Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is not mine.

Note: Almost done with the reapings! Thank you Camp NaNoWriMo!

Thank you to Reader Castellan and klismaphilia for Ira and Jani, respectively, and to Miss Spring1 and santiago . poncini20 for Irina and Hylan.

District Eleven
Nothing

Irina Powell, 25
Victor of the 66th Hunger Games

It didn't quite seem fair.

Irina closed her eyes as she ran her fingers along the arm of the chair, trying to ignore the crowd that was gathering. Trying to pretend that if she ignored them, they might simply go away. They might leave. Their escort might leave. The reaping might not happen.

There was no chance of that, of course. Ten reapings had already gone off without a hitch. She had watched every single one from the comfort of her own house in Victors' Village, hoping for some sign of resistance. Some hint that the others wouldn't simply go along with the Capitol's plan. But, aside from a slight dissonance in District Five, there didn't seem to be much resistance to the idea of Victors going back into the arena.

On the one hand, maybe that made sense. Maybe the people in the districts were simply relieved that, for the first time in seventy-five years, their children would be safe. There would be no teenagers in the arena – or, at least, very few of them. A few of the younger Victors had been chosen, but certainly there would be no twelve-year-olds this year. No families mourning the loss of a particularly young child and their potential.

Which was the real tragedy of the Games, of course. Not just the lives lost, but the lives cut short. Everything that could have been, everything that twenty-three children could have been. Should have been. Everything they would have accomplished – gone in an instant.

So maybe this was better. Maybe it was better that the people dying this year had … well, had their chance. Or, at least, more of a chance than the tributes in a normal year. Maybe the districts – maybe even some of the Victors – recognized that. Maybe that was why everyone seemed so complacent.

On the other hand, though, it was still very far from fair. She'd had a chance to live, yes – her and the other Victors – but she'd already lived through the nightmare of the arena once. Didn't that earn her the right to live the rest of her life in peace?

No. No, there was no peace. Would be no peace. Whether it was children dying or Victors being forced to play the Games once more, the slaughter would go on, because there was no way to end it. No way to change the power the Capitol held over the districts. If even the Victors could be sent back into the arena without any fuss, what hope was there for anyone else?

Irina opened her eyes, scanning the faces in the crowd, hoping for some change in their usual mood. But there was only resignation. Recognition of the inevitable fact that the Capitol had the power to simply do as they pleased. And there was nothing they – or anyone else – could do to change that.

One by one, the other Victors arrived, forming a small group onstage. Irina exchanged an uneasy glance with Ira, District Eleven's only other female Victor. One of them would be going back into the arena. The other would be mentoring. There were no other options.

The same was true for the male Victors – Hylan and Jani. One tribute and one mentor. District Eleven's only other Victor, Miles, had committed suicide years before she was born. Only four Victors remained, all of whom would be making the trip to the Capitol.

But not all of them would return. Irina looked away as the others took their seats, silent. There was nothing they could say. Nothing they could do.

Nothing but wait.

They didn't have to wait long. Once the four Victors had arrived, District Eleven's escort, Hal MacKinney, didn't hesitate to begin. It didn't seem to matter that the crowd was still trickling in, or that the cameras had only been rolling for a few minutes. Hal, as usual, was simply anxious to get on with the show. The sooner they began, the sooner he could be far away from District Eleven.

And maybe his paranoia wasn't completely irrational. District Eleven had a bit of a reputation for rebelliousness. It was a reputation that had dulled over the years, but the Capitol was slow to forgive the important part they'd played in the rebellion. It was no coincidence, most reasoned, that it had taken more than two decades for District Eleven to claim a Victor. Miles Carrow, District Eleven's first Victor, had won the twenty-fourth Games. More than twenty years later, Hylan had won, bringing their total to two while other districts could claim three or even four Victors, and District One already had eight. But two soon returned to one when Miles was found dead shortly after Hylan's victory.

Since then, District Eleven had done a bit better, but their Victor pool was still quite small. Only four slips of paper lay in the two reaping bowls onstage. Four names. Two of them would be going back into the Games.

And two of them would almost certainly die. Irina shook her head. Maybe that was the wrong attitude to have – especially when she could very well be one of those two – but what were the chances that District Eleven could pull off a Victory during a Quarter Quell? A Quarter Quell where Careers like Hadrian and Demetrius and Cedra would be in the arena. A Quarter Quell where three Careers had volunteered to go back into the arena. What chance did the rest of them have?

Hal seemed to agree with her, and flashed a sympathetic look their way as he approached the first reaping bowl. Maybe most people in District Eleven made him jumpy, but he knew the four of them well, and had clearly grown fond of them. Maybe he even cared for them, in a way.

But that didn't stop him from doing his job. Irina held her breath as Hal reached into the first bowl and drew one of the two slips of paper, unfolding it so quickly, she was sure it would tear. "Ira Hope!"

Don't smile. Irina turned towards Ira, trying not to look relieved. Trying not to appear grateful that it hadn't been her name. Ira sat still for a moment, frozen, as tears started to slide down her cheeks. Slowly, though, she stood, brushing away the tears, trying not to look as terrified as Irina knew she must feel.

Hal smiled a little as Ira took her place beside him, and even gave her a little pat on the back before heading to the second bowl. Ira glanced over at Hylan and Jani as Hal drew a second name. "Jani Aramine!"

For a moment, there was only silence. At last, a quiet sound escaped Jani's throat. It sounded almost like a laugh. Slowly, he stood, still chuckling a little, but Irina could see the tears in his eyes. As he took a step forward, he swayed a little, trying to get his bearings, as if he was suddenly dizzy or faint.

