A/N: Welcome back to District 12 for the 74th Hunger Games! It's a Big, Big, Big Day! Thanks to everyone who is reading and a special thank you to those who leave me notes! :)

May the odds be ever in your favor . . .

Chapter Two: The Reaping

The morning of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games dawned with surprising beauty. Gale noticed it only because he was to meet Katniss for their traditional hunt. The sun shone with green accents as he stepped on a quiet path to their usual meeting spot.

She was late. "Sorry," she whispered, pulling arrows from a hiding place in a hollow tree. "Capitol Peacekeepers are a lot harder to avoid than our usuals."

Her statement hit him oddly, making his heart twist just a little. He didn't know why, so he rubbed at his sternum for a moment before closing the distance between them. "So, I wondered. What are we gonna do with anything we catch?"

"Well, we usually gut it and hide it…is that not what you want to do?"

"I'm Mentoring, this year. I'll be…"

"Gone." Her eyes shuttered abruptly. "Right."

He tugged her further into the shade, out of sight even from the fence. "When I get home, though...we'll hunt. Rory wants to learn too, you know."

She smiled—a rare enough sight that he allowed himself a moment to appreciate it. Gale remembered meeting Katniss after the mine explosion, at the memorial for their fathers. She'd been so stern in the face, then. That hadn't changed. The only time she ever seemed to relax was here, in the woods.

For just a moment, he reached for her, to try to capture that smile in the palm of his hand. Her quick flare of surprise reminded him that it wasn't like that for them.

Yet.

"You okay, Gale?" she asked.

He found a smile of his own and put it on. "Yeah. I guess I'm just thinking about last Reaping."

Fear and then annoyance had her eyes widening before they narrowed into two slate-gray slits surrounded by heavy, sooty lashes. "Don't, Gale. That was the worst day. When they called your name…" She trembled visibly before quickly inhaling and exhaling. "I'm so glad you don't have to face that again. I mean, I know being a Victor hasn't been easy…"

"No, it hasn't," he reflected, bending down to snatch up a small piece of deadwood from the forest floor. Sliding his hunting knife from its sheath, he started walking to the nearest clearing, on the top of the low hill to the east, into the rising sun. "Come on. I've got breakfast for us."

"Well, I've got something, too," she told him with a saucy light in her eye. "Prim gave me some cheese."

"That'll go great with the bread. Come on! We've gotta hurry."

They paced with a carelessness that was not characteristic of them, coming out of the tree cover and into the high meadow. "What if we didn't show up? We could go back, right now, get our families and—well, you know, there's miles and miles of nothing out there," she said, sounding as close to desperate as he'd ever heard her. "I bet we could disappear. Greasy Sae said she saw a bunch of hovercraft using some binoculars someone traded at The Hob. Right out that way. You know they only show up once every few years, so we could go there and no one would find us."

He grimaced and dropped heavily into the grass. "Katniss. I can't not be at the Reaping." With a rueful smile, he let his knife fall to hit his boot before tugging on her braid. "Tempting, though. Now if you'd only thought of that last year…"

With a sigh, Katniss rummaged in the small pouch she wore across her body. "Yeah. So. Here's the cheese," she said, offering a wrapped parcel without visible enthusiasm. "And may the odds be ever in your…my…favor."

Gale spread the wrapping into a small square before getting out the bread. He could have brought some roasted meat, fresh fruit, maybe even something to drink for their common meal. But he had learned shortly after his return from the Games that Katniss refused what she counted as charity. Sharing bread and cheese, though, was acceptable.

"How many times is your name in?" The question asked itself; he guessed, but didn't want to say it. Still, he had to know. He was, for the first time, free from this worry for himself, but—

Her voice was matter of fact. "Twenty." She continued. "Prim, remember? For her, too."

"So she's just got the one." Since it was Prim's first year, she would only have the single entry; Katniss would take the tesserae on herself, as she had done for years.

"Just like you used to take on extra for your family," Katniss stated, sounding defensive. "It's not like you needed to, this year."

A resentful anger pulsed through him, so that he threw his knife. "I know, damn it. Every time I walk in the Seam, I feel like everyone's glaring at me, knowing that."

