A/N: Welcome back to Panem! This was, for me, one of the most fascinating parts to explore in the story: How does a Mentor feel, letting their Tributes go to the Arena to face nearly certain death, while the Mentors have to make nice and be sociable?

Thank you to everyone who is reading and adding this fic to your lists!

I just checked and this is the longest chapter of this story. Bring coffee!

Chapter Ten: Let the Games Begin

"I hate this part," Haymitch confessed as they watched Portia and Cinna lead Peeta and Katniss toward the elevator. He didn't say anything else until their Tributes and Stylists had gone through the doors, turned, and nodded with determined, optimistic expressions. Then, he pushed out a hard breath and turned to go back into their suite. "Sucks. Really does. Never gets easier." He shot a look at Gale, who was following and doing his best to focus on him. "At first? I was effing seventeen the first time I had to do this. Sev-en-flipping-teen. Didn't really have a Mentor, either. The Escort they assigned Twelve was a man that reminded me of Flickerman."

Gale snorted and Haymitch shrugged.

"It was what it was. And the next year, same guy was the Escort, but I was a Mentor and that was that. I had to watch two kids, one my age and one not even old enough to swear, walk out of this same damned suite and out to the Games."

Haymitch paced like an angry wildcat throughout the common living area and Gale, sensing the frustration and anger building in him, let him continue without comment, leaning against a wall. If everything he was hoping for died a horrible, bloody, violent death in the next day or week, there was every chance Gale himself would be just like Haymitch. Just as angry. Just as determined to put a stop to the madness.

"Last year," the older man went on, pausing in his temper-fueled strides to stare at the bourbon decanter, "I watched you and Fern go and I remember thinking that if you both died, I'd…try to drink myself to death."

"Haymitch!" Gale pushed off the wall. "You never said!"

"Meh. I didn't have to do it, did I? You won." Still, there was regret in the lined blue eyes, a tiredness that pulled at the older man's face. "So now we do it together, watching 'em go. Crap. I'm so tired of this. I really am. Let's get one of them back and finish it, yeah?"

"Yeah. It's harder than I thought it would be, to see 'em leave like that."

"I know." Haymitch shook himself visibly and rolled his shoulders. "Come on. We don't just sit here waiting. We've got people to see. Possible Sponsors to schmooze with. And," he added with a sharp look at odds with his demeanor, "we need to find a place to watch the Games. Location is important."

"Right. Okay."

"Ten minutes. Bring your most charming smile," Haymitch advised, smiling in a horrible facsimile of charm.

Gale tried to smile as well. "I'll do my best." They separated then, each nodding to the familiar Avox who emerged from one wing of the penthouse with a double armful of what looked like laundry. It struck Gale with a cold wave of terror, seeing the visible reminder that Katniss—and Peeta—had left the building and weren't coming back that day. Shaking it off, he reached his own room and leaned on the door after he closed it behind him.

There would be no trace of Katniss Everdeen in that room anymore. That room where they'd spent what might easily be their last evening together.

He'd been on edge, keyed up after the interviews, and had gone looking for her, but she wasn't in her room. Instead, she and Peeta were talking in an alcove that overlooked the raucous Plaza below. Gale could hear the wild sounds of desperation from the Capitoline residents. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop on Katniss and Peeta, truly, but he'd been staring at her nevertheless until Peeta called out to him.

"Gale? Can't sleep?"

He'd jolted back to himself and was thankful for the shadows in the suite at that hour. "Uh, yeah. I couldn't last year, either."

"Neither can we," Katniss had said. "Can you hear them from your room?" She had jerked her thumb at the window and Gale knew she referred to the revelers below. "It's insane."

"It is, yeah."

Katniss got to her feet and swept her hand in Peeta's direction. "Peeta was saying that—"

"Katniss!" the boy hissed harshly.

"What? It's not like he hasn't thought the same things, Peeta."

Hesitant to pry, but also curious, Gale had stepped closer to the two of them, hands in the pockets of his trousers and trying hard not to look too Mentor-ish. Not to be an outsider, someone they would bar from their company at such a sensitive juncture. "There's a lot to think about, the night before."

