Following the debacle on day one of training, Daryl determined that he would keep his head down, and not allow anyone, not even the asshole from District 8, to rile him up again. In the morning, Sophia offered him a shy smile and stuck by him again; it was clear that Carol had spoken to her and eased her fear of him. By the end of the third day, he was pretty confident that Sophia had learned some decent survival basics. If they should get separated, and if it took him more than a day to find her, she should be ok, as long as she stayed clear of other tributes.

He had been trying to decide on their best strategy, and as much as he hated it, all of the supplies and weapons they would need were going to be at the Cornucopia. He would have to enter the bloodbath at the very start of the Games to give them even a slim chance of making it to the end. And If Sophia ran directly away from her platform, towards whatever cover she could find, then should he survive the bloodbath, Daryl would be able to track her and protect her.

It was madness, but it was their only chance. It was Sophia's only chance.

And it was all he could think about as he sat with all the other tributes waiting for his individual assessment.

Time slowed to a standstill as, one at a time, the tributes from each District were summoned before the Gamesmakers to try and impress them. After several hours, a Capitol official with a clipboard came out to the waiting area and shouted, "Daryl Dixon!"

"Good luck," whispered Sophia.

"You too, kid."

Daryl entered the gym and was annoyed to see that none of the Gamesmakers seemed to be paying much attention; they were in a high-up booth overlooking the entire gym, but even from his lowly position, Daryl could see the sumptuous feast that had been spread out for them, and they were far more interested in that than in what Daryl was doing. Damn Capitol assholes never stopped eating.

He swallowed his anger and grabbed the crossbow from the stand, then hit the simulation start button. He struck every single target, both moving and stationary, until they ceased to appear. In dismay, he looked up at the Gamesmakers. They were still all far too interested in the feast laid out before them and not a single one of them had seen what he had done. They had already watched twenty other tributes and were clearly bored, or drunk, or both.

Daryl picked up one of the smallest weights from the bench, and hurled it up towards where the Gamesmakers were talking. "Hey!" he shouted, as the weight hit a forcefield in front of them. It sparkled and crackled, and the weight fell back to the ground with an echoing crack. "You gonna do your goddamn job, or am I gonna have to climb up there and shoot one of ya?"

Several of the Gamesmaker's stepped forward, intrigue suddenly apparent on their faces. But it was too little too late. Daryl threw the crossbow to the ground, and raised his hand towards them in a rude gesture. "Fuck all of ya," he shouted, before storming from the gym.

Later that evening, as his team were gathered on the eleventh floor having dinner, he couldn't bring himself to admit what he had done. The thought of the combined anger and disappointment in Carol's eyes if he admitted that he may have sabotaged his own chances, and therefore Sophia's too, made him hold his counsel, and when asked how the assessment had gone, he merely mumbled and said, "Ok."

The thought of the televised scores, and what he had done to the Gamesmakers destroyed his appetite, and while everyone else devoured steaks served with a rich wine sauce, Daryl was barely able to stomach even a plain roll.

As soon as they started to announce the scores Carol moved closer to Sophia, and slipped her arm around her. Most of the scores were as expected; an eight for the male tribute from 1, and even Lizzie had scored a seven. Eleven for the maniac from 2, eight for his District partner. The angry young man from 7 scored nine. Most of the others scored fives or sixes.

Finally it was time to announce District 11. Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl could see Carol hold Sophia a little tighter. He prepared himself for the scathing disappointment from everyone when he was given a terrible score for his outburst. His scowling face appeared on the television screens, with the number '10' beside him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and felt someone's hand clap him on the shoulder. For the tiniest of moments he imagined himself victorious, making it out of the Games alive. Somewhere in the hopeless fantasy he pictured Carol by his side, a safe and happy future for the pair of them. And then Sophia's picture, together with the number '5' was on the screen, and the tentative dream shattered immediately.

He didn't wait to be congratulated and instead stalked off to his room, collapsing on his bed. A ten was a far better score than he had anticipated. Indeed, it was the second best score anyone had been given. Which meant that they were either genuinely impressed, or that they had decided to make an example of him and make him a target.