She blew out a loud breath. "No, they're not. They're proud of you, Gale. You're our only Victor in more than twenty years. And they all know you shop in the Seam. You know us…"

With a grunt, he avoided further discussion by pushing himself up to get his knife. "Anyway. We should get back, Catnip. I have to do my best Haymitch Abernathy impersonation."

She transitioned her tone, he heard, as she said, "All right. So, do you have a vest and collar? Planning on getting falling-down drunk?"

"No, actually," he answered, holding out his hand to her. "I'm supposed to look sober." She studied his face and he shrugged. "Strategy, really, but yeah."

She took his hand and let him help her up. He held her there, next to him, for a moment. Today was going to be hard, but he'd keep this image of her face before him as he saw the Tributes that would be Reaped that day. Each person would be as important to him as Katniss Everdeen. He'd work hard to save them.

Well, to save the one that he and Haymitch thought might…have a chance. Damn.

She slid her skin from his and cleared her throat. "Well, it'll be a change." As they started walking down the rise, she asked, "Are—are you okay? Nervous?"

His gut clenched. "Oh, yeah. Petrified, to be honest. I feel like I still need a Mentor myself. And...someone's life could depend on me and what the hell do I know?"

She stopped and put a hand on his arm. "Hey. You'll be great. People like you. They say that's important, when they do the commentaries every year."

He snorted. They liked him. Yeah. Too much and for all the wrong reasons. "I'll do my best, you know."

"I know."

Twenty chances. She had her name in twenty times.

The verdant shade of the forest enveloped them once again and their voices hushed, their steps quieted, and they spoke of nothing important on the way back to the fence. But once they got on the other side and were walking safely distant from it, Gale tugged on her shirt a little to get her to stop. "Hey, Catnip."

"Yeah?"

"Keep your head down, okay? I mean, today and afterward. I won't be able to be here for a while, you know…" She nodded quickly, her eyes sharp and assessing. "And it's been…restless, in the Districts, I'm hearing."

She pursed her lips and blew out a silent breath. He had to look away or he'd tug her into an embrace again, as he'd wanted to do for a year or more.

With a heavy heart, Gale Hawthorne made his way to his mansion…er, house. Two lives would be in his hands by the end of the day.

"Good morning, Gale! It's a Big, big, big day!" Effie Trinket called, her voice echoing with false joy in the foyer of the Justice building. Gale couldn't help the chuckle that escaped from his chest. She was all in shades of pink, that day. Pink heels that clicked like squirrels throwing rocks, pink clothes, pink everything. "My, don't you look handsome," she said, sounding as if she might purr as she straightened his tie. "Gray is a perfect color," she assured him, her eyes unwontedly serious as they met his.

"It's our color, here in Twelve," he said, moving a step from her and wishing Haymitch would show up.

"And it looks so nice with your eyes," she countered, her smile odd and plastic on her over-painted face. "Ready?"

"I am," he said, wondering if it were true. A weight seemed to sit on his chest and his stomach felt knotted. In some ways, it was worse than being out there with the rest.

With Katniss.

Effie fluttered about, her hands moving like disconcerted sparrows. "Where's Haymitch?"

"He said he was planning on getting drunk," Gale answered. "And honestly, Effie? That sounds like the sanest thing to do right now."

"Gale!" She all but leapt to stand in front of him, her heels clicking loudly, echoing on the flat, dead concrete floor. "Hush." For a moment, she looked afraid as her glance flickered over the Peacekeepers in the room. Her voice was hard and bright as she admonished him. "Now, now. It'll all be over soon. A Mentor's first Reaping is the hardest, I've heard."

He kept hearing that. He'd heard it in the Capitol amongst those he saw when he was there. He'd heard it from Haymitch. Hell, he'd even said so to Katniss already.

But he hadn't expected that piece of wisdom from Effie Trinket. The year before, she'd been all bright and flashy on the way to the Capitol. Now, he saw the way she concentrated on individuals, her focus on the timetable, and had to tip an imaginary hat to her. The woman knew her job.

Still, she was an irritant.

Peacekeepers lined the concrete walls, their masks down and weapons at the ready, even within the Justice building. Gale blew out a breath, feeling the tension building in his legs, his torso, feeling everything tighten. Boys and girls, lining up down there like goslings and he couldn't do anything to stop it. To save them.

