Disclaimer: The Hunger Games still isn't mine.

Chapter Two
Through the Roughest Day

Holly and Basil said their goodbyes together. The Peacekeepers wouldn't let the children in all at once, so they came in groups of four or five. One of the little boys, Moss, too young to understand what was going on, greeted Holly with a pair of wooden dice and a cheery, "Have fun at the games."

Last of all came Rowan, Fern, Oliver, and Laurel. Fern shook her head when she saw the dice. "I tried to tell him it wasn't really a 'game,' but he insisted."

Holly shook her head and found a smile. "I think it's perfect." She handed one to Basil. "Your district token, if you want it."

Basil studied it for a moment. "You made these, didn't you."

Holly nodded. "May the odds be ever in your favor."

Basil smiled as he tucked them into his pocket. But a gnawing tension had filled the room. The odds couldn't favor them both. They couldn't both win. Chances were, neither of them would, and this goodbye was forever.

So they made the most of it. They all shared hugs as they had with the younger children, only letting go once the Peacekeepers told them their time was up. Rowan was the last to leave, holding them both just a little longer. "We love you. Both of you. All of us. Remember that, because once you're in the arena, it'll be easy to forget."

"We love you, too, Rowan," Basil said quietly. Holly was crying too hard to echo the statement – all the tears she'd held in while saying goodbye to the little ones were flowing freely now – but she held onto Rowan tightly, hoping that was enough.

The Peacekeeper knocked again, and Rowan left.

For a while, they sat there, the two of them. Holly twirled the die over and over in her hands. "Have fun at the games," she repeated bitterly.

"He didn't mean anything by it," Basil assured her. "He's three."

"I know," Holly said softly. But that didn't make it better. Because they entire Capitol treated the Games like they were fun. Like the Games were just that – games. Like hopscotch or checkers or dice. Fun.

Holly tossed the die in the air absently and caught it a few times. Have fun at the games.

"But, Holly, cooking isn't fun."

"Of course it is, Daisy. But, you see, fun is your choice. You have to want it. Right now, you're Little Miss Grumpy Face. Try smiling – just a little."

The five-year-old did as she was told. "But I don't feel like I'm having fun."

"How about these carrots? Let's pretend. Let's pretend that inside this carrot is a golden carrot stick. But, to get to it, we have to wash it and peel it—"

"—and chop it up to make little gold coins?"

"Exactly. Having fun yet?"

"A little."

"Well, that's how fun works. First a choice, and then a little at a time."

First a choice. Holly tossed the cube again, caught it, and held it close. "Have fun at the games," she repeated. But, this time, it wasn't a bitter joke or a three-year-old's naïveté. This time, it was an order. A lifeline.

Holly smiled. An odd, mischievous smile. "Maybe I will."

As she greeted the two tributes on the train, Amber was relieved to see the girl had composed herself. In fact, she was smiling. Which was odd, but it was better than crying, so Amber thought it best not to comment on it.

She led them to the dining car, and the girl's smile only grew wider. Amber took a seat and began munching a cookie. The food was pretty much the only perk of being a mentor.

These two were lucky to even have a mentor. She was District Seven's first Victor, and she'd done it on her own. Without a mentor. Without advice. She'd only had Wilmer, and he wasn't much help. If it hadn't been for those monstrously large eagles that had wiped out the Career pack…

No. No, that wasn't going to help – dwelling on her Games. With another bite of her cookie, she snapped back into mentor mode, studying the two tributes. Older than last year's, which was good, but she suspected that most districts would be the same. None of them would vote for the younger children. So their competition would be older, too.

The boy was over six feet tall. Muscular. Probably a lumberjack. Definitely stronger than all of the other tributes she had mentored. His hands were large, the sort that could choke the life out of you. Now she just had to find out if he had the mental strength to actually do it.

The girl had the same wiry, light brown hair and pale brown eyes as the boy, but the similarity stopped there. She was maybe an inch or two over five feet. Thin. And, if the Reaping was any indication, not the toughest emotionally.

There was something else. Something she'd been wondering. "All right. Brother and sister. No resemblance. Different last names. Explain."

Basil cracked a smile. "I win, Holly."

Holly giggled. "I thought you'd be able to work it out on your own."

"Our mother's name is Rowan," Basil offered.

"The orphanage," Amber nodded. Rowan was well-known, even if her children weren't. "Of course. Now that that's cleared up, down to business. Basil, you've got a good amount of raw strength. How are you with an axe?"

"Good."

"How good?"

"Very."

"Can you throw one?"

"Yes." But it sounded more like a question than a response.

