Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Halfway through the reapings! Updates should be a bit quicker from this point on, partly because Mistakes of the Past is getting farther along and partly because we're getting to the districts that have two or three tributes instead of four or five.

Thank you to Little Knight Mik and So hard to choose usernames for Charu and Lena, respectively.

District Six
Know

Nicodemus Ford, 40
Victor of the 26th Hunger Games

"We both know how this is gonna go, Nic."

Nicodemus nodded a little as he and Duke headed for the square. He knew what Duke was going to say, of course – the same thing he said every year. But there was no point in trying to interrupt him. He was upset, and he had every right to be. And as long as he kept talking to Nicodemus, maybe he would have the sense not to say anything of the sort to Vernon.

Because they both knew that wouldn't do any good. Vernon was convinced that he was doing something good. Something useful. He was ridding the district of kids who were trouble. Kids who were thieves or gang members or drug addicts. Children who were adding nothing to society and taking away from those who did. Children who wouldn't be missed.

And maybe that made sense – from an outside perspective. Vernon was technically a mentor, but only in name. He spent the Games drunk or worse, never really getting to know their tributes. So it was always easier for him to judge, easier to dismiss them as useless. Easier for him to say that no one in the district would care that they were gone. He didn't know their names, their faces, their stories. If he did…

Then what? Maybe he would still go through with it. In the name of protecting children who might otherwise be reaped. Children like his own son, Luke, who had died in the Games a year before Nicodemus' victory. That was why he did it, Nicodemus was certain.

But that didn't make it right.

"Even the other districts expect it now," Duke continued. "District Six. Where the tributes are tough criminals, where they ain't wanted, where no one cares whether they come back – an' maybe the tributes don't care, either. It makes it easier for 'em, you know – when it comes to killing our tributes. Why feel bad about killin' someone who ain't got a family to miss 'em? It's easier for someone to put their own lives first when they know the other person ain't got much to go back to."

Nicodemus nodded along, pushing his wheelchair towards the square while Duke walked alongside. Most people avoided them. Even the ones who knew Duke knew better than to mess with him on reaping day. Nicodemus glanced around the square. It was even quieter than a regular year. Maybe the quell twist meant that there would only be two tributes instead of four, but that didn't change the feeling of dread in the square.

Or maybe it was just him. Nicodemus avoided looking up as the pair of them headed for the stage. But he knew what was there, all the same – above their heads as they approached. Ten wheels, still mounted on posts above the stage, a reminder of what had happened nine years ago.

"Nic?" Duke's voice broke through his own thoughts, and he realized he had stopped. Duke took a few steps back towards him, his peg leg thumping against the pavement. "Anything I can do?"

Nicodemus shook his head. There was nothing Duke could do. Nothing anyone could do. It happened every time. Every year. He couldn't shake the memory of what had happened. The pain. The terror. For a moment, it was as if he was strapped to one of the wheels again. Helpless. Unable to move. Unable to do anything but watch as the hammer came down…

Nicodemus closed his eyes, trying to breathe. Trying not to think. He could feel Duke's hand around his, pressing gently. But not squeezing. Not too hard. As if he was still worried that squeezing too hard might break him.

Maybe it would.

"It's all right, Nic. You're safe." And he was. As safe as he could be. But that didn't make it any easier. Finally, he opened his eyes again. People were watching, even though they were pretending not to. Waiting to see what he would do.

Nicodemus squeezed Duke's hand gently, his own hands still shaking. He would do what he did every year. What he had to do. He would do his job.

Because no one else was going to.

Nicodemus nodded a little, and Duke let go, then pushed his wheelchair up the ramp and onto the stage before taking a seat beside Vernon. Nicodemus wheeled himself over alongside, trying not to look. Not to look up. Not to look at the crowd. Not to look out at the faces of the children who might be chosen today.

Breathe.

You're safe.

He was safe. But somewhere out there were two children who weren't. Nicodemus took a deep breath as District Six's new escort, Tricia Coventry, took the stage, trying to smile. Ever since the 42nd Games, none of District Six's escorts had lasted more than a year. Some left for other districts, while some retired from mentoring completely. It was as if there was something unlucky about the position since…

Since Phoebe had tried to kill him. Nicodemus couldn't help noticing that Tricia avoided his gaze as she made her way towards the reaping bowl. What had happened between him and Phoebe wasn't public knowledge, but it was no secret that she had resigned quietly after only a year, and that he'd had something to do with it.

Something to do with it. If not for him, she would have been executed. That should have been enough, but it wasn't. It was never enough. Living somewhere in peace on the outskirts of the Capitol, she surely still blamed him for thwarting the rebels' plans in District Six. For calling for peace, for an end to the violence. For collaborating with the Capitol in order to end the bloodshed.

Tricia, on the other hand, seemed content to ignore him completely. "Hello, District Six!" she boomed into the microphone. "I'm absolutely thrilled to be your new escort!"