But he might save one. Maybe two—Haymitch Abernathy might be wrong.

Not likely, but…

A laugh rippled through the audience just before a curse exploded to Gale's left. Haymitch had arrived.

"Haymitch Abernathy!" Effie whispered as if she were directing a naughty child during a school play. Gale could recollect his mother sounding like that when he'd been involved in a Glories of Panem pageant when he was about seven.

"I told you," Gale muttered under his breath. Effie didn't spare him a glance, but he could have sworn that Haymitch winked at him as he collapsed onto the chair reserved for him on the stage in front of the Justice building.

Despite Effie's gesturing, Gale couldn't make himself sit down as he saw the lines of…kids. Kids just like he'd been the year before. Young men and women, Effie Trinket would say momentarily, but they were kids. Younger than he was and he was only eighteen. His family was present, his mom lined up against the wall along with his brothers and sister, but the Hawthornes were not represented amongst the possible Tributes that day.

After nodding at his mom, Gale scanned the mass of faces until he saw Katniss. She was wearing the dress he'd seen the day before; her hair was braided around her head like some kind of shining, woodland crown. She didn't see him, but he could see she was watching the younger girls. Today was her sister's first Reaping and Gale could imagine the tension lashing at his best friend at the moment.

That tiny wisp of a girl wove through the crowd to find a space among the youngest possible tributes. Primrose Everdeen. She didn't look like a seam girl at all, but she did look like her mother, who hadn't been born and raised nearest the mines. Gale had. Katniss had. But Prim rose above all of that, making her way with a nasty old cat, a happy goat, and a talent with herbs just like her mother.

Gale nodded at Prim when she caught his eye as she found her place with her year-mates. He tried to look reassuring. She only had her name in once, after all. She'd be safe. Her sister, though, was not so lucky.

Any self-protective instincts seemed muted as Katniss kept her eyes on Prim until she herself found a place with the sixteen-year-old girls. Gale had never seen all of this from the stage. So many faces. He'd seen them as a shocked and horrified tribute the year before, but this year it was different. Of course it was. He wasn't out to survive, this year. He didn't have a battle in a wasted city before him, fighting under hot, dry skies with bricks and dirt at his feet and ruined buildings as his only shelter. This year, he wanted to do more than just be the only one left standing out of twenty-four desperate teenagers. He wanted to make it so that those young ones—kids, some of them pre-pubescent—would never have to fight for their lives in such a horrendous way for the sadistic entertainment of their governmental authorities.

He was a Victor, yes, but he had another fight in him. If only he—they—could find the right way to start it.

"Who're you looking for, Hawthorne?" Haymitch muttered as Gale finally took his seat. Effie Trinket was approaching the large microphone.

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games!"

"My friend Katniss," Gale answered his Mentor. "Remember her?"

"Girl who practically jumped you when you got home?"

Though his throat was hot with the memory, Gale nodded minutely, not looking at Haymitch but pretending to listen to Effie.

Haymitch snorted. Loudly and in character. Effie shot him an acid glare but then continued with a "Special film from the Capitol!"

"War. Terrible war." The opening line was familiar to every citizen of Panem and, as they had the year before, Gale and Katniss caught each other's attention and mouthed the words silently to one another. He didn't see her features with the clarity he might have done on the ground, but he could see her face and the slight smirk she offered him. It was their own small act of defiance.

The short film droned on, reminding them all of why they had to do this. But did they really? How many people were truly in support of the horrible means of oppression, anyway? Not as many as President Snow and his cronies would likely think…

"Ladies, first." Effie interrupted his thoughts with her swishing walk and the hard, bright way she indicated she would be choosing one of the girls right in front of her to go to the arena and likely get killed. All in the name of "remembering our past and safeguarding our future."

Shiny fingernails catching the light, Effie unfolded the slip of paper she'd chosen. After a delicate little clearing of her throat, she read the name out loud.

"Primrose Everdeen."

Those around Prim pressed as far from her as they could, as if the girl had suddenly become contagious. Remembering how that felt to him only the year prior, Gale winced. The instant ostracizing was a terrible feeling. He was enormously proud to know her, though, as she started to walk, face blank, toward the Peacekeepers who waited for her in the center aisle.

