(A/N): Hello, and welcome back to our Friday update! Once again, we're bringing you a chapter this week from the incredibly talented Miran Anders, this time writing Helena Wayne!

Thanks as always to all our writers who left beautiful and supportive reviews, and thanks also to Slim Summers2002 for your review. We always love hearing what you liked!

Chapter Thirty-Five - The Readiness Is All

Pre-Interview Prep

Helena Wayne of District Seven

Written by Miran Anders

"Foster and polish the warrior spirit

while serving in the world;

illuminate the path

according to your inner light."

-Morihei Ueshiba

A zephyr'd breeze pushed softly on the curtains, opening them to the rosy pink light of dawn. In turn, its rays ever so gently touched the face of the girl in the bed, rousing her, symbolically, from the arms of Morpheus.

In response, the girl yelled, swore loudly with considerable vehemence, threw her pillow at the offending window, and curled into a ball, pulling the blankets over her head.

It had been a long week.

The training had been fine. She was used to training. She even learned a thing or two about some wild plants — both edible and poisonous — not to mention a vivid assortment of wild creatures. While she and her brother had wandered the outskirts of District Seven often enough, and their father had a tendency to collect everything — including a veritable zoo of exotic snakes, bats and spiders in the sprawling cave-like cellars beneath the mansion — the acreage of Wayne Manor itself was kept pretty tame. Some of the strangest plants came from Alfred's herb garden, and she had learned all of those by the time she was five.

Knowledge and learning always fascinated her, just as it did her father. Kept her feeling alive. And she was pretty sure that 'feeling alive' would be important for the next few weeks.

With a guttural groan, she finally threw off the blankets and slipped to the side of the bed. As usual, once she had her feet on the ground, she was wide-awake. Dick always made fun of her for that. He warned people about the dangers of waking her up, and only did so himself by throwing things at her from across the room until she got her feet on the floor. Then she could be reasoned with, he asserted, and not before. A banana is good, he was fond of saying. She clearly needs the potassium. Besides, it's easy to throw. She shook her head ruefully at him, in his absence.

Jerk. Okay. Today. What's going on today… oh, right. The interviews. Evidently, they were so very, very important. Time to show off for the masses. Give them a preview of who to cheer for and who to boo. She had just slipped into her underthings when there was a knock on the door.

"Helena? Are you out of bed?"

Helena rolled her eyes at the chirpy, cheerful sound of her stylist, Doreen, completely deserving of the nickname 'Squirrel Girl'. She'd even had Capitol-style augmentation to resemble her favorite rodent, although Helena couldn't imagine why anyone would want a tail. "Yes, Doreen, just give me a minute. I'm getting dressed—"

"Well, stop right now! Don't put on a stitch more! I have your interview outfit for a fitting. Just have to check the shoulders and the hem. You're so tall!"

Helena was frowning at the door as it opened. The bouncy little stylist dashed in with a long garment bag, looking far too cheerful for this hour of the morning, and latching the door behind her. She raised an eyebrow. "Locking me in?"

"No! Locking anyone else out! Privacy!" She giggled, although Helena wasn't entirely buying it. "Besides, we want to surprise them!"

Helena sagely decided not to point out how little the stylist had respected privacy when she burst in. Instead, she stood and groaned as Doreen unzipped the bag and hung a long, diaphanous gown on the closet door.

"Wait… a gown? Seriously? I thought we discussed this. I want to wear what I wore for training. I want them to take me seriously as a fighter."

"Of course you do. But you also want them to take you seriously as a tribute — one that they want to con-tribute to!" Doreen cackled at her own joke, but within seconds, the dress was off the hanger and on Helena. She tried to voice a complaint, but the stylist had already thrown a couple pins in the shoulders, clucked about the length being perfect, and spun her to face the full-length mirror on the closet door.

"Listen, I — oh. Oh, my." Helena stared at the woman in the mirror.

The gown was sleeveless, silk chiffon in a deep aubergine. It fitted snugly to the waist, but even in the slight breeze from the window, the skirt danced effortlessly, like smoke from a hidden fire. Under the sheer, billowy fabric was a short, fitted layer that hugged her thighs just low enough, making the dress somehow both more modest and more provocative.

The neckline scooped down, and hundreds of tiny, sparkling black jewels spilled across it and down between her breasts, pausing to spread out tendrils at her waist before narrowing again, trailing off only inches above the floor.

Helena heard a squeal behind her. "You love it, don't you? Don't you just love it? How can you not love silk chiffon! It moves like a dream! Like you're always standing in a breeze! You're gorgeous! Here, put on these heels."

