks even happier than he had when the audience started hollering for him.

My interview doesn't go so badly as I worried it would either. Caesar is very good at helping tributes look good. Since this whole mess started, I have started to really dislike Capitol people. They all seem fake and cruel, and most of them really are excited about seeing us die.

I think that maybe Caesar's gotten to know too many tributes who have died, though. There's genuine feeling in his eyes when he talks to me, and instead of making this difficult like he probably could, he eases me along and helps me say all the right things.

When my buzzer goes off and I smile at him and say, "Thank you, Caesar," I mean it, and I think he sees it too, because suddenly his eyes get just a little bit happier, so that they almost match the smile on his face.

…

"You did a really good job," I tell Marvel, when he meets me in the training room that evening. I'm sprawled out across one of the wrestling mats, and he walks over and plops down beside me.

"So did you," he says. "I think half the audience fell in love with you."

"They still won't care if I die. They'll probably cheer if it's really gruesome," I reply, just a tad morbidly.

Marvel puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. He's warm and strong and I feel almost safe with him this close.

"For you," he says, "they'll care." Then, in a lot smaller voice: "And maybe… you won't die at all."

"Maybe I won't," I agree.

I don't say anything else on the subject. Because I know that if I live, it means he won't. And I really don't want Marvel to die. I don't want anyone to die. Not him, or Katniss Everdeen, or sweet Peeta Mellark who's in love with her. I don't want Thresh to die either, because he's been nice to me and he holds open doors and smiles when I start looking really sad.

And even though maybe I haven't seen the good, gentle sides of the other tributes, I bet that they're there. If Marvel is so… so human, so decent, then I'm sure that even Cato and Clove and Glimmer are too.

None of us deserve this.

"I hate the Capitol," I mutter. "I hate them for making us do this."

Marvel stiffens and I suddenly realize that he's from District One and that he's been raised to think this is okay his whole life. I worry that I've said too much and he's going to be angry with me, but then he admits brokenly, "Right now, I'm not too fond of them myself."

We sit quietly for a long time after that. I know I need sleep, but I don't want to leave Marvel.

But my eyes start drooping and I can't stay longer, and so I whisper, "It's getting late."

Marvel looks at me with sad, sad eyes.

"One more dance," he says.

We only make it halfway through before my voice starts quivering and I can't sing anymore. Marvel tightens his grip on my hands and he hoarsely picks up the tune where I left off. I manage to rejoin him after a moment, but by the end of the song, we're both barely forcing the words out.

Tears run freely down my cheeks and even his eyes look shiny, and it's so unfair that I want to scream.

"I won't kill you," Marvel says before we leave. "I can't."

I know that it costs him a lot to say the words, but they mean so much to me that I'm glad he forced them out.

"Thank you," I whisper. "And… and be careful."

"Only if you do the same." He rakes a hand through his hair and takes a big, shaky breath. "Stay in the stay in the trees, Rue. Promise me that you'll stay in the trees. No one can touch you in the trees."

"I promise."

We hug one more time.

And then we part.

I look back at the same time he does, and my heart breaks when I see the tears streaking down his cheeks.

…

Author's Note:

Thanks for the great responses to the first chapter of this. Again, I know that it moves quickly and that a lot of it is dialogue skipping from place to place, but I did intend for it to be a one-shot so I wasn't looking to add in long descriptions or anything. While I'm sure that might've done the story more justice, this is how it ended up. Hopefully you still think it's a worthwhile read.

Next chapter should be up in a few days. Please tell me what you think.