Proud, yes, but his heart hurt, too. How would she fare in the Games? And Catnip—! He didn't have to wonder long.

"Prim!" Katniss screamed so fiercely it sounded like her throat was shredding.

Gale started to launch to his feet, but Haymitch gripped him tightly. "Don't. Just don't."

Remembering his role, remembering all that they'd spoken of the day before, Gale forced himself to sit still as Katniss burst into that center aisle calling for Prim. His heart hammered and he clenched his jaw against shouts of his own as the Peacekeepers went after Katniss. His Katniss.

Then, she did the unthinkable.

"I volunteer! I volunteer as Tribute!"

Silence fell on the crowd in an instant and Gale's heart basically stopped for that same moment. Katniss rushed to Prim, embraced her quickly, and sent her back to their mother. Prim didn't want to go, she was screaming not to go, and Gale was afraid the Peacekeepers would strong-arm that little girl and drag her…

But his brother Rory ran from the family and tugged her away. Gale couldn't hear what was said, but he sure as hell hoped Violet Everdeen would pull herself together to take care of her younger daughter. What was going to happen to them?

Later, Hawthorne. Later.

Another few moments had the girls switched so that Katniss was stepping to the stage in a walking perimeter of Peacekeepers. As if she'd try to escape? She'd volunteered!

Katniss is a Tribute…! Gale broke out in a cold sweat.

"Watch it, Hawthorne," Haymitch murmured under Katniss's introduction.

"…your little sister."

"Yes."

Katniss didn't even look at him, but kept her focus on Prim, who was now surrounded by not only her mother, but all of Gale's own family. He blew out a breath when his mom lifted an arm to him—quickly, but purposefully—and he knew that Hazelle wouldn't let Prim lack for anything if she could possibly help it.

One big worry off his plate, Gale focused on Katniss again. Conflict raged in his chest as if it were a wild animal. He needed to protect her, his best friend, his hunting partner, his hoped-for—all of that. But also, he felt a deep, rolling pride in her. She was, as Effie was saying, the first to have ever volunteered as a Tribute from District 12.

Then, Effie tried to get some applause generated for Katniss—who would not appreciate it—only to be foiled by the unique token of respect that had become traditional in District 12. The three-fingered salute.

He didn't know from whence this quiet mark of appreciation stemmed, but Gale had seen it often in his life. Miners would offer it to the man who had held a cart for them during a crisis. When the flood had torn through the town five years before, his dad had been one of the men who'd helped rescue the kids from the school and they had all offered his dad that salute.

Effie didn't get it; he knew that. But Katniss would. He studied her but saw nothing in her face to say that she had seen the mark of honor given to her.

Well, it'd be all over Panem, now. Live, with commentary.

"Now, for the boys," Effie stated abruptly, her heels clicking as she stepped to the other bowl.

Katniss was a Tribute. How the hell was he going to keep her alive?

"Peeta Mellark."

The name…Mellark. The baker's son? Gale grimaced as he saw the same, silent ritual take place around the blond boy. Mellark had shoulders like an ox, though. He'd…

Wait. How could he sit there and think of possibly abandoning one of their Tributes in favor of the other?

"Later, Hawthorne." That time, the admonition came from Haymitch. "Stick to the script right now." He flicked a finger to the other side of the stage, where representatives from the Capitol and the Games were seated, looking bored out of their minds.

Well, of course. This wasn't their District. It wasn't their home. They didn't know the Tributes.

"Come now, shake hands," Effie insisted.

It was a cruelty, truly. When he had had to shake Fern's hand last year, he'd felt dirty. As if he was saying, "Hi, Fern. Nice to meet you. I'll most likely try to kill you in a few days."

Nauseating. Even now, remembering, he felt his stomach try to heave.

Katniss and Peeta Mellark shook hands and then, after a brief word, they were guided through the enormous steel doors of the Justice Building.

E/N: Chapter three will be up Monday. Do y'all like having an option for a Sneak Peek in a review reply? Just let me know "I volunteer!" and I'll include a sneak peek for you. Otherwise, no peeks, because I know not everyone likes them.