A/N:

Well... hi there. Long time, no see, as it were. XD

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this, but I spent a good deal of the fall and the winter in the grips of writer's block, and I've only recently gotten back into writing things. I had a really busy year, and I've been really busy since the New Year, so I really haven't updated any of my fanfics for a long time. Sorry again.

At any rate, this chapter is mostly unedited and perhaps a bit rusty, but I think it's pretty decent. Hope you enjoy. :)

Chapter 10

She sat up with a gasp, her eyelids snapping open; her abrupt awakening caused the blood to rush to her head. She had no idea where she was, or why she was there. Her hand shot out to touch the ground; her vision, still blurry from sleep, couldn't be trusted. She sighed with relief when she felt rough pine needles prick her hands. Not snow.

But she couldn't trust the lack of snow, either. Maybe the Gamemakers made that disappear overnight. Could they do that?

Sure they could. The Gamemakers could do anything. They were like gods, for crying out loud!

Well, it didn't matter. She had to move. If one of the other tributes found her in this disoriented state... She blinked and reached out, feeling the ground nearby.

Knife! Where's my knife, dammit! She shoved her hand into one of her pockets, and she sighed gratefully when her fingers closed around the hilt of her treasured weapon. If she'd lost it, she would have had to stick around and look for it, which would have made her more vulnerable. Oh well, she had it now. Time to move.

She sprang to her feet and almost instantly staggered into a tree. Her hand shot out to brace herself against it. The knife blade slipped in her grasp, causing a sharp, sudden pain in her palm, but she barely noticed. She blinked, and her surroundings finally snapped into focus as she shifted her grip on the knife.

She was leaning against a pine tree, a fact that gave her instant relief; there were no pine trees in the arena- that she knew of, anyway. She was standing on a thick bed of pine needles. Behind her were more trees, and in front of her was a pond and... a boy.

In one fluid movement she brandished her blade in an icepick grip, dropping into a defensive half-crouch, her lips drawn back into a feral expression. The boy didn't move. He only watched her warily.

"Reyna?" he asked cautiously. Then his weight shifted, as if he was planning to approach her.

"Don't move," she hissed, alarm causing her heart to pound furiously. To her surprise, he complied, holding up his hands to prove they were empty. Her brows furrowed slightly, and her mind began to whirl in circles. This wasn't making any sense. This boy could probably overpower her easily. Yet he was gazing at her with an odd sort of familiar concern in his dark eyes, as if he knew her. Do I know him? I don't think so. And who the hell is Reyna? Is he insane or something?

That's you, dumbass, some dark, sardonic corner of her mind piped up just then. She shook her head in confusion, straightening. The knife fell out of her hand and she lifted trembling fingers to her temples. God, I must be going insane... I don't understand. My name is Ashlyn... isn't it?

She lifted her gaze, intending to question the handsome, dark-haired boy, but in the midst of her confusion he had sidled closer to her. She flinched away, bending down to scoop the knife up again before facing him warily. I'm not going down without a fight.

As she rose to her full height, however, she lifted her gaze to stare down her opponent, and she found herself paralyzed under his intense gaze. They were gray, like... the color of clouds before a storm. It suddenly occurred to her that she knew those eyes. And finally everything clicked back into place, as if someone had removed a translucent lens blocking her eyes. It was disconcerting; it almost felt like the fabric of her entire world had been ripped out from underneath her and replaced with a strange, uncaring one.

"Gale?" she asked, rather tentatively. He had stopped; now he regarded her with a hooded, calculating expression, as if he was waiting for her to sink back into her delusions. "What did I..." she began, rather perplexed. She stepped back uncertainly, her eyebrows drawing together. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she inhaled sharply as the full impact of her morning dramatics hit her. Oh, no. He knows I can't control it. He must think I've gone mad...

"Reyna," he said quietly, lifting a hand as if he sensed what she was going to do. Instinct whacked her upside the head, however, and at the sight of his reaching hand she scrambled away. She lost her balance on the slippery pinestraw and fell ungracefully to the ground. Horrified, she glanced back up at Gale.

"Crap. I..." she began, wanting to explain but unable to do so without sounding like a complete moron. She fell silent, regarding him for a moment before she shook her head, unwilling to see the judgment that was undoubtedly there in his gaze, and leaped to her feet. "Sorry," she mumbled over her shoulder before she turned and fled.

Gale searched the forest for an hour. He didn't dare allot himself any more time for this; he wasn't going to miss the beginning of the Games, as much as he hated leaving Reyna alone. She definitely hadn't become a victor for nothing; as good a tracker as Gale was, for the life of him he could not figure out where she had gone.