"What were you thinking about?" Katniss asked, folding her hands in front of her. The lights from the Plaza caught her face at an angle and it was all Gale could do not to trace the familiar planes. "Last year? Did you and…"

"Fern," Gale supplied with a nod. "We didn't meet here, no, but we talked, yeah. It's normal to be scared. To think of one's imminent demise," he said, trying to provoke at least a little decrease of Peeta's tension.

It didn't work. The younger man made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "My biggest thing is that I don't want them to change me," he stated. "We see the Mentors every year, you know. And some of them, they change." His look to Gale was almost a glare. "Even in the Games, it seems like the Tributes are thinking of the…the Sponsors more than survival."

"The Sponsors often provide the means for survival," Gale reminded them both. "But I get it. And it changes you. I promise you that. Those that make it out…we're changed forever. I'm sure that's part of the retribution the Capitol wants to make sure we understand. They control it all." He had to be careful with his words, though, so he pushed that line of thought away. "Anyway. I get it. Anything I can, well, help with tonight?"

Katniss looked to Peeta for an instant before shaking her head. "We were both just, you know, up."

"Well, try to get some rest," Gale advised before, reluctantly, turning from them. He didn't want to keep Katniss and Peeta from whatever moral support they required.

He was, though, disappointed that he hadn't found Katniss alone. Until she stole up behind him, steps soundless in the dark hallway that led to his and Haymitch's rooms.

"Gale?" she whispered, her voice only barely reaching his ear. "I'm scared."

He didn't think, didn't plan. He only responded, opening his door and pulling her in behind him, signaling her to silence as they had done when they went hunting in Twelve, before pulling her gently into his arms.

She was trembling. Katniss Everdeen. His Catnip. He half-rocked her as they stood in his quiet quarters, his lips in her hair, not daring to say anything as he did his best to reassure her by his presence, his touch, his strength. Slowly, she relaxed against him, her hands at the small of his back, her cheek at his shoulder, her forehead pressed against his throat.

"What if…" Her words, barely breaths, brushed against his skin and he felt a sudden rush of heat throughout his body.

He pressed one finger to her lips, though, and led her to the adjoining bathroom, holding her hand as he turned on the shower and closed the door, keeping them standing right next to it. He touched his forehead to hers. "I'm scared, too," he whispered, his voice hardly audible around the sounds of the shower. "But we're working on it, Haymitch and me. Remember to stay as close to the boundary as you can."

"I'll remember." She tilted her head, then, and met his eyes. "Thank you," she murmured, her lips making the words tangible to his understanding.

He gathered her a little closer, bringing his mouth nearer to hers. She didn't move away when he pressed the words, "You're welcome" to her skin. They were followed by, "I love you, Katniss. Remember that." All spoken as kisses against the soft skin between lips and ears.

"Gale…" She drew in a sharp breath before holding his face between her hands. "Really?"

He nodded, his fingers somehow tightening of their own accord on the silky fabric of her pajamas. The light over the shower, which was now billowing with a sandalwood-scented steam, showed him the smile on her face, the hesitant hope in her clear gray eyes. Then, she shocked him by pushing her body nearer to his and kissing him.

It was a brief kiss, one that felt like it might have been her very first, and Gale's heart leapt to receive it. It was a gift, that kiss. Even if he never had another, he'd remember the light, tentative pressure of it until the day he died.

The Avox—he hadn't even asked her name, so he couldn't tell anyone who she was, in case there was trouble—brushed past him, bedsheets in her arms that smelled faintly of Katniss. He touched the girl in the white day-tunic and asked, "Did you get to my room, yet?" She nodded, offering him the quickest significant look he could have imagined. "Thank you."

He could offer gratitude to an Avox without incurring suspicion, he supposed. He wasn't a Capitoline resident; he was just an outlier from District Twelve. Without any apparent haste, he entered his room, and headed to the bathroom, as any man might. And then, he found the note, written two spins into the roll.

Trying for D3.

Escape ready?

Trusting.

No pressure, he told himself before handling this note as he done with the last one of its type. Third day of the Games. If it went as they were trying to plan. Okay. There was absolutely no way to communicate that to Katniss and Peeta, though, so Gale could only hope that Katniss's skills and Peeta's social savvy would be enough to keep them alive until then.

There were viewing tables in the Plaza.

