A/N - Bucky will be making a brief appearance this chapter when we visit District 12 this chapter. And a few other subtle clues about the future :D Hope you enjoy!
—-
The next few days of training and prep went quickly.
When eventually he did try his hand at hand to hand combat, he was unsurprised with how badly he did. It frustrated him deeply, because he could see his opponents' moves coming, but he wasn't fast enough to block, move, or strike before they could. He was lucky that they paired him with a trainer and not another tribute. The trainer would not harm him and he could practice without getting injured.
He spent a few days in what they called Appearance Prep. He was scrubbed down, and every inch of his body was either cleaned, waxed, trimmed, or a combination of the three.
His nails were perfectly shaped and they even put something on top of them to make them shine. Howard also claimed it would make them stronger.
His hair was cut, and all his body hair was either removed, or trimmed down. While Howard oversaw everything, and made all the decisions, he did have a few people who carried out the work for him. Steve tried to ignore the surprised looks of the preppers when they first saw him. He was definitely not the smallest tribute to come through, but he was the smallest 18 year-old male they'd ever seen, not to mention the frailest.
His favorite part was something that Howard had suggested. Each day he would take a warm bath to loosen his joints and muscles and then he would receive a massage and a bone-straightening. He didn't know what they were doing, all he knew is that they would move his joints in quick movements and there would be a popping sound and then relief.
He'd had to resist the urge to cry after the first time. He'd hadn't felt that pain free since he was a little toddler, and being able to move without an ache, even for a little while, was a great relief.
They kept both Maureen and him very busy. The interview counseling sessions with Tatiana and Phillips were stressful but doable. They would discuss how to respond to anything that Francis Hayweather might throw at them.
Steve found himself most nervous about the interview. He'd been watching Hayweather interview tributes since he was old enough to understand what was going on, and he couldn't believe it was soon to be him on the screen.
The training section of their time was coming to an end. He'd decided that he would probably never be able to beat someone hand to hand, so he'd focused on long range skills. He'd been terrible at the bow because he didn't have enough strength to pull it back far enough to get distance. But knives and nature? Those he could do.
He'd been focusing on his knives skills, aiming and force, and he'd successfully hit the bull eyes the last three days in a row every time. His shoulder was definitely taking the strain, but he'd asked his body preppers to focus there and they'd happily obliged. He thought bucky would be proud. Bucky had always been good with knives and had taught or tried to teach Steve a few things.
He was skilled at plants, knots, fires, survival skills, and camouflage. When he'd painted an exact replica of a Bluebonnet on Maureen's arm that looked like it was three dimensional and moving, he'd noticed people staring at it in awe. He'd felt proud of his art skills and then quickly that followed with guilt at his pride. It was just a flower and flowers weren't going to save him in the arena. Probably.
Javelins, sword fighting, hand-to hand, and swimming were his worst skills. He did what was required and then avoided them for the rest of training.
After Howard's performance the first day, he'd made sure people assumed he was frail, which was true, and then used that to his advantage. He made sure to show his bruises when he changed, and would even make it look like he was more tired than he was during any physical training session. He didn't like that it was technically deception, but he'd promised his ma, and he'd promised Bucky, so he thought: whatever works.
A few days into training, Maureen had sidled up to him and pretended to be working on a knot.
"What is it Maureen?" He'd asked, knowing something was on her mind.
"I'm just surprised."
That threw him off guard. "Surprised about what?"
"That you haven't talked to her."
He sighed. His eyes flashed over to the hand-to-hand combat section where she was kicking another tribute's legs out from under them.
"Why would I?"
"Maybe because you've been avoiding even looking in her direction, and doing everything you can to avoid being within 30 ft. of her, and it's painful to watch."
His hands kept working on creating a perfect knot that would hold up a human, but could be pulled apart with one motion.
"Come one Steve, maybe no one else notices, but I'm pretty sure she's the only tribute you've actively avoided."
"Can't you guess why?"
This brought her to a pause. She looked at him, narrowing her eyes in thought. Then she breathed out heavily.
"Yep." He huffed. "Now you get it."
"But so what!" She said a little too loudly. Heads turned their way and he glared at her. She wriggled in her training suit and picked at another knot. "Okay, so one or both of you will be dead soon. And so you're just not even going to get to know this girl you fell head over heels for at just the sight of her? What if she's better than you imagine? I've talked to her briefly and she seems amaz-"
"EXACTLY MAUREEN." He snapped, causing even more heads to turn his way. He sighed and tossed the knot back onto the pile. He dropped his voice and began whispering. "Exactly. She's probably the most perfect human being. She's beautiful, amazing at fighting, I've seen her at the non-physical stuff too and she seems to be ahead of most of the pack." He leaned back and his eyes unfocused. "I'd rather not get to know her." Then he admitted his most simple, but common fear. "Look at me Maureen." He said with a self-deprecated gesture, "She's not going to be lining up to be allies with me anytime soon. So why put myself through that?"
Maureen glared at him. "You can't just count yourself out of every battle Steve. If you quit before you start then of course you're going to lose." She stood up and walked off in a huff.