"Sure," Duke mumbled, and Nicodemus hid a smile. Maybe she was actually happy to be here; it was hard to tell. Or maybe she simply saw District Six as a good place to start, since no one else seemed to want it. Maybe she was hoping to be moved to another district – a better district – after a year or two.

"As I'm sure you all know," Tricia continued, "only two tributes will be required this year due to the quell twist. And our first lucky tribute is…"

She dipped her hand into the bowl and made a show of swirling the papers around. Again and again and again. This was her first reaping, and she was clearly savoring the moment. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled out a single slip of paper. "Lena Khatri!"

There was silence as the sixteen-year-old section parted around a girl in a light blue well-fitted dress that hung to her knees. Only one person didn't move away – a girl with the same tan skin, the same long, thick black hair and light brown eyes, but her dress grey and long. As the first girl began moving towards the stage, the second one strode forward. "Wait! Wait, she's not the one you want! There's been a mistake!"

"Damn," Duke muttered. "She's right about a mistake." Nicodemus said nothing as the pair made their way towards the stage, arguing in hushed whispers. Duke was right. He knew one of the girls, but only their voices could have allowed him to tell them apart. The girl in grey – Lana – was the familiar one. He'd seen her upon occasion in the square, when he'd helped her recover after a rather severe lashing. The girl in blue was certainly her sister, and any other year, Lana might be able to volunteer to take her place. But this year…

Finally, the Peacekeepers moved to block the girls' path. "Which one of you is Lena?" Tricia asked, more than a little befuddled.

"I am," the girl in blue admitted, taking a step towards the Peacekeepers.

"But I'm the one who should go," the other girl insisted, turning to Vernon. "I'm the one you wanted. Please. Just let me—"

"I'm sorry, young lady," Tricia interrupted. "No volunteers are allowed this year."

"But it was supposed to be me," Lana insisted, gripping her sister's arm tightly.

"Lana—" the other girl started.

"No! I won't let them take you!"

"You don't have a choice," Duke interrupted, making his way towards them. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be. That won't help your sister."

"But she can't—"

"Yes, I can," Lena interrupted, breaking away from her sister and making her way up the stairs towards Duke, who took her hand and led her towards Tricia as the Peacekeepers escorted her sister back towards the crowd.

Lena was still shaking, and there were tears in her eyes, but she managed to hold them back as Tricia reached into the bowl again. "Well, well, wasn't that exciting? And we're only half done! Our second tribute is … Charu Varma!"

Immediately, the eighteen-year-old section parted around a girl in a blue, long-sleeved dress, black tights, and flat-soled black shoes. A thin blue head scarf covered most of her dark brown hair, which was somewhere between wavy and curly. Her skin was lightly tanned, her eyes a dark brown. And she was … smiling.

Nicodemus glanced over at Duke as the girl came closer, still grinning. Duke gave a little shrug; he didn't know the girl, either. But she certainly didn't seem to mind being chosen for a death match. She was still grinning as she took the stage, but, once she came closer, she didn't look excitedas much as she looked almost … relieved. What could be so bad that she thought the Games were a better option?

Or maybe she was simply acting. Duke had pretended, three years ago, that he was glad he'd been chosen. He'd made a show of claiming he would have volunteered anyway, for the chance to kill a rival gang member without repercussions. But Charu didn't give any indication of why she was happy to be chosen. Instead, she simply held out her hand to Lena – a hand that Nicodemus could now see was decorated with henna tattoos.

Lena hesitated for a moment, maybe wondering the same thing that everyone else was. Wondering how someone could possibly be happy to be chosen for the Games. But, eventually, she took Charu's hand, and Tricia applauded eagerly. "District Six, your tributes! Lena Khatri and Charu Varma! It looks like this is going to be quite a year!"

"You can say that again," Duke mumbled as the cameras switched off. He turned to Charu. "Okay, kid. Spill. What're you so happy about?"

Charu glanced around – from Duke to Nicodemus to Vernon and back to Lena. "I … this was better than what would have happened to me today otherwise." She turned to Vernon. "I don't know how you knew, but … thank you."

Nicodemus raised an eyebrow. Even Duke hadn't tried to thank Vernon for making sure he was reaped. What was Charu so desperate to get away from? "You're welcome," Vernon mumbled before turning to Lena. "Sorry I mixed you two up. Won't happen again," he managed before staggering off the stage.

There were tears welling in Lena's eyes, but Charu slipped an arm around her shoulder. "Hey. Hey, it's okay. You'll be okay. Let's get you to the Justice Building, all right?"

Lena nodded weakly as Charu led her off, with a few Peacekeepers in tow. Duke shook his head. "Not exactly what I was expecting."

It wasn't. Their tributes weren't what either of them had been expecting, but that didn't change what they had to do now. It didn't change their job. Their job was to keep one of them alive, bring one of them home.

But what would either of them be coming back to?

