More than Chance

by Callidora Medea

Four are reaped and sent to an arena of twenty-four tributes to fight to the death. They are the Pariah, with a background that sparks rumors; the Fisherman, who's grown up on the ocean; the Innocent, whose reaping may not have been chance; and the Performer, who will give the Capitol their show. This is the 41st Hunger Games. Sequel to the Most Dangerous Game.

61. Chapter 61- No Weakness

Chapter 61- Astrid Clearwater

"You're cleared for release."

I rub my hand against my bare arm and look at the doctor, fighting back all the things I want to say to him. I doubt I could even put together what I want to say; every thought in my head keeps sliding away just out of reach.

"So I can go," I say, as hostilely as I can. I don't like the doctors, always hovering around, or worse, leaving me alone to be knocked out again and again. That's not why I won the Games. I'm not sure why I won the Games; my head is too foggy to put it all together.

"Your condition seems to be stable," he says, flipping through his electronic chart that displays my information above it in a hologram. "You shouldn't have any problems as long as you're careful."

"I'm not going to be falling out of trees again any time soon," I snap, digging my nails into my arm. I don't like sitting in this white shift in front of him, and I don't like being in this white room with only my bed in it. Apparently I've been in here for two days, and I've been unconscious for most of it.

I'm a victor, and I should be rising above it all, but right now I just want to go home to my mother.

The doctor starts listing off my injuries again, which I know by heart now. Moderate concussion. Displaced fracture in the right fibula. Metal plate to fuse the bone. All Capitol ways of saying that I broke my leg and I'm going to be confused for a long time. I don't like the fogginess, and my head hasn't been clear since getting sick on the beach. When Elowyn took care of me instead of running.

She's dead. She's dead just like the rest of them, and victors don't mourn their dead allies. She's dead, Tilling is dead, they're all dead. But I'm not. I won the Hunger Games.

"Don't you do anything dangerous, and you should feel back to normal by your Victory Tour." The doctor smiles, revealing a set of diamond encrusted teeth. Back to normal? There is no normal anymore.

"I'll let you get dressed, and your team will be waiting for you down the hall," he continues, then clicks a button on his chart that makes it disappear, and walks off through the door in the wall without another glance at me.

My team. I don't know if I'm ready to see them yet. I don't trust them, not any of them, and I shouldn't. They're all Capitol, and the Capitol wanted me dead two days ago. I can't trust anyone in this city, and that includes Beetee. I don't know what to think about him. I don't know what he thinks about me. I killed Circuit.

I finally look at the clothes that one of the Avox girls laid out for me, and I automatically recoil, pushing myself back towards the head of the bed. It's the uniform that they made us all wear in the arena. They told me that I was safe, that I'm in the Capitol, but I don't trust them not to put me back in the arena. I can't trust anyone again, not that I've ever had a lot of trust in my life. My mother and my brother, that's who I can trust. But I'm here and they're there, and this uniform is what's keeping us apart.

"Just do it," I mutter to myself, pulling the white shift off and pulling on the green pants, black shirt, and brown jacket. As I lace up the boots, the wall opens up into a door again, and I can see the hallway behind it.

Half of me is still in the arena, and I can't help but expect a jungle to appear, with cat mutts that are designed to kill me. But the other half of me knows that I'm in a hospital somewhere in the Capitol, and I'm as safe as I can be for the moment. Slowly, I take a moment to braid back my hair; I want to look like me. Astrid Clearwater. The girl and the victor all at once.

My footsteps echo on the smooth white floor as I march myself out of the room and into the hallway. Which way do I go? Frankly, I have no idea. A stabbing pain goes through my head and I reel sideways, holding onto the wall with one hand, and clutching my temple with the other. No. I can't show weakness. I'm still the victor, and victors can't hurt. Not victors from District 3. I'm not weak. I'm not.

Righting myself, I weave slightly down the hall, keeping one hand on the wall for support. They healed my cheek and my forehead, and they mostly fixed my legs, my ripped one and my broken one, but all their medicine can't fix the concussion I got after falling out of that stupid tree. By December I should be better, that's what they told me, but I can't wait that long to piece my thoughts together. I need to get on top of what happened in the arena, and then forget it entirely.

I can still feel the mutt kicking me, the hot pain of my broken leg, Aggie cutting me. Circuit wrapping his wire around my throat before I killed him too. I can't care. I can't care they're all dead, because I'm a victor, and victors don't care.

"Astrid!"

Delia. Every thought I have slides to the bottoms of my head, because I can hear Delia Charm's voice. For a moment I feel an emotion I can't quite place, then realize that it's elation. A familiar voice, somebody who knows me, who doesn't want to kill me. I don't trust her, but I trust that she won't drive a knife through my chest.

It hurts to push myself off the wall and let go of my head, but I force myself to do it anyway; there are going to be cameras, and I have to be as whole and unhurt as possible. I'm District 3; I won't let them see me be weak. I won't ever be weak for them.

I see Delia first; she looks the same as she always did, with her pale white skin and blue wig that she was wearing when she first pulled my name out of the bowl. She's grinning at me, holding her arms out expectantly, like she's actually happy to see me. My feet almost stumble over themselves, but I right myself, and finally arrive just in front of my escort.