The matching high heels put Helena, who was already quite tall, over six feet — and she couldn't help but smile. High society demanded that she often wore elegant dresses and gowns, but she always leaned toward something demure, that wouldn't draw too much attention. This was different. This asked for attention, and not just for sex. She looked amazing. And powerful. It showed off her toned arms and legs, and she flexed without thinking. Oh, yes. They'll know I'm a fighter in this.

"Okay, Squirrelly-girl, you win."

"I know! I do! Okay, off with it. I have to put a few more jewels on the shoes, do the shoulders, and that lining is only basted. You're like dressing a doll!" The stylist jumped up and down a few times, clapping her hands. "And once the makeup is on—"

"I can do my own—"

"Not tonight. Dress designer gets to. No arguments! I win! I do!" For a moment, all Helena saw was the swirl of a fluffy tail, making her pull her face back and blink. In seconds, the dress was off, and the Squirrel was gone, garment bag in tow, and Helena was left standing once more in her underwear.

"Bye," she said, with more than a little sarcasm. "See you later." She shook her head, went to the dresser, and got out a real outfit.

This is insane. Dressing me like a doll so that people will be more entertained when they watch me die. Dressing all of us up. So, so entertaining.

The first shirt in the drawer was red, and had the new Quarter Quell logo on the left breast. Two interlocking scripted Q's, looking ever so sleek, so catchy. She had seen it emblazoned on pennants around the Capitol when they arrived, and it seemed to be branded on every bit of equipment they used in training. Everyone in the Capitol would want a piece of this Games. Would pay good money for any scrap, she was sure. Especially if it was something that had been worn by a tribute... She stared at it.

Nope. Not a chance in hell.

She carefully — and perhaps a bit too thoroughly — refolded the shirt before tossing it into the garbage. Then, after picking from the limited choices, she put on dark jeans and a black V-neck shirt. Helena was content — like her father — to move in darkness, and wear her own if there wasn't any available. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and stared at the sparkle lying on her dresser. Her mother's necklace. Delicately, she fastened the chain around her neck. She held it for a moment, staring into the mirror. I'm wearing both of them today, I guess. It was funny that two people like her mother and father, so different and so alike, could be together. Could be friends.

And then, of course, there's figuring out who I'm going to be friends with on the way. More entertainment for the masses.

Clad in shadows, she quietly made her way down to get some breakfast. The conversation she'd had with Logan about teaming up with anyone was still fresh in her mind, even though the talk itself was already three days old.

It had been the evening of the second day of training. Helena was sitting in the lounge, and exhaled quietly as she closed her eyes and mentally pictured the directions she was reading for fletching arrows by hand. Finding straight wood could be tricky. Depending on branches, bamboo-like grasses, maybe even dowels if they were in any kind of industrialized area… a knife to help with construction would be handy. Really handy.

Getting feathers would be the easy part. There were always birds. And she could harvest sinew from the goose or duck, or whatever that she got for the feathers. Of course, if she already had a bow and arrows, it would be easier to get the goose or duck… she shook her head out of the circular reasoning and tried to concentrate on the technique.

"Time-consuming," she said in a soft voice as she opened her eyes. "May need some kind of glue, and if I don't know what the arena is going to look like, don't know if it's pine tar or contact cement that I'll be looking for—"

A shadow crossed over the article she was reading, and she looked up to see her mentor.

She stared at him briefly, and when he didn't speak, she went back to her reading.

"Moving on to things they don't teach?" Logan asked as he sat back in a chair, watching her.

"They started teaching it. Just didn't have time to finish. Or the inclination, I suppose. We did a lot of work with bows, but no mention of how we might have to make our own. Luckily, I've had some practice with that, but arrows…" She dwindled off as she was reabsorbed in the text.

"The quiver they give is usually pretty full," he pointed out.

Helena gave him a pointed look. "Pretty full? Even if it's packed with twenty-five arrows, that means you only really get one shot at each tribute. If you get the quiver to begin with. Might make more sense to be prepared, don't you think?"

"Can't be surprised if you're prepared," he agreed. "Though as I understand it, most of the others are crap with a bow. You could get it from 'em easy enough."

She barely avoided grinning. "Could. But then, if I wanted to make pistol bows…"

"Then I will be royally impressed if you can pull that off wherever they drop you," he told her with a smirk. "Not surprised. But impressed."

This time, the grin escaped as she looked at him. This from the guy who made himself claws. "Well, I do live to impress you, your royal mentor-ness." Oh, God, I sound just like Dick.

"I think that's usually pronounced 'Royal Pain in the Ass'," he corrected. "And I was sure it was Dick that was worried about impressing people, Hel. I know the Waynes don't care about that nonsense."