Everything in Gale rebelled to see them. His arms tightened as if he were preparing to throw the shiny white tables and chairs into the flat windows of the nearest buildings. The bench seats were also occupied. Those who wanted to enjoy the Games with their friends and family were seated in them, nibbling or sipping with apparent delicacy on snacks while they did so.

Eating snacks. During the Hunger Games. The dichotomy made him want to scream himself hoarse.

Haymitch slapped him none too gently between the shoulder blades. "Got it outta your system, yet? Better. Time to mix and mingle, Hawthorne."

"I'll do my best."

"I know you will. Right, then. There's Prisca. Avoid the other Mentors at this stage. They're competition. Afterward, on the train back? We'll all get drunk and disorderly. But now, focus on the screens, our kids, and the Sponsors. Look, remember the Potters? There they are."

Gale inhaled sharply and put on a pleasant, slightly flirtatious expression. "Ginger and Marston, right. Shouldn't she be with Snow, right now?"

Haymitch made an equivocal gesture with one rough hand. "Eh. She's probably given him a bunch of general-purpose bits to say if the occasion warrants it. Like that time about eleven years ago, when all but four of the Tributes were killed at the Cornucopia within five minutes. It was insane," he concluded on a whisper. Gale watched his face, seeing the brief, powerful grief that narrowed the blue eyes. Then, the older man shook it off. "You might not remember, as you were still pretty young then—"

"My dad wasn't keen on us watching the games," Gale muttered.

His gaze flickered to the largest public screen where the display was in thirds. One third showed the empty and quiet Cornucopia, surrounded by deadly weapons, packs of food and water, and some coats, too, likely. Waterproofed. There was a tree line in view, as well. So, a forested Arena. Good. Katniss is at home in the woods. Good. He felt a tiny bit of inner tension slip away. It was a confirmation of the information he'd received not long ago. The Arena was somewhere between Districts 12 and 3, in the wild lands that belonged to neither.

"Yeah, well," Haymitch said, talking away. "That one time, it was sickening. I mean, more than usual. The first night, everyone was really excited, but then by morning, they could see the Tributes had divided up and were just setting up their own territories, fortifying them and doing their own things, to stay safe and get adapted to the Arena. Snow, may he rot in Hell, had had a What a Great Bunch of Tributes speech the first night. But by the next afternoon, the Plaza was getting ugly."

Gale had to swallow back a sudden rush of bile. "Because no one was killing anyone. Damn."

"Right. So yeah, sometimes, Snow needs a speech. I'd guess, though, that Ginger Potter has got it all handled for the day, anyway. So, come on."

Ginger's hair wasn't in the previous elaborate basket-weave but was down in a long curtain that swished about her white, silky pantsuit. "Gale Hawthorne! Haymitch Abernathy! So good to see you again. Come, join us." She pointed to the largest screen. "Look, there's your girl, the Girl on Fire, going to the final room for her gear. So glad you got to see her. And there's Cato, who was also a Volunteer this year." She smiled and pulled out a digital notepad. "I'll want to make sure to remember them." She tapped away on the small screen as her husband, Marston, joined them at the sharp-edged table.

Haymitch pulled himself to his feet and Gale did likewise as greetings were given and the usual social rules obeyed. "I've got money down on your girl," Marston confided. His braid was snaking over his chest as he spoke. He made an approving sound as he nodded to the screen. "An eleven. So…what are we going to see from her?" He looked at Gale, but it was Haymitch who answered.

"Katniss Everdeen is sharp as a tack, Potter. You heard her interview, right?"

Potter's eyes went round and he looked so much like Caesar Flickerman for a moment that Gale wondered if they were related. "Oh, my heart. She took it and just held it up somewhere and…wow. Yeah." The pharmaceutical genius sniffled, and he might even have been sincere. "Right, well. If her tack gets a bit dull, you come find me. I haven't seen such an appealing interview for years."

Ginger Potter leaned back and slid her notepad into a pocket. "Oh, that was so affecting. She was so good. Yet, she clearly hated being on stage. It was so…" The woman seemed to dig through her own mental thesaurus. "Innocent. Determined. I loved that. And that dress! Well, Cinna is your Stylist, right? He's new and I Ioved his work at that show last spring. Oh, yes. You have such a good team."

A gasp echoed around the entire Plaza. A camera that was set on the top of the wide, metal structure panned to see all the Tributes as they surfaced in the isolation tubes. Gale remembered how his own heart was racing as his tube opened and disappeared, leaving him on a pedestal that would explode within seconds of the timer going off on the Cornucopia.

