We might kiss when we are alone
When nobody's watching
We might take it home
We might make out when nobody's there
It's not that we're scared
It's just that it's delicate

So why do you fill my sorrow
With the words you've borrowed
From the only place you've known
And why do you sing Hallelujah
If it means nothing to you
Why do you sing with me at all?

(Damien Rice)

Lunch felt like it dragged on for ages. Sparrow was slightly paranoid, sensing many pairs of eyes on her and hearing whispers that she was afraid were about her. She sat close to her brother as they ate, Milo and Ainsley sitting across from them. The Careers from One and Two had predictably gathered toward one end of the table, and they weren't too keen on anyone else. The boy and girl from Four didn't seem to want to be part of that group, which was somewhat relieving. The smaller the Career pack, the better.

"Can you pass the…um…I'm sorry, I still don't know what any of this stuff is," the redheaded girl from Six laughed shyly as she pointed to a plate of food next to Evander's arm.

Evander handed her the plate and smiled, relieved to find someone else who was kind to him and his sister. If he didn't know better, there seemed to be an alliance in the works – or at least an unspoken agreement not to kill each other unless it was necessary. "What's your name, again?"

"Moira," the girl replied, and Sparrow made a mental note of it. She wanted to know the names of the friendly people, not the ones she would have few qualms about killing. "And you're Sparrow and…Evan…"

"Evander," he finished for her and took a drink of punch.

"Right! I'm sorry, I'm just so scatterbrained…I don't think I'm going to last a minute in these Games, honestly," Moira gave a nervous little laugh, and Sparrow felt bad for her. She reminded her of Aurelia – beautiful, sweet, endearing, innocent, and yet she doubted herself.

"Hey, don't think like that. We've got a couple more days of training and who knows what could happen by then? You might prove to be better with a sword than any of the guys here," the blonde girl replied with a warm smile. "You think I've ever thrown an axe before in my life? That was luck, I'm telling you. Watch us go back tomorrow and I'll throw one into the rafters. They'll make sure I die first for that one."

"She did what?"

Evander was sitting in the main room with Antonia later that evening, after everyone had eaten dinner and the Avoxes were cleaning up. He lounged back on the couch while Antonia scooted forward, sitting on the very edge of the seat, her wide eyes growing even larger with intrigue.

"She just went up to the axes and threw one right into the target. She slaughtered it, and we were all staring at her with our mouths open," he explained.

"No one told her what to do? Nobody instructed her?" Antonia bit her lip and she rubbed her palms together to warm them up, which made the thin gold bracelets around her delicate wrists jingle quietly. "I just…I'm having a hard time believing that…"

"Me too," Evander swallowed. He looked down at the pale green button-up shirt he was wearing, replaying that moment over and over in his head. "I've never seen her look so intense, Antonia. She marched up there and I thought she was going to give it a couple tries and move on to something else, but something happened…something changed in her…"

The small young woman moved closer to him and she put her hand on top of his. "She didn't talk to you about it?"

"We didn't really have time to ourselves, between training and lunch and being lectured," he looked over at her, raising his brows slightly.

Antonia let out a quiet sigh and she leaned forward on her elbows. The muscles and very faint outline of her bones were apparent as her hair fell off her shoulders, exposing what part of her back wasn't covered by her thin blue dress. After a quiet moment, she opened her mouth to speak. "I wouldn't worry about her, Evander. If she's as strong as you say she is, then you shouldn't be afraid. She has a good head on her shoulders, and I think you'll realize her priorities are in order, if you haven't already. Tell me. When was a time you trusted your sister?" she asked, sitting against the back of the couch and waiting patiently for his reply.

"Sparrow?" Evander knocked at his sister's bedroom door and pushed it open the rest of the way when she told him to come in. "Hey…"

"Hi," she replied with a small smile. It was genuine, but much weaker than her old smile. The old smile was complete with white teeth and dimples and bright eyes. This new, halfhearted smile was given with a closed mouth and a simple upward twitch of her lips. She scooted back against the head of the bed so he could sit next to her, and she pulled her knees up to her chest. "Do you need something?"

His cheeks colored and he looked down at the faded old blanket that covered her bed. "I wanted—" His throat closed up and he cleared it, blushing deeper. "I wanted to come and tell you something…"

His sister furrowed her brow in curiosity and she leaned forward, her hair brushing the tops of her arms. She had cut a good fifteen inches off of it after Huxley died. "Alright, then, tell me," she murmured and raised an eyebrow. Leave it to Evander to beat around the bush and take ten minutes to say what was on his mind. When he still didn't give a coherent reply, she took his hand in hers and gently rubbed the back of it with her thumb. "You know that whatever it is…you can tell me," she said in a softer voice, looking into his eyes with her loving green ones.