Helena tilted her head at him as her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "True." Folding the article and placing it in the notebooks they'd each been given — although few used them — she leaned back in the chair. "And it's Helena." Logan barely blinked as he looked at her.

"Dick calls you Hel."

"Dick's my brother." She stared back at him, a snake and a mongoose sizing each other up. "And speaking of my brother, how do you think Dick is actually going to do, given that he trusts almost everyone? And wants to take care of almost everyone, even though all but one of us is going to die?"

Logan let out a long sigh. "I really don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "It's not like I'm any kind of an expert. And … I was the idiot trying to take care of other people last time out."

Her eyes rolled. "Great. So I'm trusting the managing of my brother to someone who thinks it's a good idea?"

"You really think anyone can manage him?" Logan challenged.

"You don't manage Dick. You work with him. I've done it for years."

"Well then that's probably more on you, since when it actually matters, I won't be able to give him another 'Damnit, Grayson.'"

Her eyes flashed. "On me? So I'm supposed to be right by his side until we're the last ones left, and then what?"

"You're supposed to do whatever it is you think is right," Logan said. "I don't like anyone's odds in this stupid thing. And I sure as hell don't want it to come down to the two of you."

"Well, golly, thanks. I hope we die soon, too." They both stood abruptly, and Helena froze, surprised, as she realized once again that she was a head taller than her mentor.

"Not what I meant, Hel," Logan said, looking up at her. "And I think you know that."

"Helena. And I don't know what to think. This whole thing is… is an abomination. And now they're forming little clubs that will what, celebrate that? It's insane."

"It is," he agreed. "But … I think it gives most of them something to hold onto and keep them sane while they're in there. While they last."

She took a deep breath, and he saw her shoulders drop as she made a conscious effort to get her feelings under control. "I suppose you're right. I forget how young some of them are." For a few moments, they stood in silence, until with a sigh, the ancient seventeen-year-old sat down once more and motioned for Logan to join her in the nearby chair. "So… I suppose you think I should be in one of these 'clubs'?"

He thought it over for a while — probably longer than strictly necessary — before he spoke. "I think … if you have people you can trust, it's good to have someone to watch your back. But it won't make losing them any easier."

"Ah. People I trust without being too emotionally attached to. That almost makes sense, in a weird, professional, you-sound-like-my-father way."

"No such thing," he admitted. "And no reason to take a cheap shot at me." He managed to ignore her snorted laugh. "But even if you aren't attached now — if any alliance you're in lasts long enough to save one of them, or to save you — it'll hurt."

Helena nodded but clearly didn't have a context to fit this situation into. Yet. She shook her head. "Okay. Fine." She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and considered her options. "I talked with one person in training that I think I could work with. The crazy one. You know, the girl who's attached at the hip to that weird joker, Jack. What an ass. Nasty with her. Abusive. I get the feeling she's smarter than that, smarter than she pretends to be."

"She absolutely is."

"And she's pretty up front about her feelings. No guessing." Helena shrugged a nod. "I'll level with you. I'm more comfortable around women, especially in this situation. Men are the ones running this whole mess, and I'd rather stand with other women. At least some of them." She shrugged again. "I'm also not great in big groups, in case you haven't noticed. Dick tells me the 'Titans', or whatever Garfield is calling them today, is a big happy family… too big for me."

"I don't blame you," Logan told her frankly. "I'm not real crazy about big groups either, and for the record, I think half of these groups are relying on the women to pull them through the hard stuff. Honestly, the girls are the ones to watch. Half of the guys that look like contenders will probably fall on their own swords to be noble."

"That'll save some time." She frowned in annoyance. "So I think Crazy Harley might be up for an alliance, if she gets her head on straight and walks away from Jack. Preferably after putting a knife in his back." Logan's eyebrow lifted slightly. "And while I don't want a crowd, three's company. Maybe one other?" She looked at him. "Any ideas?"

"If you want to pull together a sit down, you have to know I'll back you up — whoever you want," Logan said evenly. "And really, Hel, you know who you think is worth the effort. I trust your judgement."

The sideways look she gave him spoke volumes. "Right. Fine. I'm thinking Pamela." She waited for his response, a little more tensely than she would have been proud to admit.

Logan didn't hesitate to nod his agreement. "I'll talk to their mentors right now if you want me to."

Helena let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. "Yeah. I think that's a good plan. I think it might… work." Her lips drew into a tight line. "I don't like the way it feels. Picking people you trust to work with, but knowing that if push comes to shove…" She looked over at him, her eyes suddenly glistening. "It's one of the reasons I can't team up with Dick."