All too soon, the part of the preparation process that Daryl had dreaded the most rolled around - the interviews with Caesar Flickerman. He hated being the center of attention, and the thought of being interviewed before a live audience, to be televised across Panem, filled him with almost as much dread as the Games themselves.

For his interview, Lillith had dressed him almost entirely in black. Black suit, black shirt and tie. The only concession to color was the faint silver of the embroidered wings on the back of his jacket. "It's a symbol people recognise and associate with you," explained Lillith. "It'd be foolish to abandon it now."

He paid little attention to the other tributes, especially after Negan, the tribute from 2, had explained in excruciating detail how he had wanted to be in the Games his entire life, and how he couldn't wait to get to the arena and get started.

"Sick piece of shit," Daryl muttered under his breath, as Lillith added some kind of product to his hair to make it sit precisely how she wanted.

"He certainly does seem a little over enthusiastic," replied Lillith.

"Why should you give a shit?" Daryl asked coldly. "You're part of this freak show."

"I live here," she said indifferently. "That doesn't mean I have to love what happens. Quite the opposite, in fact. There," she added, as she ran her fingers through his fringe one final time. "You're camera ready."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've done everything I can to make you presentable."

"You know that ain't what I'm talkin' about."

But Lillith merely smiled her infuriating little smile and refused to answer his question. "Once you've sat down, I don't want you to stand up again until you're ready to leave. That's important. Do you understand?"

"Why?"

"Something spectacular," she winked then walked away, leaving him alone.

One by one the tributes walked out on stage to be greeted by Caesar, and as always he brought out the best in each and every one of them. And before long, it was Sophia's turn.

She had been dressed in a summery, white dress, and a single white Cherokee rose was woven into her hair. She was innocence personified.

She was clearly nervous when Caesar introduced her, but he spoke to her in a kind and soothing voice, much as a beloved uncle. Everything that had happened so far in the Capitol had given Daryl reason to hate it more, and this was almost the final straw. He clenched his jaw tight as he stood to the side of the stage and watched.

"Tell me, Sophia," said Caesar. "It must be very scary, going into the Games with all these adults. How are you feeling?"

"I would be scared, if I didn't have Mr Daryl with me," she answered.

"Oh really?" said Caesar, moving closer with interest. "So you already know him?"

"My momma likes him," said Sophia with a shy smile. "She has done for ages."

There was a loud gasp from the audience, and Caesar waved at them to calm down. "Are you saying that your District partner is in a relationship with one of our beloved Victors?" he asked, grinning.

"Not exactly," said Sophia. "But she likes him. And I think he likes her too. And momma said I can trust him. He's going to look after me, so I can be safe."

"Ladies and gentlemen, isn't this the most exciting thing! So, Sophia, am I understanding this correctly? That your District partner is going to get you through the Games, and then sacrifice himself so that you might win?"

"That's what my momma told me."

"Well, if that isn't true love, I don't know what is!"

"I know," said Sophia. "I think… I think if this hadn't happened then maybe one day they would have been together."

Daryl turned towards Carol. She held his gaze, tears swimming in her eyes but didn't look away.

It was no mean feat, sneaking past the Peacekeepers at night. But Daryl had their routes and shift changes memorized, and with careful timing, it was possible to get past them and out into the orchards at night. And at night, with no people to scare them off, the orchards were usually rife with wildlife.

The crossbow—hidden in a box buried by the twisted roots of an old oak tree on the outer edge of one of the densest orchards in the District—had been his father's, and had been passed down, generation to generation. It had originally belonged to and been hidden by a rebel fighter in the Dark Days. Giving it to him, and teaching him to shoot, had been about the only decent thing his son-of-a-bitch daddy had ever done for him.

And so, most nights, after sneaking past the Peacekeepers, he would retrieve the crossbow and bag a couple of squirrels, maybe a rabbit or a pigeon, hide the crossbow, and return home. The extra food had kept himself and Merle much stronger than most of their neighbors, especially those fool enough to have kids of their own.