There they were, and they looked so young. That girl, Rue, from Eleven was so tiny. And the boy from Seven. Where was Katniss?

The Gamemakers had the video focus and pause on her and Gale ground his jaw to avoid saying anything there in front of Ginger and Marston Potter. Didn't matter, really, because they spoke instead.

"She looks good, gentlemen," Ginger remarked thoughtfully. "Did you have any last minute advice for her?"

Haymitch shrugged. "The basics, you know. Find water. Get out of the way. Stay alive."

"And you, Mr. Hawthorne?" Marston inquired, his gaze still on the screen, though the faces were now tense and watching the countdown. "Any last words?"

"I advised them to stick together," he said as the timer got down to 10. "I didn't have the chance, last year, but I wished I had."

He got a glimpse of Peeta shaking his head in the general direction where Katniss had been standing and he wondered what that was about. Was she indicating a direction for them to run? Had she seen the shiny, silver bow and arrow set in the middle of the weapons cache? Hell no, Catnip. Stay away from that!

There were no more questions as the voices in the Plaza started to count down with the timer. Out loud. As if this were some sort of sporting event. All while the Tributes were looking fit to run a race, knees bent, hands flexing, an eye on a destination.

Get out! Get out of there! Go! Somehow, he felt that Peeta would run to the trees as he'd been told. But would Katniss? Or would she go for the weapons?

"Three! Two! One!" And then the low, eerie tone sounded and twenty-four people jumped, hopped, or ran to get off their pedestals. No one suffered the tragic fate of Fern, he was glad to see. Perhaps all of their Mentors or Stylists—who were the last ones to see them before the Games began—had reminded them of Fern's fate.

Gale didn't know. He was just relieved not to see that again.

And then, there was no time for relief. "Good man, Mellark," Haymitch said, nodding as Peeta ran like the wind to the shelter of the trees.

He was not the only one, but he was the fastest. But then, the focus was on the bloodbath. Cheers in the Plaza reached his ears, but Gale didn't heed them. He was watching for a distinctive face, a long, thick braid that he knew so very well. A face he'd caressed just the night before.

And she wasn't running! Dammit, Catnip! Move!

"What is she doing?" Ginger Potter mused in a languid fashion that grated on Gale's heart.

"Oh, look. The girl from Two got a pack and ran for the hills!" Mr. Potter remarked. "Smart girl. She's not strong enough to go toe-to-toe with, say, the boy from Eleven."

"Very true, my love."

It took just about all that Gale had not to give way to the roiling anger in his gut over their casual spectatorship. They can help, he reminded himself. Stay cool. They can help if there's a problem.

"Oh, nice job," Haymitch said, slapping Gale's bicep with the back of his hand. "Look. She got a pack and ran. Smart."

"Oh, no, someone's after her."

"Katniss is fast on her feet," Gale said, wanting to reassure himself as much as the potential Sponsors.

"Oh, you know her well?"

Ginger Potter's question chilled Gale, and he instantly remembered all the people he had to protect in his next sentence.

"We all went to school together, in Twelve. She's two years behind me, but our dads both worked the mine."

"Ah—oh look! She's down!"

"What?!" Terror seized Gale's throat as one third of the screen caught Katniss falling and nearly dying by a brutal battle-axe. But then, Clove from Two killed that boy with a wicked knife throw. She tried to do the same to Katniss, but Katniss lifted her pack and used it as a shield.

"Well done, Girl on Fire!" Marston declared, pretending to lift a glass to her. "Stopped the attack and acquired a weapon all at once." He leaned to his wife. "I like her."

"And that marks the end of another Tribute," Caesar Flickerman announced later that afternoon. There had been twelve percussive sounds. Twelve deaths, all at the Cornucopia.

Ginger and Marston Potter had reminded Gale and Haymitch to look them up. "Really, she's our favorite so far, and I love to see a strong girl who loves her family," Ginger said, nodding as if approving of a press release. "She made quite an impact."

"Thank you," Haymitch said smoothly. "We'll remember. Come on, Gale. Let's go find a drink."

As they walked, mingling as was required, Haymitch was ranting under his breath. "Damned fool kids. I told 'em to stick together. Didn't you tell 'em to stick together?"