"You've never thrown one, have you."

"Never really had a reason to," Basil shrugged.

Amber nodded. "Both of you, this will go better for all of us if you're honest. If you don't know how to do something, don't pretend to. You've got a few days of training to pick up some basic skills, so if I know where you're lacking, I can point you in that direction." She turned back to Basil. "Ever handle any other kind of weapon?"

"Do torches count?"

"Yes."

"Then yes. If we're working late, sometimes we need a little more light. I can make one, keep it from going out."

Amber nodded. No surprises there. She'd never had to teach a tribute how to start a fire. It was something children learned at an early age, like the children in District Four learned how to swim or those in District Ten learned how to milk a cow. "Ever been in a fight?"

"No."

That was a surprise. "Never?"

Basil dropped his gaze. Holly shrugged. "He gets along with people."

Amber nodded, remembering that Holly, not Basil, had been the one to correct Wilmer about his name. The boy would have just let it slide. Nothing to get upset over. An easy-going people-person.

"Okay. That'll help." Amber shifted to a different angle. "It makes you likable. Might get you sponsors. Maybe an ally or two. Are you any good at climbing?"

"Trees? Good enough, I suppose, for someone my size."

Amber nodded. "Good. It's useful to be able to avoid a stronger opponent. But that only goes so far. Eventually, you'll have to use that strength of yours."

Basil nodded. "I know. I'm just … not looking forward to it."

"I'd be concerned if you were," Amber agreed. "All right. Holly. Your turn. You're a carpenter?"

"How did you know?"

Amber nodded towards her hands. "You're whittling your biscuit."

Holly looked down, surprised. Clearly, it was a nervous habit. She liked having something to do with her hands. "Also, you were admiring the table before you noticed the food," Amber added. "So, you know your way around a knife. Any chance you can throw one?"

Holly shook her head. "Never had a—"

"—reason to," Amber finished. "I think I get the picture."

"She can run," Basil offered.

"Fast?" Amber asked.

Holly shook her head. "No, but far. I can't sprint, but I can go for hours without stopping."

Stamina. Good. "Ever kill anything? Either of you? Animals, I mean."

"There are snakes in the woods sometimes," Basil nodded. "Poisonous ones. Usually, they won't come near you, but if they try to bite…" He mimed chopping a snake's head off with an axe.

Reflexes. Good. Maybe those instincts would help enough for him to use the same move on a person before he realized he was doing it. "Holly?"

"I can make a decent mousetrap."

Not ideal. But she could work with it. "Good. At training, there'll be a station where they can teach you how to make other kinds of traps. That's your first stop, Holly. Basil, you've got the strength to learn how to throw a heavier weapon effectively; try that."

Both nodded, but Amber could tell from their gaze that they had expected to work together. But that wasn't going to help. Their skills were too different, and not in a way that complemented each other. They needed completely different strategies, or they would both die sooner trying to play on each other's terms.

Of course, there was also the fact – that nagging thought in the back of her mind – that, eventually, at least one of them would die.

She pushed the thought aside. She was getting used to it. Helping even one of them survive would be an accomplishment, and something she hadn't managed to do yet. And the tributes this year would be older. Stronger. The ones their districts thought the most likely to survive.

Which reminded her. "When you two are done eating, we should watch the replay of the Reapings. See what you're up against."

Basil nodded reluctantly. Holly smiled. A very unnerving smile. As if she were consciously reminding herself, every so often, to have fun. Then it was gone, and she was eating her strangely-carved biscuit again. Amber shook her head. "I'll be in the next car."

Basil didn't really want to watch the replay. Watching just made it even more real. Every face he saw was one more child who was going to die. Which one of them would live? Which one would kill him? Which would kill Holly?

The first few tributes – from Districts One and Two – looked excited to be chosen. Aurora and Flash. Crystal and Jasper. All four were eighteen. All four had clearly been training for a long time for this.

Basil secretly wondered if maybe they had the right idea – the Career districts. Yes, it was unfair, but it made sense. The Games would happen either way. Children would be sent to fight and die. So didn't it make some sense to train them for it? To help them be as prepared as possible? Yes, it was despicable to glorify it the way they did, but there was something to be said for a little experience and preparation.

It also meant that, since there were enough tributes eager to volunteer, those who wanted to avoid the Games could be almost certain to have someone to take their place. Someone who wanted to fight. Wanted to kill. Wanted a chance at the glory.

Yes, it was barbaric to train kids to kill each other, but there was no denying that their approach was effective. And, more than once, Basil caught himself wishing that someone would have taught him to throw an axe or shoot a bow.