He still wasn't sure exactly what had come over her, why she had run away. They had fallen asleep by the pond the previous night, he knew, and it had felt like only minutes later when he had woken up and realized that she wasn't at his side anymore. She'd been acting oddly when he spotted her- she didn't seem to recognize him. It was almost as if she thought she was back in the Games, but even in her moment of clarity she had shied away from his touch. It only then occurred to him how badly she had been affected by the Games. He had caught glimpses of her distress before, but now... It was just tragic. He felt a new level of hatred wash through his veins, hatred for the Capitol and their sick idea of entertainment. It was wrong, plain and simple.

He wondered if Katniss would be affected so badly.

Almost instantly, he felt guilt followed by another surge of anger. Guilt because Reyna was the one who was here, now, suffering, and he still worried over Katniss; guilt because he should be worried for Katniss, who was about to enter the arena; and anger because neither of them had the right to dictate his feelings, especially Reyna, since he had only met her recently. It wasn't fair that the victor already had this level of manipulation over him. He couldn't help but worry for her, though. It was odd, to say the least. He didn't think he'd ever fretted this much over a single person. Excepting Katniss, of course.

With a bemused sigh at this jumble of thoughts, he turned and reluctantly started walking back toward the District. He slipped through the hole in the fence and headed home.

Reyna paused in the shadows, eyeing the entrance to Gale's house. Unbeknownst to him, she had circled back around and followed him when he had returned to town, but she hadn't been able to work up the guts to speak to him. She wanted to apologize for her debacle this morning, but she couldn't figure out how. "Hey, Gale, sorry for spazzing out on you this morning! If it makes you feel better, that happens every time I wake up!" Yeah, I'm sure that will go over well. Her sarcastic thoughts reflected her rather bitter mood. Even though no one was looking at her, she felt her cheeks burn with shame. I should have warned him. Well, too late now, dammit. She sighed, shifting in place. She knew she either had to enter the house or walk away soon, because the longer she stayed, the higher the chance of being spotted.

As if he had been listening to her thoughts, however, the door suddenly swung open, and there he was, standing on the threshold of his small house, staring right at her. He beckoned her toward the house and lifted an eyebrow when she didn't move.

"You going to stand out there in the heat all day?"

Honestly, she didn't mind the heat. Her Games had been freezing cold and snowing nonstop; the flashbacks were worst in the winter. Warmth tended to help keep them away.

"Um..." She wasn't sure why, but his simple question had rendered her incoherent. She'd been intending to explain, apologize, and move on, but for whatever reason, she couldn't do it. She could only move dumbly toward him and into the house when he stepped out of her way. The dim lighting within the house elicited a small grimace, but she forced it away as she moved over to the table and took a seat. She rested her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her hands. Gale tactfully ignored her bone-weary sigh, instead placing a chipped mug full of steaming liquid in front of her. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he seated himself across from her, looking at the wall rather than at her. It was a mark of her trust for him that she didn't hesitate before lifting the mug to her lips. The smallest smile tugged at her lips when she tasted the contents within.

"Hot tea is one of my mother's specialties," Gale remarked, breaking the silence. She couldn't read the expression in his dark, reflective eyes. "She says it's the best remedy for everything."

"Maybe not everything, but she's got her mind on the right track," Reyna agreed quietly. Her voice was rather hoarse. She didn't look at Gale, choosing instead to gaze into the brown liquid within her cup. "Look, Gale, about this morning-"

"It's okay. You don't have to explain yourself." His tone was gentle, insistent, but she was stubborn.

"But-"

"Seriously. Don't worry about it."

"Gale-" She lifted her gaze then, her expression pleading, and his eyes rose to meet her own.

"Reyna."

She couldn't help it; she flinched. That had been her name for four years- Ashlyn was too conspicuous to continue using- but she was still unused to it. It felt like she had assumed a different person's identity, like she wasn't even herself anymore, and she hadn't been since the Seventieth Games. She didn't think she could ever be herself again. She dropped her head into her hands, hiding her face, as despair threatened to overwhelm her.

"That's... not my name," she whispered slowly, still unable to explain.

"Would you rather I call you Ashlyn?" he asked calmly. She inhaled sharply, her throat tightening.

"That's... not my name, either." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax and lift her gaze to look Gale in the eye. A light of desperation still shone in her gaze. "I owe you an explanation." Had she been in a better mood, she would have laughed at the faint redness in his cheeks.

"R- A- You don't need to bother. I told you not to worry about it," he reminded her, but with less force this time. She scowled and shook her head stubbornly, feeling as if the warmth from the tea was returning her spirits.

"Shut up." He obediently fell silent, and she paused a moment, allowing her gaze to drop to the ground once more. She recollected her thoughts before continuing.

"I... um... Well, as you may have noticed, I'm not exactly back to normal after my participation in the Games. If I ever was normal." She interjected a faint snort here in a vain attempt to lighten the mood. "Anyway... I'm not the same as I was back then. There are dreams... memories... nightmares. Hallucinations." She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. "What I mean to say is, it's just lucky that I'm not an alcoholic like Haymitch. Even after nearly twenty years, he sees things, too. We victors... we're a pathetic lot."