"I did, yeah. And Peeta started off but then Katniss…decided she needed supplies." Haymitch swore and Gale held up a hand. "Hey, she stayed away from the bow, right? So that was smart. I'm hoping whatever was in that pack was worth it."

"You an' me both."

The screens were now split in half, Claudius Templesmith on one side and—at the moment—the Tributes from Eleven hustling through the trees together. Even as they watched, though, the male, Thresh, stopped them to talk to little Rue. Then, they split up. Templesmith mused as to why that might be the case.

Gale didn't have the patience to wait any longer. And, as they were just then alone, huddled together like other groups of Mentors he could see around the Plaza just then, he figured he could talk. "This is going to sound, well, ignorant. Sorry. But. Do the Avoxes get stripped of any skills? Like how to fly?"

Haymitch blinked and pursed his lips for a silent whistle. "Maybe. I'll ask around. You got the thing ready?"

"I do."

"Well." The older man blew out a breath and turned to watch the screen again. "Impressive. You'll have to tell me about it. Later."

"Later."

They continued to watch, buying food from wandering vendors. Extravagantly spiced meats and frothy beverages came and went and they watched. Katniss and Peeta had yet to connect and, with every hour that passed, Gale grew more worried.

Still, the pair of them were alive by the end of the day, and that was good. Half the Tributes weren't.

"You look like hell," Haymitch remarked when they accepted breakfast from the young Avox who had, for better or worse, helped them out so far.

Gale poured coffee into his cup, spooning sugar into it immediately thereafter. "Tell me you sleep the first night every year?" The coffee was hot, but it helped to jolt him to a better sense of his environment, so he welcomed it even as Haymitch tippled a bit of something from a flask into his own coffee. "I kept the screen on, just in case, all night."

The other man stood and gathered what he wanted to eat before collapsing back onto his chair. "First night? Well, yeah. I sleep. I slept last night, honest. Though," he went on to say, pulling apart a biscuit and topping it with marmalade, "it took me about eight years before I could do that, so I honestly don't blame you."

"Good morning!" Effie called as she click-clacked her way into the dining area. "Is there water? I am so dehydrated. Last night was exhausting! Oh, there it is!" She poured water into a blue goblet and drank it all off in one go.

While she was doing that, Cinna and Portia entered. Portia filled her water goblet as well and took a blue pill, while Cinna went for coffee with more cream and sugar than Gale had ever seen anyone use before.

"You all right?" Gale asked, keeping his voice low in case Cinna had a hangover. The pill Portia took was a stimulant; he'd seen them before. Cinna, though, looked to be handling his headache the old-fashioned way.

Cinna held up a hand, drank his coffee, and sank gracefully onto his usual seat. The Avox stepped around the table, now that everyone was there, and moved the serving plates about to be more convenient, as well as replacing the water pitchers.

Effie selected pastries and requested some fresh fruit. "Well, then," she said, obviously going for Group Leader position. Which, Gale supposed, made sense as she was their Escort. "Today! I watched the overnight report while I was in the shower," she said, pulling apart her pastry and selecting a bite-sized piece. "They're still with us, which is to be expected." She popped the pastry in her mouth and somehow continued to smile while she poured herself more water. After she swallowed, she kept talking as if she'd never stopped. "I know you're anxious for them, especially you, Gale and Cinna, as it's your first year, but they're doing great. I saw Katniss was looking for water and Peeta found a group that's taken him on for the time being."

Gale winced and Haymitch rolled his eyes. "That was not the strategy," Haymitch said, throwing his napkin on the table. "They're supposed to stick together!"

"I'm sure they will, Haymitch. Relax! It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, yet."

The Avox replaced Haymitch's napkin and tapped it as if to draw attention to it. Gale glanced at her and caught the barely significant light in her eyes, but he looked away immediately and grabbed a piece of bacon. She had left a message, he was pretty sure. Nerves buzzed under his skin. They were really doing this, but how the hell were they going to get them both out if Katniss and Peeta weren't together?

Portia was peeling an orange. "I'm thinking positive on this one. Gale Hawthorne, you may have made me an optimist." Gale tried to smile, but he felt weird doing so. The woman continued. "I'm designing an ensemble for Peeta's Victory Tour. I feel so inspired!"