He opened his mouth and a shaky breath escaped his lips. "I-I asked Aurelia to marry me," he blurted out, and once Sparrow knew she had not hallucinated this, she stopped rubbing his hand. She seemed to freeze altogether; literally, a shiver went down her body.

"Oh," she said almost inaudibly. The inner war she had been fighting since Huxley's death was now back in full swing, and the happy news of Evander's sudden engagement felt like a swift stab to the gut. "Oh, Ev…Ev, that's—that's wonderful," she whispered, but her eyes no longer met his. They were looking past him at the wall, at the floor, at anything but his face. "You're getting married…"

Evander could sense the pain in her voice, which he had expected. It had been hard enough to decide to tell her his good news, because the wound Huxley had left was still open. Now he was afraid he had made things worse. "We're still figuring out when it'll be, but it should be soon." He smiled faintly and squeezed her hand before standing up and heading for the door. She didn't look like she wanted company now.

"Ev," Sparrow murmured just before he could leave. "I—I really am happy for you. You'll make a great husband…start a family of your own," she smiled weakly. "I'm happy for you," she said again, and with that she laid back down in bed.

"I've always been able to trust her," Evander said after a moment, the memory fresh in his mind. "She puts me before herself. She does that with everyone. Our brothers, our parents, Aura…She's never let anyone down."

Antonia seemed pleased with this answer. "I don't think you've got anything to be afraid of. She's not going to turn into a bloodthirsty monster, Evander. I think she's finding her strength and it's going to be crucial in the arena. You didn't want to be the one with the weapons, did you?"

He shook his head vehemently. "No, I don't think I could do that, even if it was my last option," he swallowed. "Just the thought of it makes my hands all clammy."

She smiled and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "You two will do just fine. Trust me. Trust her. Trust yourself," she said as she stood up and went into her bedroom for the night, her long blue gown trailing behind her.

Evander sighed and he rubbed his eyes as he sat alone in the main room. He laid down on the couch and closed his eyes, hoping to escape the stress of the day with at least a small amount of sleep.

"Why didn't you tell me at dinner?" Conall frowned, folding his strong arms over his equally broad chest. "Sparrow, that's great! You had every right to brag at the table and you didn't!"

Sparrow was sitting in Conall's room with him like she had the previous night, and while she did feel rather gooey in his presence, talking with him was helping her tremendously. "I'm not the bragging type," she shrugged. She was relieved to have changed into a comfy white sweater and black slacks; that training uniform was only so comfortable and so flattering. "But I guess you've had some kind of effect on me, since I've proven proficient in your weapon of choice," she said with a smile and a flush of her cheeks.

"As long as you don't try to pull a Johanna Mason…that wasn't too long ago. They'll be expecting that," Conall replied with a raise of his eyebrows. "I hope you've got some other strategy up your sleeve?"

"Actually, that's what I came here for," Sparrow admitted, folding her hands in her lap. She started to tap her foot nervously, making a very soft, muffled sound against the plush carpet. "Can you help me? I don't want to be in charge of this…I can't risk making a stupid mistake, not with my brother…"

Her mentor leaned back in his armchair and studied the young girl carefully. Something about her seemed so mysterious. She was for the most part calm and collected, unlike most of the tributes he had seen in his few years of mentoring. But now that they were alone, he was seeing her as more of a vulnerable young woman. A child. Seventeen, but still a child. Still eligible for the Games.

"Please," Sparrow continued in a soft voice. She chewed on her lower lip and felt relief wash over her when he leaned back in and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

Good question. What exactly was she thinking of doing? Being the vicious and bloody slaughterer while her brother cowered in a hiding spot the whole time? Sparrow may have been strong, but by no means did she want to be Career-esque. "I…I want to ensure our survival, whatever it takes," she began slowly. "I couldn't live with myself if I hurt someone like Stella, that little girl…but I couldn't go on if Evander got hurt, either. How did you do it?" she asked, her voice very quiet by that time.

Conall sighed and he scratched his chin, which had begun to grow a little bit of stubble. "It's not easy, Sparrow," he said in that deep voice. "I realize that you aren't a killing machine, but that's what this whole thing is. It's meant to test you, to make you do things you don't want to do, because you're weighing two things here – your life, and your values. I didn't want to kill anyone, I didn't enjoy it, but…and don't think less of me for saying this…I knew it was going to happen eventually. Someone was going to kill that handful of people I killed, and I figured it might as well be me, because it would be swift and almost painless, and without malice. The Careers that year, they had some vulgar bet going between them on how many kids each of them could kill. I figure that as long as it's for your own survival, not for sport, then it'll be forgiven in the end, yeah?" He smiled and Sparrow felt her defenses melt away. Why did he have to be so handsome?