"I see." His words were quiet, but she couldn't bring herself to lift her gaze again. "I didn't realize..."

"Most people don't."

They sat in silence for several heartbeats. When she heard his voice again, she finally allowed herself to look at him again.

"Will Katniss be like this?" The heartbreak in his expression was well hidden, or so he thought, but the keen Reyna picked up on it swiftly.

"Assuming she survives?" she retorted caustically, but the swift burst of negativity disappeared like a deflated balloon, and she heaved a sigh. "Honestly, I don't know. I mean... she probably will. Everybody reacts a little differently, but from my understanding, this 'post-traumatic stress' is pretty universal, even to some of the Careers. That's why some of us are alcoholics, or, you know, insane."

"And no one ever knows," Gale mused quietly.

"The Capitol hushes it up pretty well; the worst reactions never make it to the screen. Most people don't realize why the victors act so different after their Games, and some of them don't even recognize the difference." She grimaced and fell silent, unwilling to pursue the subject. Gale, too, stopped speaking, although she wasn't sure whether it was because he was thinking about Katniss or whether he was just being considerate of her unspoken plea to end that particular conversation. They were both silent for several minutes, she soundlessly finishing off her cup of tea and he watching her. She felt a faint blush crawl up her cheeks as his unwavering stare, until finally she couldn't bear it anymore.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her green gaze flickering upward to regard him. His expression was intense and unreadable.

"We could stop it, you know," he told her, defiance glittering in his stormy eyes. She blinked, straightening hastily and causing her chair to jerk backward, her brows lifting.

"Stop- what? Post-traumatic stress disorder? The Games? The... the Capitol?" She stared at him, her shock unbridled.

"Yes," he answered simply, and his expression darkened into a fierce scowl.

"H-how?" It was unusual to catch Reyna by surprise, but Gale had done it with only a few words.

"It's easy. We gather up all the districts and rebel against the Capitol," he stated as if it were obvious.

"Gale, I'd marry you if you took down President Snow, but it's really not that easy," she pointed out with a frown. However, her emerald gaze began to gleam with possibilities; if they overthrew the Capitol and President Snow, everyone would be free. The Districts. The victors and the tributes. Herself. She wouldn't have to hide anymore; she could be whoever she wanted, she could do whatever she wanted. Oh, what a blessing that would be! To be able to walk freely through the streets and show her face! To be able to speak with anybody and everybody, to have friends and fall in love and have a family again!

But there was no escaping the past.

Again she remembered the troubled day when her name was pulled out of the Reaping bowl, and the blinding, lethal whiteness of the snowy arena, and the dark, fiery night when her parents were killed. She lifted a trembling hand and ran it through her pitch black hair, biting her lip to compose herself.

"We could do it, though," he insisted, leaning forward, his grey eyes glinting determinedly. "If we tried. A rebellion with all the Districts- they wouldn't be able to stop us! We could get rid of this awful government, do away with the Games, and everybody would be equal! Nobody else would get hurt because of them."

"Gale, we can't just rebel!" she retorted, also leaning toward him and scowling. "Not now! If you walked out into the street right now and declared war on the Capitol, who knows what would happen to the tributes in the Games? You'd be putting Katniss- and Peeta- in danger, not to mention your family."

"Once she gets back, then," Gale persisted, undeterred. "Will you help me?" He didn't elaborate, as they both knew exactly what he meant.

She hardly hesitated at all before she folded her arms on the table and leaned even closer to him, catching his gray eyes with her emerald ones to be sure she had his attention before speaking.

"Gale, when Katniss returns, I will do all that's in my power to help you plan a revolution and overthrow the Capitol," she promised him without a trace of doubt, her eyes narrowing with the strength of her conviction. She caught a faint glimmer of a smirk flicker across Gale's expression as he leaned back.

"Excellent. I won't let you forget, you know."

"I don't intend on forgetting," she answered rather grimly as she, too, sat back. She suddenly heard a faint crackling noise nearby, and her head whipped around toward the source of the sound. The television was flickering on of its own accord. Gale, noticing her shift of attention, glanced over as well, and she saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye. She bit her lip and straightened unconsciously. A grainy image appeared on the old screen, although it grew clearer by the moment to reveal a large, rather round object, one that she recognized well: a Cornucopia, in the center of a green clearing surrounded by trees. A circle of teenagers seemed to be rising out of the ground around the object.

Unconsciously, she reached across the table; she found herself grabbing Gale's big, callused hand and squeezing it tightly. A mechanical voice spoke from the television, counting down from ten. When the word "one" had evaporated into the air, a loud buzzer sounds, and suddenly everyone on screen was running.

She spoke then, and her words were low and musing.

"And so the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begins."