Cinna nodded. "Our Girl on Fire will make it. I just feel it," he said quietly, pushing his fried potatoes about on his plate. "So I've got some ideas for a Victory Tour, as well." Portia huffed dramatically but Cinna only shrugged. "No apologies here."

"Well, it sounds like we'll all be very busy, today. I'll be checking in with my stylists, of course, because if you're going to be optimists, so am I!" Effie plucked another piece of her pastry up and tossed it in her mouth.

From the lounge, a rich voice with a practiced curl emanated from all the hidden speakers. "And now, here's Claudius Templesmith with a recap of the first day of the 74th Hunger Games!"

The Hunger Games were broadcast 24/7 during the day on a dedicated channel. Periodically, the Gamemakers would make appearances on featured broadcasts with "Hunger Games Highlights" as well. Gale was not surprised to find the Games being shown in the lounge as he and the others finished eating.

"Be right back," he murmured, hurrying from the table to his private bath. "I want a chair!" he called over his shoulder. He grabbed a pen on his way to the toilet. After doing the needful, he unrolled the toilet paper to find, yes, another note.

Ask for Flex.

Tell him Lavinia sent you because he can fly.

You'll have to buy or borrow him from the Transfer.

Gale felt hope surge in his chest with this message. After reading it twice, he disposed of it in the best method before rejoining everyone in the lounge.

Haymitch was smirking; he'd taken the only chair, the jerk. Gale shot him a look and angled his chin at the screen. "News?"

The team was still together in the lounge; even that show of support struck Gale badly, that day. The desire to see the latest body count, to see what the Tributes were doing, how they were plotting on killing one another or finding food without getting caught and killed while doing it…It was awful. He'd always thought so. Even more since he had been the Victor the year before and had had to face the families of the Tributes who had died in the 73rd Games.

The older Mentor pointed at the viewing screen. "Well, the Careers have all teamed up, surprise, surprise. And, uh—"

"Peeta's with them," Portia said breathlessly, her fingers laced together, and her body language filled with tension as she studied Gale. "Something about hunting down, ah, That Girl on Fire."

Cinna grimaced and pushed himself to his feet. "Well, I'm still unofficially betting on her, so I'm going to work on her Victory Interview outfit. Coming?"

Portia allowed the other Stylist to help her up. "Peeta's smart. He'll get back to her. You said you had talked about a plan?"

Haymitch blew out a breath. "It involved their sticking it out together, though. This is not the plan."

The screen flickered and a small figure darted across it through slanting rays of light in the forest. "And look there," Templesmith said, his voice high and excited. "The girl from Eleven is running off with one of Clove's knives. Remember, Clove is said to have a great skill with those. Oh, and there Clove goes, and it's a chase! She threw another one—and missed!"

Gale gripped the back of the sofa until his hands hurt. Rue, the girl's name was Rue, and he knew by something Katniss had said that Rue reminded Katniss of her sister.

"No one volunteered to take Rue's place," she'd whispered when they were talking quietly after they'd kissed. "I don't think I could…could be the one to kill her. I—"

"I would never expect you to," he had assured Katniss.

Her body had trembled in his embrace and he'd pulled her even closer. She pushed her forehead against him. "I'm not cut out for this. I don't want anyone to die, Gale. I just want it done."

"I know."

"But I can't win unless…I'll have to, at least once, right?" She blew out a breath. "Am I that strong? That, that ruthless?"

"Do you want to live? I want you to live, Catnip. I want you to come home with me. I want…I want it all. I do. Eventually."

She'd gripped him tightly and nodded. "I want to live. I want to go home with you. Take them all away with us. I want all of that. You make me want to want more, Gale. Is that, is that enough?"

He'd smiled and kissed her hair, lingering and rocking her back and forth a little as they stood together. "It's enough. For now."

"I can't let her die, though. I won't. Not if I can help it. Rue, I mean."

"Just…do your best to come home, Catnip."

"I will."

It came, then, as no surprise at all to Gale when a sharp wooden arrow flew out of the trees, making Clove stumble enough so that Rue could skip away.

"Well!" Templesmith said, glee ringing in his voice. "Someone's watching out for that little girl. Let's see if we can find out…ah, it's Katniss Everdeen! The Girl on Fire! Look at that!" There was a swooping shot of Katniss darting away, a rough-hewn bow in her hand and her pack on her back as she went.