"I…yeah, I think that's right," she stammered quietly, feeling like her tongue had turned to jelly. "I just have to be quicker and smarter than whoever's coming for me."

Conall nodded and scooted his chair closer to her, the heavy armchair as light as a cardboard box to him. "How about tomorrow you work on honing your skills with the axes, and let your brother find a weapon, too? He can't rely on you to defend both of you all the time. I know he's liable to faint at the sight of blood, but if he can't handle that, then I don't know how all the visceral stuff is going to get to him. He might die of fright," he chuckled quietly.

Sparrow's lips trembled as they tried to pull up in a weak smile, but it was too much for her to handle and a tear rolled down her left cheek. This was not a pretty situation, no matter how she tried to cut it. Thinking of her brother dying was enough to crush the walls she had worked so hard to put up. "I…I c-can't," she whimpered, and she was too upset to be surprised when Conall scooped her up in his arms and set her down on the bed, lying next to her.

"I didn't mean it like that, Sparrow," he murmured, looking apologetic. "You'll take good care of him."

She looked into his eyes, her own eyes bloodshot and teary. A couple of hot tears rolled down her cheek onto the blanket beneath her and she pulled her legs up to her chest, feeling very small next to him. "H-how do you know that?"

Conall smiled faintly and reached over to stroke her cheek. With a comforting touch of his hand her tears were wiped from her skin. "You will. You have to learn to trust yourself. Don't blame yourself for things that are out of your control," he said in a quiet voice that seemed to soothe her very heart. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her lower lip still quivering just a bit.

"I t-trust you more than I trust me," she confessed in a whisper. Her green eyes met his and she swallowed back the lump in her throat before she leaned up and gave him a soft, gentle kiss on the lips. It lasted no more than ten glorious seconds, but the feeling sent shivers through her chest and down her spine. Sparrow gradually opened her eyes and looked at him, surprised to see that his cheeks were almost as red as her own. She bit her lower lip and stared at him, silently questioning him.

"Sparrow," he finally murmured, and he cast his eyes downward, not looking directly at her. "I can't…I can't do that. I can't have this with you."

Her complexion paled and she furrowed her brow. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach and her mouth suddenly dried up. "Because you're my mentor?" she asked in a small voice. She still couldn't get him to make eye contact with her, and with each second that dragged on she was getting more and more nervous. "After the Games, if…if I make it, w-we can…"

They could what? Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was a little girl compared to him. He probably thought she was just confused, overwhelmed, letting her emotions get the best of her, and even if they did carry this on – whatever "this" was – she would change her mind once the stress of the Games was over. Find some boy back home, someone who didn't remind her so much of Huxley.

"No, we can't," Conall whispered, finally looking back into her eyes. While those words felt like a knife to her gut, the fatal blow was yet to come. "I'm married, Sparrow. And we're expecting our second baby in a couple of months. We can't do this…I'm sorry," he said quietly. The way he said it was obviously meant to be as gentle as possible, but it killed her inside all the same. It was then that she realized the small silver band on the fourth finger of his left hand wasn't there for nothing.

"Oh-oh," she blurted, gave a weak nod and gritted her teeth together so that she wouldn't let out a pathetic sob. She rolled over and got up with considerable difficulty, unable to bear the idea of looking back at him. She left his room and with as much strength as she could manage, she disappeared into her own room, the door shutting loudly behind her. The day had started with so much promise, and here she had gone and ruined it – maybe even ruined it all. She heard voices talking quietly outside her door and she knew it would be Oberon and maybe Antonia, curious as to why she had shut herself up. No one would suspect it was Conall, and no one could begin to understand where she was coming from, except possibly Evander. But how could he relate, when he had everything that she had lost?

AN: Hi everyone! If you've read this far, I want to thank you so much for supporting me. I may not get many reviews, but I truly do appreciate each and every one of them. I hope that you're enjoying the story so far, and I promise that the pace will pick up soon! I have some great ideas for future chapters and can't wait for you to see them. Leave me a review or a message with any suggestions or constructive criticism, and I will gladly return the favor for your writing as well! Again, I want to genuinely thank you for giving me the push to go on. I'm going through a really stressful time in my life and writing is my escape - if I don't have a reason for doing it, then I'm truly miserable. See you next time! ;)