Of course, the fact that he had even handled an axe gave him an advantage over the more urban districts. None of the tributes from Three, Five, Six, or Eight had experience with trees, rivers, fields.

Sure enough, the tributes from District Three, Tessa and Renneth, could barely hide the dread on their faces. Surprisingly, the tributes from Four looked upset, too, but for a different reason. Pearl and Ward, the announcer revealed, were brother and sister, eighteen and seventeen.

A year apart. They clearly hadn't expected to be facing each other in the same year. But no volunteers were allowed. No one could save them from this. Any outcome meant their family would lose a child – possibly both. Basil shuddered, knowing Rowan surely felt the same way.

More names on the screen. More faces. Nova and Blaze from Five. Wylles and Mercer from Six. Then their own names were called. Velvet and Russel from Eight. Rayne and Duff from Nine. Emilia and Justin from Ten. Aster and Emmer from Eleven. Robyn and Flint from Twelve. Basil did his best to memorize the names, so he could match them with faces later. Amber had said he might be able to find an ally or two. Would any of them want him?

He could ask Holly, but he already suspected that she might prefer to work alone. Easier to run that way. Easier to hide. By herself, she wasn't very threatening, so maybe the others wouldn't target her immediately. He needed a different approach.

He glanced over at Holly. She sat in a large, cozy chair, her knees tucked to her chest. Her smile was gone. "I'm glad I didn't have to vote," she said at last. "As bad as this is … I think that would be worse. Unless you're in a Career district – they were probably begging for votes. But any other district … How do you choose?"

She clearly didn't expect an answer, but Amber gave her one, anyway. "You find the name of someone you don't know … and hope enough people pick someone else."

Holly looked up, and Basil knew she had come to the same conclusion he had; it was impossible to miss the guilt in Amber's voice. "But they didn't, did they," she said quietly. "So which of us did you vote for? Or both of us?"

There were tears in Amber's eyes. "I didn't realize…" But there was no good way to finish that sentence. No words that would absolve her. "You, Holly. I voted for you. And I'm sorry."

Holly's expression was blank. Lifeless. She got up, left the car without a word.

"But not me," Basil inferred from Amber's silence after Holly had left.

"No."

Basil nodded. "But, obviously, quite a few people did, or I wouldn't be here."

Amber sighed. "She's right; this is worse. At least if the drawing is random, you can blame fate. Chance. Dumb luck. I know I did." She shook her head. "Now she'll blame me, and part of me agrees with her. This whole thing is despicable."

"Yes, it is," Basil agreed. "But you're not. You're a victim, too – just as much as us. And she won't blame you. Not if I have any say." He stood up slowly and headed after Holly.

"What do you want?" Holly asked crossly as the door opened.

"Funny," came Basil's voice. "I was about to ask you the same thing. You just walked out on your best chance of getting home alive. What did you want her to say? She had no idea who either of us were. This isn't District One. Nobody wanted her to vote for them. What was she supposed to do?"

"I know." And she did. But it didn't make anything better. "I hate that she had to vote at all. That they could do something like that in the first place. I hate the Games! I hate the Capitol! I hate it all!"

Silence. "Fair enough," Basil agreed. "I think that goes for the lot of us. So what do you want?"

"I want the Games gone. I want to be off this train, at home. I want…" She collapsed into a chair.

"Do you want to win?"

"Yes! No! I don't know! I—"

"It's okay. Think about it."

Holly sighed. He knew her well. So she thought out her answer, and, after a moment of silence, gave it to him. "I don't want to die. But I don't want to kill, either. I don't want to play their game."

"Then play your own. Make your own rules. What's your objective? What do you want?"

She knew what she didn't want. She didn't want to die feeling like this. She didn't want all this hate bottled up inside her for these last, few, precious days. She had told herself to have fun, but how could she do that when she was so angry?

"I want to be happy," she said at last, softly. "When I die … I want to be smiling. Laughing."

Basil knelt down beside her. "Good. Because that's up to you. Keep smiling, and you win – no matter who their Victor is."

"And you?" Holly asked. "What do you want?"

Basil looked away, then, quietly, as if it were something to be ashamed of, admitted, "I want to win. I want to live."

Holly clapped him on the back. "Then I hope you win." She smiled. And this time it wasn't forced. Didn't feel false. She enjoyed the thought of Basil winning. Going home. Back to their family. Rowan. The little ones.

"I mean that," she nodded in response to the strange look he gave her. "I hope you win."

"Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day." ~ I, iii, 146-47