He had recently turned twenty-seven, and the spring air was unseasonably warm. Above him, the night sky stretched away into infinity; the black velvet of space was pin-pricked by the light of a hundred billion stars, and the full moon cast a silvery spectral glow over the blossom-laden trees. Every now and then a gentle breeze meandered past, gathering handfuls of the blossoms from the tops of the trees, and allowed them to drift lazily to the ground like enormous snowflakes.

Daryl sat perfectly still underneath one of the trees. He had come out here to hunt, but tonight the gentle stillness was echoed by the animals too. So far he had neither seen nor heard a thing. But it didn't matter. Tomorrow was Sunday; the only day he wasn't expected to work. He could stay out here all night and sleep all day tomorrow if necessary.

The sound of twigs snapping and something moving through the undergrowth shook him from his reverie immediately. Only a human would make that much noise around here.

In absolute silence he leapt to his feet, pressing his back up against the tree trunk. He held his breath as the footsteps came closer; if he had been found by Peacekeepers there was no way out at all; he'd be lucky to escape with his life.

Very tentatively he peered around the edge of the tree, and nearly collapsed with relief at who he saw. It was Carol, and she was walking alone among the trees.

He stepped out from his hiding place to confront her.

"What are ya doin' out here at night?"

"Shit," she gasped, clutching at her chest for a moment. "You frightened the life out of me."

"You shouldn't be out here. It ain't safe."

"And what about you?" she asked. "If it's not safe for me, it's not for you either."

He indicated the crossbow with a nod of his head. "Man's gotta eat. What's your excuse?"

"What makes you think it's not the same for me?"

"You tryin' to tell me Victors can't afford to buy food?"

She laughed gently. "Ok," she said. "You got me. I'm not hunting. Do you mind if I join you though?"

He held her gaze for a long time before answering. "Fine," he said at last. "Ain't gonna catch nothin' though. There was nothin' here before you showed up and started makin' all this noise, gonna be less than nothin' now."

"Then I guess you'll have to make do with nothing but my company."

In silence they walked deeper into the orchards, to where the trees were older and sturdier. Carol placed her hand against the trunk of one of the larger trees and a wistful smile crossed her face. "It's been years since I climbed a tree," she said. "I never thought I'd miss it, growing up and being forced to climb these things every day. But now…"

She didn't think twice, and shimmied skillfully up the trunk, before hopping over to one of the larger branches. "Come and join me," she called down to him.

He looked around briefly. There was still no sign of any prey, so he shouldered his crossbow and deftly climbed up beside her. She was sitting on the wide branch, dangling her legs over the edge, and he sat down beside her.

It was strangely magical. The outside world was hidden from view by the thick blossoms that surrounded them. The occasional ray of moonlight penetrated the heavy canopy, and the warm air carried the heady blossom scent on a playful breeze.

"This is pretty romantic," she said after a while.

Daryl looked towards her; she was softly illuminated by the the moonlight, and was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was right. It was romantic, and the idea that he couldn't simply reach towards her, hold her, and kiss her caused a physical ache in his chest. "Shut up," he mumbled. "We shouldn't be up here."

"Wait, Daryl. Let's just stay for a little while at least?"

For her, he would do anything, and he nodded, tensing as she shifted a little closer. She rested her head against his shoulder and let out the faintest of sighs.

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind. Was she even vaguely aware of the effect she had on him? Did she know how unfair it was, for her to be this close to him, but not be able to hold her, to comfort her the way he wanted?

Why had she chosen Ed? What possible reason did she have for being with him? For staying with him? And why, why did she continue to come into his life, to show him kindness, and dangle this unreachable hope in front of him before snatching it away?

A scurrying noise caught his attention. There was an animal running around below them, and Daryl was determined to catch it. "We oughta get outta here," he said in a low voice. "I'll go down first."

"Is that a promise?" she chuckled.

"Stop," he said, suddenly serious. "I mean it. You can't... You can't say shit like that. You can't keep on givin' me hope and takin' it away."

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "I didn't mean to… it's never been my intention to hurt you. But maybe you're right. The hope you give me hurts too."