Ira was at his side in an instant, helping him forward. Jani wrapped an arm around her shoulders and joined her at Hal's side, staring out at the crowd, trying to smile. Hal nodded to the cameras, which switched off almost immediately. Nothing more to see in District Eleven.

Irina turned to Hylan, who nodded silently, his eyes on the crowd. On his wife and children. A family he would be returning to.

And she would be returning, as well. But first, they had a job to do. "Who would you…?" Irina started.

Hylan shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me." Irina nodded a little. He'd mentored both Ira and Jani during their Games, while she had yet to bring home a tribute.

"Well, I'll take you, then," Jani offered, ruffling Irina's hair.

Irina smiled a little despite herself. "Are you sure? I—"

Jani nodded. "Oh, I'm sure. I already had to put up with Hylan as my mentor once." He flashed a smirk in Hylan's direction. "Ira can have him."

Irina hesitated. Was he trying to insult Hylan? Was it a joke? Or was he simply trying to be kind? She was never quite sure, but everyone else seemed perfectly fine with the arrangement – or, at least, as much as could be expected when two of them had just been condemned to a death match.

Irina watched as Jani and Ira were led away. Once they were gone, Hylan let out a sigh. "Congratulations."

Irina hesitated. That seemed like an odd thing to say, but … well, maybe congratulations were in order. They were safe, after all.

But it wasn't as if they had done anything to earn it. It had been luck. Sheer, dumb luck that had happened to be in their favor this time. "You, too," Irina said at last. But it still felt wrong to be relieved. It could have been her going back into the arena. It could have been him. If Hal had chosen the other piece of paper…

But he hadn't. She was safe. And Hylan was safe. Safe from the Games forever.

Irina shook her head as the two of them headed for the train. That was what she had thought nine years ago, when the fanfare had sounded and she had been lifted out of the arena. She had thought that she was safe. But as long as the Capitol was in control, any safety they thought they had was really an illusion.

But maybe that was better than nothing.

Jani Aramine, 32
Victor of the 59th Hunger Games

It was better than nothing.

Jani drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as his aunt Kalani, his only remaining family, was led out of the room. Their visit had been short, and more than a little awkward. Neither of them knew quite what to say. But it was better than having no visitors at all.

And he couldn't exactly blame her for not knowing what to say. He'd also been unable to find the right words. Or any words at all. Slowly, he glanced around the room – the same room he had sat in sixteen years ago. It didn't quite seem real. As if his mind couldn't quite accept that this was happening again.

Again. He was going back into the arena again. He had barely survived the Games the first time. After fleeing the bloodbath, he'd spent most of the Games holed up in the navigational room of the ship, waiting for someone to find him. Waiting for the end.

When someone finally came, he panicked. He acted on instinct. But he still remembered it clearly. He remembered the sound the other boy's crowbar had made as it hit the floor near his head. He remembered grabbing the weapon, wrenching it from the boy's grasp. He remembered the two of them tumbling over each other until the crowbar found its way through the other boy's throat.

He remembered the blood.

That boy had been his only kill, but one was enough. One was more than enough. How could they expect him to do that again? How could they expect him to survive?

The simple answer, of course, was that they didn't. No one expected him to survive. Not the Capitol. Not the rest of the district. Not his fellow Victors. Probably not even his aunt. No one had expected him to survive the first time, and he hadn't exactly become a hardened killer in the interim. Whatever chance he still had, it was slim.

But that was better than nothing.

Ira Hope, 36
Victor of the 54th Hunger Games

Any chance was better than nothing.

Ira wrapped her arms around her legs, trying to hold back the tears as the door closed behind her parents, just as it had twenty-one years ago. It was the same building. The same room. Even the tears tasted the same as they had then. The fear was the same.

No. Not quite the same. Last time, she had been afraid, of course. But she hadn't really had any idea of what to expect. She'd seen the Games onscreen, of course. Everyone had. But that wasn't the same. She hadn't known what the Games would do to her. What they would force her to become.

Now she knew. She knew what it felt like to kill – and she knew she never wanted to feel that again. And she had assumed, like so many others, that she would never have to. That, once her own Games were over, the Capitol would let her live the rest of her life in peace.

It wasn't fair. She already had too much blood on her hands. Blood she would never be able to truly wash away. Her own district partner, dead at her hands. And three more tributes. Three more teenagers. Three more children with hopes and dreams and families who loved them.

At least it wouldn't be children this time. But would that really make it any easier? Ira brushed the tears from her eyes. No. No, this wasn't any better. Because at least the first time, the other tributes had been strangers. She'd had allies, yes, but they'd only known each other for a few days before the Games. Even her district partner had been a stranger to her before the reaping. This time…

This time, she would know most of the tributes – at least in passing. She'd mentored for more than a decade before Irina's victory had relieved her of her duties. She knew most of the other Victors, and the rest she had at least met during one Victory tour or another. And Jani…

No. No, she wasn't ready to think about that. Jani, who had mentored alongside her for years. Jani, who always seemed to be able to smile despite what they had been through. Jani, who would have to die if she was going to come home again.

Ira buried her face in her hands. This was worse than the last time. This time, she knew exactly what would have to happen. Exactly who would have to die. This time, she knew exactly how it would feel. And it was worse.

Maybe knowing nothing was better, after all.

"Planets come and go. Stars perish. Matter disperses, coalesces, forms into other patterns, other worlds. Nothing can be eternal."