Their eyes met, and he spoke quietly. "I know."

Shaking her head to clear the rehashed emotions away, Helena punched the code for the suite access a bit more violently than necessary. "Alliances. Right. Also known as 'how to get a group of people to trust each other until they start killing each other'," Helena grumbled quietly to herself as the door opened and she walked down the hallway.

It was early, but the kitchen area was even more sparsely populated than usual. Just a couple of Squirrel and Jubilee's assistants, grabbing a quick bite before the final push. Luckily, it seemed no one on the stylist teams was stupid enough to wear one of the obscene red QQ t-shirts, or she might have had to remove it. She headed over to the breakfast bar, giving her egg order to a swiftly working Inhuman while she got herself coffee and some rye toast. I wonder if anyone else had an early-morning stylist attack. She was settling in with a mushroom and Swiss omelet — nowhere near as good as Alfred's — when her brother sat down opposite her with his own tray of eggs, bacon, and pancakes.

"Don't do it, Hel. It can't compare."

"Don't I know it. But I need the protein." She took a mouthful, chewed, shrugged, and took a long sip of coffee. "Alfred would be embarrassed by the food here."

"I know, right?" Dick smiled at her before his eyes grew more serious, the blue taking on the storm-tossed color of the sea. "How're you doing?"

"Ready as I'll ever be." She looked into his eyes. "You?"

He shoveled half a pancake into his mouth. "Mrf. Grmbld." His eyes laughed as he chewed.

"Honestly, Grayson. Talk about embarrassing Alfred."

Dick nodded and took a swig of milk. "Mkay." He gulped. "Yeah. I'm doing okay. You ready for these interviews?"

She took another bite and looked off in the distance with a shrug. "I guess. I had a surprise squirrel stylist attack this morning."

"Really? Me too. I've got to say, though, my suit is pretty on point." He grinned. "I look amazing."

She gave him a sisterly eye roll. "Of course you do." Then, her eyes sparkled with a bit of mischievous anger. "Just wait till you see what they've got me wearing."

"Let me guess. A black leather corset? Fishnets?"

Helena put a packet of jelly in her spoon and expertly catapulted it at his face, which earned her a laugh as he deftly caught it. "No, wiseass. A gown. It's pretty, actually. Aubergine."

"Aubergine?"

She gave him a flat stare. "You never studied." He chuckled on another bite of food as she went on. "Aubergine is dark purple. And it's… well, it's pretty."

He sipped his milk, wide-eyed. "Pretty? Did the grand and powerful Helena Wayne just say a dress was 'pretty'?" He looked around in mock alarm. "We better get the paramedics; clearly you're not—"

"Shut up, idiot." Helena looked at him, laughing, and suddenly all she could think of was all the years they'd been together. Playing, fighting, training, living. Her eyes began to water, which made her angry as she stared at her plate. "Listen, Dick. These stupid alliances. I don't want you to think that—"

"Hel." He reached over and tapped her hand with his index finger. "We're good. Always will be." She finally looked up at him from her omelet, and his smile, as usual, made her smile as well. "I know if we're together, no one could beat us. No one. And that would mean we're the last two. And, well, I can't do that either." He gave her hand a squeeze, and she nodded.

"Thanks." They kept their hands together for a long moment. Then Dick shrugged.

"And besides," he said, his grin growing. "Spending time with Kory is, ah…"

Helena laughed, and brushed at her eyes. "Right. It's a sacrifice you're willing to make…"

Dick looked away and cleared his throat. "By the way, aubergine means eggplant. So you're technically wearing something the color of a vegetable."

Her eyes narrowed, although there was a smile lurking. "Careful, Grayson. Someone will find out how smart you got traveling all over as a kid."

He shrugged and took another slug of milk. "Nah. Never happen."

They smiled warmly at each other, feeling absolutely normal for a few minutes until a familiar figure approached.

"C'mon, wonder twins, as touching as this is, we gotta prep for your interviews."

Logan plopped down next to Dick and reached over to grab the last of his bacon, taking a bite before sipping from a steaming mug of coffee.

"Our interviews?"

"You don't want to go in unprepared. Kinda like dealin' with an interrogation. If you're not ready for it, you're gonna spill your guts in all the wrong ways. You first, Hel, and then the boy wonder here."

"Helena," Helena said absently, having corrected him so many times it was becoming automatic. "Here?"

Logan shook his head lightly and frowned at her. "No. not here. Don't need Vic comin' in leerin' at you and throwin' you off your game."

She pursed her lips and lifted an eyebrow. "It'll take more than ol' Vic leering to throw me, Wolfman."