Gale could not help his grin. That's my girl.

"Her name's Lavinia."

They were entering the party-never-stops atmosphere which was The Plaza during the Hunger Games. All the screens were showing different views, to provide for even more noise and bustle. One was a shot of the Gamemakers, but no audio was included. Just a look at Seneca Crane as, with hands on hips, he was performing some kind of countdown. Haymitch looked focused on the nearest screen, which showed Peeta and Cato, from District 2, chasing someone across an open meadow.

Their prey wasn't wearing Katniss's backpack, so Gale wasn't as interested.

Haymitch grunted. "The Avox? Good. I feel like crap, now, not having asked her."

"So do I," Gale confessed. "She wrote it down. I've gotta get us a pilot."

The other man pinned him with a wry side-eye. "You're the newest Victor, Hawthorne, and you're Mentor for the Girl on Fire. You've got, what did they call it in the books? Carte blanche."

"Does that mean money?" Gale asked with a shake of his head. "More than you already gave me?" Haymitch handed over a chip-card without comment. Blowing out a breath, Gale managed to say, "Okay. Thanks. And what are you doing, today?"

Haymitch inhaled, pressed his lips together, and rolled up on his toes. "I'm gonna use some of my other, ah, resources. I've got a debt to pay."

Parts of their conversation on the day before the Reaping came to the forefront of Gale's memory. "Right, then. I'll handle the vacation arrangements. And if I see any of our…friends…I'll give them your regards."

"Perfect. Thanks." Haymitch straightened his jacket—a dark one, appropriate for meeting with Sponsors that they might need at any moment—and stepped away.

Left on his own, Gale felt momentarily vulnerable. The heaving, noisy mass of humanity that surrounded him, combined with the multiple broadcast options, made him want to cover his eyes and ears for a few moments to gain some peace. He didn't.

What he did do was look for a familiar face, to help him with getting an Avox from Transfer. Most of the people he knew had some form of employment, even in the Capitol, but he thought he might find someone in the Plaza as the hour drew toward midday.

He was just surprised to find Dr. Smith and her husband.

"Gale Hawthorne!" Grigson called out, his voice clear over the myriad others. "Your Tributes are doing quite well, today."

Putting on a smile, Gale made his way to their table and sat when invited. "I didn't know you'd be out, this morning."

"Well," the cryosurgeon said, sipping on a bottle of something fizzy, "we're taking a long, early lunch. Where's Abernathy?"

Gale leaned back in his chair. "Oh, meeting and greeting on his own. Figured I needed the practice solo, I guess, for a while."

The couple laughed politely, and Gale wondered if he could ask them. "And yes, Katniss and Peeta are doing well, so far. We're quite proud of them."

Grigson nodded. "I should think so. But," he went on, leaning forward and offering Gale an unopened sandwich, "you have the look of a man who's hunting for something, yourself."

Gale froze for a moment, took the sandwich, and gathered his thoughts while he broke the seal on the food. The sun passed behind some clouds, and he didn't know if that was a bad omen or not, but he figured nothing ventured, nothing gained.

"After the Games, I'm wanting to take my girlfriend and our families on a little vacation."

Dr. Smith—whose hair that day looked like the tip of a candle's flame—beamed. "What a lovely idea! Are you bringing them here to the Capitol? I imagine they'd enjoy the novelty of everything. You could show them around!"

He smiled at her but shook his head. "Kind of thinking to get away from it all, you know? And I wondered if you knew where I might hire a pilot. I heard there were Avoxes in Transfer that would be capable."

"Oh, yes. Actually, we do have a…few…who are adequate for such an endeavor." She cocked her head in a critical manner. Much, he imagined, as she would do when presented with a surgical oddity. "You should talk to Crassus, who is their overseer. Crassus Torte. Tell him I sent you," she added with a wicked little smile. "And if he asks…intimate questions? Make something up."

He blushed and she seemed to find that amusing. Thanking her, he asked where he might find Crassus Torte, and got the appropriate directions. "I really appreciate your recommendation," he assured her.

"Oh, I'm sure. I hope you and your…girlfriend will have a great getaway. It's always nice to take some time alone. You can make it up to me and Grigs next time you're in the Capitol."