"The hope I give you?"

"Yes."

It was too much. They both knew that she was miserable with her husband. They both knew what he did to her.

"Why?" he asked her. "Why don't you leave him?"

"I can't," she said. "I can't risk it. And I can't risk being with you."

"What does that even mean?"

"I sincerely hope that you never have to find out. You're right. We should go."

Daryl descended from the safe haven of the tree's branches first and made sure that Carol got down safely. She pointed behind him into the darkness, and Daryl immediately saw what she had seen. Raising his crossbow, he fired an arrow, stopping the possum in its tracks.

"Guess this wasn't a wasted night after all," he muttered, as he grabbed his kill and stomped back to town, leaving her on her own.

"A round of applause for Sophia Peletier!" Caesar Flickerman's voice cut through his thoughts, and he glanced over his shoulder to where Sophia was waving at the audience and walking off the stage to rapturous applause.

"Carol…" he said quietly, but she shook her head at him.

"Not now," she whispered.

"Please," he replied.

"And next up from District 11, please welcome to the stage, Daryl Dixon!"

It didn't matter that Caesar Flickerman had announced his name. This was more important. He waited patiently for her to talk but she physically turned him around and pushed him onto the stage, and in a daze he stumbled onto the podium.

The applause for him was, if possible, even more tumultuous. Flickerman grasped his hand and shook it warmly, inviting him to sit down.

"Well, Daryl, firstly let me congratulate you on your score of ten. It's always interesting to see when the outlying Districts become favorites. Can you give us any clues as to what you did to obtain such a high score?"

"No," he answered, fidgeting slightly in his chair. Carol was stood to the side of the stage, and he couldn't tear his eyes from her.

"Ahhh, a man of mystery!" said Caesar jovially. "And speaking of mysteries...that certainly was a most revealing conversation with young Sophia! Would you care to elaborate on anything?"

"No."

Caesar waited expectantly for just a moment, but it very quickly became clear that Daryl had nothing further to say on the subject. He cleared his throat very briefly and attempted a different tactic. "Well, you've definitely made an impression in the Capitol with your look. I think we owe your stylists a round of applause. I do believe you've already garnered quite a few fans, and indeed, if we look around the audience tonight I can see several people sporting angel wings!"

The lights on stage were blinding, and he squinted past them to look out into the audience. Caesar hadn't been lying. He could see at least five or six women wearing ridiculously cumbersome feathered wings on their back. They all waved and blew him kisses. At the side of the stage he could see Cane and Durian urging him on, and he raised his hand in an awkward wave towards the audience. The screams and cheers that came from them were deafening.

"But I'm sorry ladies," he said, waving them down and signalling for calm, "for it appears that you mustn't get too attached. Our Mr Dixon appears to be every bit of what his angel wings proclaim him to be."

He could feel himself getting warmer and more and more uncomfortable under the hot studio lights and the gaze of the Panem audience, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Tell me, Daryl. Why are you doing it?"

"Why?" repeated Daryl. "'Cause this shit you've got goin' on, it ain't right. It ain't right sendin' kids off to die every year, but stickin' them in an arena with a load of adults? Ones sayin' that they can't wait to get in there and kill them? There ain't no justification for shit like that. This ain't about maintainin' peace or whatever else shit you wanna say. This is just...wrong. And I ain't lettin' a little girl die that way."

He didn't care that his allocated time wasn't up. As far as he was concerned, the interview was over. He stood, and as he did so, every light in the studio was immediately extinguished. A split second later there was an enormous flash of white light, and a gasp arose from the studio audience. He had no idea what precisely had happened, and could only assume it was, as Lillith had said, "something spectacular."

The studio lights flickered back into life, and Caesar was before him, slightly open mouthed. "Daryl Dixon, District 11, ladies and gentleman!"

He didn't wait to be dismissed and hurried off the stage, unable to look the rest of his team in the eye. Couldn't bear the inevitable anger and disappointment at him for fucking up at the last minute. And so he stormed straight to the elevators and rode up to the eleventh floor. He'd deal with the repercussions soon enough.