Dick chuckled. "Nah, nah, it's Wolv-man. With a 'v'. 'Cause he's too small to be a wolf, so the wolverine name just… sings. I mean..."

He stopped as both Helena and Logan turned to glare at him. "Shut up, Dick," they said in unison, before stopping and frowning at each other suspiciously.

After breakfast, they walked farther into the suite, and Logan ducked into an office-like room on the left. "In here, kid."

"Kid? Really?" Helena shook her head. "And I suppose you're the old man, Logan? You've got what, a year and a half on me?"

He ignored her as he closed the door behind her and motioned for her to take a seat. "You know Tivan isn't the big problem."

"Tivan is an idiot. A mouthpiece for the Capitol."

"Exactly. And he gets a thrill out of all the attention. If he makes a splash, all he cares about is how it affects him." Her mentor shifted uneasily, and Helena couldn't help but remember his interview, already a year ago.

"I can see that."

"You have seen that." He grabbed a chair and spun it around, straddling it as he sat. "So what will they be whisperin' in his ear about you?"

The girl stiffened momentarily, but it took a hunter to see it. "My life is pretty public, you may have noticed."

"Uh-huh. And what part might not be?"

The silence rang in the room, and finally, Helena grunted a sound. "Agh. Alright. My father — I don't know how much you know my father, really—"

"He's a good man, from what I've seen and can remember."

"Yeah. I mean, yes, he is. But he's not the best dad, if you know what I mean. Not all the time. He gets distracted…" She looked at Logan, but he remained still, waiting. A deep breath got her settled enough to start. "He gave me a letter when he said goodbye." Her eyes began to shine, but it was anger, more than sadness that tinted her voice. "It was about my mother. She died when I was… well, six, I guess. But he never talked much about her. I thought maybe all the rumors were true, that he didn't really — that I was—" She stopped, made an exasperated noise, and started again.

"Dad's the one with the secrets. He's always helped the Sentinels whenever he could, tipping them off to terrigen houses, trying to keep the streets safe…"

"Doesn't sound that bad to me."

Helena nodded. "No, but I know he sometimes takes the law into his own hands. Sometimes, the Sentinels would arrive and find that some bad guy had 'accidently fallen and knocked himself out' in the course of a robbery…" She grimaced as she made the air quotes. "And evidently, that was how he met my mother."

Logan's eyebrows lifted. "She caught him bein' a vigilante?"

"No, quite the opposite." Her expression went from anger to defiance. "My mom was a street rat. Trying to survive. She had broken into a shop, and was stealing food… my dad caught her." For a few heartbeats, she paused, and the picture in her imagination almost made her smile. "He knew she had triggered a silent alarm and helped her get away instead of turning her in. And he kept finding ways to run into her."

"So they fell in love. Not a crime, last I heard."

"No, but from what the letter told me, evidently the gang she was 'protected' by had some muscle-bound ass named Zebediah Creed. He had eyes for most any pretty young thing and tried to blackmail her into coming back, to keep her under his thumb. Or whatever." Both of their gazes shifted, involuntarily checking to see if the man's son was nearby, even in the closed office.

"Ah."

"Dad did what Dad does. He managed to defuse the whole situation by marrying Mom and setting his sights on running old Creed out of business. No street gang could possibly mess with the wife of Bruce Wayne." She sighed out a resigned breath. "And now Dad thinks Creed picked me and Dick just to get even for disrespecting his father all those years ago. That now Creed's trying to take everyone he's ever loved from him…" Helena paused and closed her eyes. "Dad wrote that. But I don't know. I think there's more than that. I think Creed's just an asshole. And I sure as hell don't want my father to blame himself for this abomination."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, letting feelings settle. Logan cleared his throat. "I don't know that Creed's gonna share that with anyone, seein' as his family lost." He stood and spun the chair back into its place. "But if it's true, he's gonna make your lives as difficult as he can."

Helena lifted her hands and dropped them. "Don't I know it. And if it's true, poor Dick got adopted into this whole disaster of a family—"

"Don't. Don't blame your old man for tryin' to do the right thing. Don't blame anyone. Fault isn't gonna help you survive."

"Yeah, okay." She stood, crossed her arms, and looked at him. "That's really all I was worried about. Anything else, I've probably dealt with from some society bitch already. You think he'll leave it alone?"

"Creed? Spillin' that won't make him look good, an' his ol' man's ghost probably still haunts him… so yeah. Probably."

She nodded thoughtfully and stared at the floor, her voice quiet when she finally spoke. "You think I'm going to do alright?"

"I know one thing." The tone of his voice made her look up, and he gave her a lopsided grin. "If they try to screw with you, you'll sure give 'em Hel."