Her anger surprised him. He was not a quitter. Maureen barely even knew him. And he wasn't counting himself out! He was being a realist. He, and Peggy, (he'd heard her correct someone when they'd called her Margaret) would most likely both be dead. What was the point of getting to know her?
He tried to refocus on his knots, but his fingers were shaking and he stopped after a bit. He went to the knife station and waited his turn. A few other tributes were in front of them, but nobody talked. It was pretty rare for tributes to converse and make friends. Why make friends with someone you might have to kill soon? This pushed his point with Maureen even more, except it will probably be her killing me, he thought grimly.
—
Meanwhile Back in District 12
The whistle to signal the end of the day couldn't come fast enough. Bucky hung up his gear in his half broken locker and ran towards the elevator. He ran home, showered, changed, and hurried to the living room. His mom was cooking dinner and his sisters were helping set the table. Rebecca already had the projector up for him.
The interviews weren't today, but they would occasionally show footage of the tributes training. Not much, because they didn't want to give away any skills or excitement in the arena. But Hayweather and his co host Batherman would always give an overview of the contestants and Bucky hung on every word said about Steve.
Ever since the train pulled away those dreaded 2 weeks ago, he'd had a pit of fear in his stomach that refused to go away. Even in his dreams he pictured Steve dying over and over and he'd woken up more exhausted then when he'd laid down.
Hayweather mentioned Steve's name and Bucky snapped to attention.
"We've gotten an insider tip." Hayweather said with his signature conspiratorial smile, "that our young volunteer Steve Rogers started 3 days late in training. Our source couldn't confirm why, but it is causing quite a stir in the world of those betting on the end results!"
Bucky whipped to Rebecca. "Has anything been mentioned about this before?"
She shook her head. She was home all day and had promised she'd keep him updated on any information that came out about Steve.
"No, Jimmy, they've never said anything about him being late." There was fear in her eyes that mirrored his own. "Why do you think he was?"
His fingers gripped his knees. He tried to contain his fear and anger at Steve for volunteering. Every day he grappled with the relief it wasn't him and then the anger because it should have been him and not Steve.
"The idiot probably ate something he was allergic to, or fell down stairs! He attracts any trouble within a 100 mile radius." He snapped.
"James." Came his mother's stern voice.
"I know." He stood up. "Keep listening Bec. I'm going to go to Mrs. Rogers' real quick. Ma, I'll be right back."
She looked at him, with a knowing glance that made him rush out the door faster.
They knew nothing about what was happening to Steve. Even this "insider information" was probably carefully planned by the gamemakers. Anything to amp up the excitement, betting, and anticipation of the games. He knew that until the interviews or the arena, that they wouldn't know anything of real value.
He knocked on the rickety door of the cabin only a short walk from his house.
Sarah Rogers opened the door, and smiled when she saw it was him.
"James," She smiled, "how are you?"
"I'm good, Mrs. Rogers, how are you holding up?" He glanced around her and the house looked like it had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. He knew she must be losing her mind worrying about Steve. Ever since they were kids, Sarah Rogers had always cleaned to deal with stress. It had driven him crazy that Steve was such a neat freak, but he'd gotten that from his mom. There was very little they could control in their life, but they could control that.
"Oh, I'm-" She looked like she was about to give him some sort of platitude, but her voice just cut out and she pursed her lips together.
He stepped forward and hugged her. He didn't know what came over him, but he knew she had been basically alone for the last two weeks, and Steve and her had been incredibly affectionate to each other. Ever since Steve's dad had died in the mines, Sarah had been incredibly protective of Steve and, when he was old enough to understand what was going on, the feeling was mutual. They'd been each other's rock, and now Mrs. Rogers had no one.
She stiffened with surprise at his gesture but immediately threw her arms around him and her head rested on his shoulder.
"You are such a sweet boy." Her voice muffled, "You always took care of Steve, and I appreciated it so." She pulled away and wiped her eyes. "You want something to eat?" She asked, moving towards the kitchen counter.
"No, my ma has dinner on, I just…" He'd tried to say this many times, and he'd never been able to get the words out. "I just wanted to see if you were doing okay. If you'd heard anything?" He berated himself silently for chickening out again.
"Unfortunately no," she said, taking something small out of the oven. "I haven't received a word." This was typical. He knew that if Steve could have reached out, he would have, therefore he must not be allowed contact.
"Okay, thanks Mrs. Rogers. I'll be back soon to visit." He was walking out the door when she called him.
"James?"
He turned and looked at her, waiting.
"It's not your fault. And I don't blame you." His throat caught. She knew, of course she did. He'd been blaming himself since the day of the reaping. If he'd not gotten his name called then Steve wouldn't have volunteered.
"But Ste-" he stuttered, holding the knot in his throat, trying not to cry.
"Steve, as you are well aware, is the most stubborn person we know, and it is not your fault. You've always taken care of him, and in his own way," She smiled and he saw her eyes weren't dry, "this was his way of thanking you. Of taking care of you for a change. And nothing you could have said or done would have changed that."