"Oh, well done, Astrid!" she says, throwing her arms around me. I stiffen; I never liked being touched before the Games, and it's worse now that I'm out of the arena. Delia must not like hugging a human board, because she lets me go quickly, satisfying herself with a pat on my head.

Sparkle, my stupid stylist, is bouncing up and down next to Delia; I must be the first success of her whole career.

"That was so amazing!" she squeals, not bothering to try to embrace me, which I appreciate. Instead, she quivers with excitement and looks at me with large, shining eyes.

Finally, I turn to the person who I've been dreading seeing, and is the person I've wanted to see most at the same time. He's standing, well dressed and groomed, with his hands behind his back, studying me like I'm a puzzle, and I study him right back.

The pounding in my head is worse, but I straighten up as much as I can, and look my mentor dead in the eyes. "I won."

"So you did," Beetee replies, cracking a small smile. I can read him, just like he can read me, and what I can see in his eyes is a flicker of pride. That's enough for me. I won, Circuit didn't, and I am the tribute standing in front of him as a victor. But would he act the same towards Circuit if he had won? I don't know.

I want to tell him what I think, and what I want to know, but this is on camera, and I don't want Panem to know everything. It's better left unsaid until I can get Beetee alone.

"Later, then," I say, and Beetee gives me an almost invisible nod. I don't think Delia and Sparkle know what to make of us; neither Beetee nor I are exactly jumping up and down thrilled to see each other.

"Now, Astrid," Delia starts, breaking our thick silence with her chirpy voice. I haven't missed that since I landed in the arena at all. "Sparkle is going to take you upstairs to get you ready for your interviews tonight, isn't that exciting?"

"Extremely," I say, keeping my voice neutral. I'm a victor, and they're going to hold me in the Capitol until they're done with me, but I don't have to act ecstatic about it.

"Come on, Astrid," Sparkle chirps, walking away down another hall with a bounce in her step. I glance back at Beetee, and he's actually smiling at me, then he gives me a nod in the direction of my stylist. I nod back and follow Sparkle down the hall, to wherever she's taking me.

"So, we're going to get you some food, I'll bet you're starving," Sparkle starts, just as we reach a pair of elevators. "Then we're going to get you all ready for the movie tonight!"

Right. The recap. Underneath my feet, the elevator shoots up, making me stumble to the side. Honestly, I completely forgot about the recap. I just got out of the arena two days ago; the last thing I want to do is relive it. I don't want to see my allies die, and I don't want to watch that last hour before I won. Breathe, Astrid. Just another obstacle to get over before they finally let me go home. An interview tonight, an interview tomorrow, then I can get onto the train and leave this city behind me.

Abruptly, the elevator stops, knocking me off balance again. Sparkle has to notice me swaying back and forth, but she's too focused on herself to think about me. But I'm really surprised when the doors open onto the lobby of the Training Center, but on the opposite side of the elevators for the apartments. Somewhere along the way I was told that I was going to be here, but that thought shifted and never came back to me. And I was unconscious and couldn't think about it then either.

"I didn't know there was a hospital here," I say evenly, pushing my feelings down until they get lost in the haze of thoughts and memories.

"Oh, yes, it's below the gymnasium," Sparkle says absentmindedly as she steps out of the elevator and walks with purpose across the stone floor of the lobby. It's prettier here than I remember, or maybe it's because I just spent a week in a jungle, but I do notice the windows and doors have been blacked out, and five Peacekeepers with guns are guarding the doors.

"Why are they here?" I ask, jogging to keep up with Sparkle, even though it spikes a stabbing pain straight through my head. The floor is gently swooping under my feet, and it makes it hard to walk straight. No weakness. I'm not hurt.

"Oh, you know how it is," Sparkle says, pushing the elevator button.

"No. I don't."

"Everybody wants to see the new victor!"

No, they want to see their latest plaything before they find a new one next year.

"Come on, get in!" Sparkle says, and her mask of excitement breaks into brief impatience, before smoothing over again into that Capitol veneer that I dislike. False. Everybody in this city is false and completely untrustworthy. Silently I step into the elevator and watch Sparkle press the button for 3. As soon as the elevator starts, the nausea returns, and I'm very close to throwing up in this small, glass room, but I manage to hold it back. No weakness, Astrid. No weakness. And throwing up will absolutely make everyone think that I'm sick and useless. No matter how many people I killed.

As the doors open, I'm greeted by a chorus of, "Welcome back!" Lara and Spila. My prep team. They're self centered like Sparkle, but still harmless. It doesn't make me like them, however. And I absolutely cannot trust them.

One person that's not here is Pompey, Circuit's stylist. For a moment all I can feel is relief that he's gone, because I never liked him, but the reason he isn't here is because I killed his tribute. I doubt he cares; tributes are expendable and replaceable to these people, but it doesn't change the fact that I killed Circuit Wallcry, and Pompey has no tribute to dress anymore. I killed Circuit, and I don't know how much guilt I have over it yet. Another thing to piece together when my thoughts are clearer.

"Lunch is all ready!" Lara pipes, her voice high enough to bring every dog in the Capitol to the apartment.