His insides turned to ice, but he brought out a practiced smile. "I will definitely let you know when I'm back."

Even having watched the Hunger Games for basically his entire life, Gale did not realize how awful the constant eyes-on aspect of all the Arena cameras could be. The year before he'd been reaped, during the 72nd Hunger Games, he had only been angry at the situation and horrified when both Tributes from his District met their ends. As they had. Every single year of his life until the last year.

During his own Games, the fact of the cameras and the attention being paid to them was peripheral; he didn't think about it while trying to stay alive. Occasionally, he'd remember to look at them, but only when he was having a restful moment. Haymitch had been adamant about the need to appear strong and confident to inspire Sponsorship. Gale had done his best but hadn't thought about the wider idea of being under the gaze of all of Panem during the Games.

While he was making his way to the Transfer offices, though, he couldn't help but be aware of the cameras in the Arena. All the Tributes were seen, at one point or another, depending upon how interesting they were. Cato, from Two, was the apparent leader of the Career group that had oddly adopted Peeta Mellark. The Career Alliance invariably had a lot of screen time and all around the Plaza, Gale could hear the cheers for them and individual names being shouted and bets being placed.

But then, there were others, and on the screen at that moment were Katniss and Rue, who had clearly set up an alliance of their own.

"Looks like they're trying to find water," Flickerman was saying, an air of tense anticipation about him. "Did you see, Claudius, how young Rue was digging up the roots by that tree while Katniss was using that small branch to check the soil?"

"I did indeed, Caesar. They're showing their survival training, I'm sure, that they learned here after the Reaping."

Gale scoffed silently. Katniss had known how to find water before he'd ever seen her fire an arrow.

"Their alliance is certainly proving beneficial, though it seems odd, to me," Templesmith went on to say. Then, he gave his co-host a scripted segue. "What about you, Caesar?"

"Oh, I think she's taking care of Rue as she would have hoped someone would have taken care of her sister. You remember the Reaping, of course!"

Templesmith affected a dramatic expression. "I do! Well, let's hope that they find their water soon!"

Gale stayed to watch for the next half-hour. As a Mentor, it was expected that he would be avidly interested in the Games, and so his appearance in the Plaza was in no way suspicious.

"And look, there's Cato from Two! And he and Peeta Mellark from Twelve are still working together, there. That is an odd partnership, but it seems that they have, ah, look!" Caesar exclaimed, handing the conversation over to Claudius.

"I see it! They've stockpiled everything there at the Cornucopia. As long as they are in an alliance, this group has nothing to worry about."

How long would the Gamemakers let that stand, Gale had to wonder.

He was also wondering about Katniss and the water. Others had found water, and the Careers had it bottled—Peeta was fully hydrated, for sure—but Katniss wouldn't last long unless she could get to some.

"You're Gale Hawthorne! Crassus Torte, at your service."

Gale shook hands with the Transfer official, noting the eager, grasping light in his pale eyes. "Thank you for meeting with me. I'm looking for a skilled pilot, and I heard you had an Avox who might be available for me after the Games. Flex was his name, I heard. I apologize if this is inconvenient timing," he went on as Crassus's gaze kept flickering to the by now ubiquitous display screen. "But I don't have a lot of personal time while I'm here for the Games."

"Oh, right! Sure!" Crassus's cheeks went red with embarrassment. He keyed up a screen from the monitor in front of him. "If you tell me where you'll be later, I can send that Avox to your suite."

Gale stared at him; was the man that uninformed? Maybe. "In the Tower. District Twelve has the penthouse."

Crassus's forehead furrowed as he made notes. "Right. He'll have the standard rental contract with him. Deposit required in advance. Will he be flying you back to your District from here, Mr. Hawthorne?"

Gale managed to barely hide his worried wince, saying with confidence he tried to make certain: "If all goes well, no. I'll be riding the train home with my Tribute, of course. I'll be requiring his services to fly the hovercraft to pick up my friends."

"Right. Of course! Sorry," he added with a rueful smile. "We don't get requests like this that often."

E/N: Being a Mentor is hard work, especially when you're doing more than "just" Mentoring. If you want to take a look at the next chapter and are signed in and accepting PMs, just drop me a line that says, "I volunteer!" Not everyone likes sneak peeks, so I don't send them unless you've volunteered. :-)