He felt a tear slip out and he bit the insides of his cheeks to keep from breaking down.
He nodded quickly and left, leaving her standing at the door watching him go.
—-
Back in the Capitol
The last day of training was upon them. Tomorrow was their big interview debut, and then the next day was when they would show off to the gamemakers and get their score.
He spent the last day memorizing any plant he thought could help him survive. Food to eat, stuff for infections, things that would help his lungs, stuff he could chew on for hydration, anything and everything he could think of that might make the difference between life and death.
It wasn't encouraged, but he shared any information that was asked of him. Maureen and he shared everything, they decided that whatever happened, they were going to help each other as best they could, but fight separately in the arena. That way they wouldn't have to harm one another when it eventually came down to it.
Several other of the tributes, the girl from District 8, the boy from District 5, and the girl from District 7 wanted to know anything he would tell them about plants, and he willingly shared. He'd realized he could make their lives hell in the arena with incorrect information about the toxic plants, and he'd thought about it for about 3 seconds, and then decided that that wasn't him, and he wasn't going to let the arena turn him into a monster. His mother's words echoed in his mind constantly. "Don't let that awful arena change you."
He'd asked if he could write her a letter or contact her in someway and every time he'd been denied.
He hoped she was doing okay, and Bucky too.
For the last hour he went to the flexibility studio. While he couldn't do much physically, he'd been instructed by Howard to focus on his muscles and joints. This had meant spending the last hour of every training day, being pulled, pushed, and bent into strange shapes by one of the trainers. At first it had hurt like hell, but his body had adjusted and he'd fallen easily into the pattern. He noticed he felt less sore each day after doing so as well.
As training ended, he peeled off his training suit, drenched with sweat, threw it through the hole in the wall that laundered it and pulled on a soft shirt and trousers. After his surgery, he'd thankfully received the proper fitting clothes. He had been ecstatic about it. He'd never had clothes that fit him properly and now he had a large wardrobe made especially for him. A nice surprise had been that it made him seem less small because not everything was huge and hanging off his sharp shoulders,
He'd noticed the clothes had slight padding that wrapped around the joints. This gave him some relief from pain, but also gave him the appearance of being healthier. Which was a nice bonus. The bruising was all but gone and he'd put on a significant amount of weight thanks to all the food and training. After the first few days, both Howard and Dr. Erskine had agreed and changed the food that they were allowed to eat. It had gone from decadent and heavy foods, to food that would properly fuel their bodies in training. Steve didn't mind either way. It was more food than he'd ever known and he listened to every bit of advice the two threw their way.
Dr. Erskine and Steve had had a few more sessions and at the last few Howard had been there. He'd gotten nervous because at some point in each session, they would walked out of hearing range and argue about something.
They never told him what it was about, but it was so constant that he almost asked. Had he done something wrong? Was there something he was supposed to be doing but wasn't? Was his body not adjusting like it should? But every time he thought about asking he either chickened out, or the conversation abruptly changed. So he let it go.
Howard had spent many hours working on designing their garments for the interviews and arena but he'd refused to show them to either Steve or Maureen. Steve knew that the gamemakers designed the arena clothes, but Howard had convinced them to let him have a tiny say, Steve wasn't exactly sure how, but Howard could be incredibly persuasive when he wanted.
Phillips had come in, observed them in the training center, and given his tips, but had mostly been focusing on sponsors and how to make sure that when the games started that Steve and Maureen would have all the help they needed.
They each had a few more interview practices with Phillips and Tatiana, but they'd been deemed perfectly polite and ready for their big debut.
He and Maureen chatted like old friends as they walked back to the elevator and rode it to the 12th floor. They separated and got clean. They'd have a early morning to get all ready for the interviews tomorrow so it was a good idea to get lots of sleep.
Steve took a hot shower that lasted much longer than it should have. He'd been keenly aware that each shower he took, each meal he ate, each time he slept in a bed, and everything else he did was a countdown of sorts. He maybe had three showers left in his entire life. The thought had made him a bit woozy. He was sure the high temperature of the shower hadn't helped, and so he lowered himself slowly down on the marble floor, the hot water still pounding his back.
Eventually he reached up and turned off the water. He clambered out and stood over the dryer. He didn't bother brushing his hair as he knew it would be washed and styled tomorrow for him.
He was about to climb into bed when he got an idea. He walked over to the desk that was in his room and took out two sheets of paper. He began writing a letter to his ma, and the next was to Bucky.
He told them about everything that had occurred during training, his surgery, his new clothes, and all the craziness that was the capitol. It felt good to tell them everything. He always had confided in them both, his entire life, and this felt like an extension of that. At the end of each letter he made sure he fully expressed how much he loved them, would miss them, and how he was proud to have been a son and friend respectively. He made sure he signed his name and then folded them.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that maybe that would be the last time he would every write anything, would ever sign his name.
He pushed that thought away and put the letters in the top drawer and resolved to ask Phillips to deliver them when he didn't make it out of the arena.
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*A/N - I hope you're getting excited for the interviews and arena which is coming up in the next chapters! Thanks for reading!