Lena Khatri, 16

"I don't know how this could have happened."

Lena held her tongue as her parents held her tightly, muttering over and over again that everything had gone wrong, that this shouldn't have happened, that she didn't deserve this. And maybe she didn't. Maybe no one did.

But the truth was she knew exactly how this could have happened.

The fact that the reapings were rigged was no secret in District Six, but she'd never been particularly concerned about that. The reapings were targeted at people who caused trouble. Teenagers who lived on the streets, who stole, who sold drugs or who took part in gangs. Partly as punishment, partly because they would be able to handle themselves in the Games … but mostly to protect those who Vernon thought didn't deserve it.

People like her.

She'd warned Lana. She'd try to tell her sister to stop, to leave the gang she'd joined up with, to avoid anything that might lead to her getting reaped – at least for a few more years, until she would be safe – but it had never crossed her mind that her sister's actions might put her in danger.

But here she was. And Lana had refused to come in – at least with their parents. As soon as their parents were gone, however, Lana came barging in. "He's going to pay for this. He meant to have me reaped. I know he did. But the idiot must have mixed up our names. I'm sorry, Lena. I'm so sorry."

Lena shook her head. "It's all right."

"It's not all right. You're going to be in the Hunger Games, and it should be me."

"It shouldn't be you," Lena pointed out. "It shouldn't be anyone. But it is me, and going after Vernon isn't going to help. Do you want to do something for me?"

"Of course."

"Don't tell our parents that you were the one who was meant to be reaped."

Lana scoffed. "After what happened at the reaping? There's no way they don't know."

"Then find somewhere else to stay for a while. I don't want them to blame you. If don't want you to blame yourself if I…"

"Don't start thinking like that," Lana insisted.

"Lana, there are thirty-five of us. Only one of us is going to come out alive. If I die … I just want you to know it wasn't your fault. This isn't your fault."

"But if I hadn't … If I wasn't…"

"It might still have been me. If the reapings weren't rigged, it could have been anyone. It might still have been me. Please … please just don't blame yourself for … for whatever happens." She was barely holding back her tears, but Lana's eyes held only rage. Lena hoped she would have the sense not to do anything rash, but if she died…

No. No, she would be coming home. She had to. If she didn't, her sister would never forgive herself. Their parents would never forgive her. She couldn't do that – to any of them. She would have to win.

It was the only way to hold her family together.

Charu Varma, 18

She still wasn't sure how he'd known.

Charu leaned back against the door of her room in the Justice Building. Her family had come and gone, but she'd refused to see them. Because she knew who was with them. She wasn't sure how they would react to the fact that she'd been happy at the reaping, but it couldn't be good. They would want to know why, and she didn't have time to explain. She wasn't sure she wanted to. Maybe she didn't want them to know. Maybe they didn't deserve to know.

Maybe none of it mattered anymore.

"Charu?"

A voice at the door. But it wasn't her father's, or any of her brother's. And it certainly wasn't Dinesh's. She'd never heard his voice so concerned. "Who is it?"

"Duke. Your new mentor. Open up."

Charu sprang to her feet and opened the door. "I'm sorry. I thought you were—"

"Who? Who were you avoiding? What are you runnin' away from?"

"What makes you think I'm running?"

"No one in their right mind is happy to be reaped unless they've got a damn good reason. An' you don't strike me as crazy. So … what is it?"

"It's not really any of your business what I—"

"I'm your mentor. Everything's my business. Now are you going to tell me, or should I run after your family an' ask why you didn't want to see them?" He patted his peg leg and turned to go. "I ain't so great at running anymore, but—"

"I was going to be married," Charu blurted out.

Duke turned, closing the door behind him. "Okay…"

Charu looked away, down at the day-old mehndi patterns on her hands. "We held a ceremony last night. I was going to be married after the reaping. And I…"

"You don't like him," Duke finished.

It wasn't just that. Yes, Dinesh was spoiled. Arrogant. Vile, even. It was a marriage their parents had arranged years ago, just after Charu had realized…

"It's not just that I don't like him," Charu explained. "I don't like any boy. I've never … my parents would never understand. They would never approve if they knew. But now it doesn't matter."

"Now it doesn't matter that you like girls."

Charu blushed a little. But, finally, she nodded. "Yes." It felt good to say it out loud. She'd never told anyone – not even her sister. Certainly not her parents. But now it didn't matter who she told. It wouldn't matter who knew. "I'll understand if you want to … you know. Switch tributes."

Duke chuckled. "You think it makes a bit of difference to me? Just don't go falling in love in the arena, and I don't care who you fall for once we get back, ya hear?"

Once we get back. He was already assuming that she would be the one coming home. That she had it in her to win. She had been so relieved at the thought of getting away from her family, from her marriage, that she hadn't really thought about what might come next. She wasn't sure what she would do if she was the one to come home. She wasn't sure what her family would do.

Maybe it wouldn't matter.

"What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account?"