"You must be hungry!" Spila adds, patting her bright pink hair back into place. Both women are grotesquely tattooed, but I'm too tired to care. It doesn't seem fair that I spent two days asleep, and I'm still tired.

Grabbing me firmly by the elbow, Sparkle half steers, half drags me into the dining room, then lets go of me before I can hit her. For a second I glance at the knives set at the table, and my first instinct is to grab one and kill Sparkle before she can grab me and kill me instead. I'm not in the arena anymore. I'm not. But the fact that my first thoughts are still in the jungle terrifies me.

"Sit down!" Sparkle says, pointing to a seat across from Spila, while she and Lara take opposite ends of the table. As soon as we're all seated, the Avoxes bring in plates of roast chicken, carrots, bread rolls, and a yellowish grain that I don't recognize. My thoughts aren't slippery enough for me not to want food. It's been driven into me from years of hunger and need, and it's not going to go away anytime soon.

I won the Games, and if I can help it, I'll never be hungry again.

I reach for a roll, but Sparkle shoves my hand down while Lara steals my plate.

"I am perfectly capable of serving myself," I say, glaring at my stylist. Just because I was in the hospital doesn't that they can treat me like a child. I killed two boys, I can serve myself a plate of chicken.

"Oh, no, portion controls," Lara says, spooning a small amount of grain onto my plate, a single roll, a scoop of carrots, and two pieces of chicken. I had bigger meals in the arena.

"There you go," she says, placing the plate down in front of me. Compared to Sparkle and Spila's overflowing plates, mine is dismal and empty.

"I can eat more than this, you know," I say, trying to keep my voice even.

"Oh, we know, but we don't want you to bring it all back up tonight," Spila laughs, leaning over to pat my hand. Automatically, I slap her hand away.

"I don't give a damn what you want," I snap, glaring at her. Spila opens and closes her mouth several times, searching for something to say, but she can't find anything. My head might be empty right now, but I can guarantee that hers is emptier. Nothing but feathers and frills. While she's silent, and the rest of the table is shocked, I reach over and grab another piece of chicken and a second roll.

"That- that's not allowed," Sparkle sputters. You would think that she's never had anyone go against something she's said before.

"Well, I don't care," I say, biting into the roll while keeping direct eye contact with her. I don't. I don't care. Everyone I liked in the arena is dead, or more specifically, Elowyn. She's dead, I can eat whatever I want. So there.

It's a silent meal, which suits me fine. I don't want to talk to these people anyway. I could eat the whole chicken myself, but I don't take any more. They're going to want to get me dressed tonight, and they can't do that if they're dead from shock. Me breaking their etiquette rules must absolutely horrify them.

As soon as I finish the last carrot on my plate, Sparkle stands up, all of her earlier energy apparently drained out of her. "We have to get you ready for the interviews now, Astrid." Her voice seems to have dropped down; still high, but not as false as it was earlier.

"Let's go then," I say, pushing my chair back and standing up. The floor ripples under me like the waves in the ocean, but I keep myself steady. Waves in the ocean, like how they were when the Cornucopia went down and took Tilling with it. She's dead too, but I can't think of her as the girl I knew. She's been replaced by the rotting corpse of my feverish nightmare, and I can't shake it.

Sparkle leads me down the hall to my room, and I'm hit with a wave of nostalgia as soon as the door opens. I spent all of Training in here; this is where I came when I thought I had failed my private session. Where I spent my last night before the Games. It's funny that anything in the Capitol could be comforting, but seeing this room feels so familiar that I can feel myself relax for the first time in weeks.

"Into the shower with you," Sparkle says, evidently trying to regain some of her former vigor. "Here, I'll program it."

"I can do it," I interrupt. The last thing I want is a thousand bubbles and jet streams to attack me. Sparkle just watches as I get into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. It's so clean and white and shiny in here, and the bright lights hurt my eyes and head. Just have to get through the next two days and I can go home.

The last time I saw myself was in the gold metallic reflection of the Cornucopia, and I didn't recognize myself then. Now, looking in the mirror attached to the wall in here, I don't even resemble myself anymore. If on reaping day I saw me now, I wouldn't guess that we were the same person. Gaunt face with sharp angles, over large eyes that don't look like mine anymore. Mine used to look tired, now I look wary. My hair is the only thing that grounds me and lets me know that I am the same girl in the mirror that I used to be.

It hurts too much to keep looking at myself, so I get into the shower like Sparkle said to do. I punch in the gentlest setting I can figure out, and stand with my eyes closed under a shower that feels like a summer rain. Like how it felt the day of the reaping, before everything changed. It wasn't that long ago.

As soon as I'm out and dry, my prep team pounces on me, wrapping me in a robe and dragging me into my bedroom. I let them do my hair, paint my face and my nails, and put shoes on my feet. There's no point to protesting; it's better to let them do what they want, even though I flinch every time Spila or Lara touches my neck or my face. I can still feel Circuit's wire wrapping around my neck, and the necklace that Sparkle is putting on me makes me want to rip it off and throw it as far away as I can.

"Arms up!" Lara squeals, like everything that happened at supper doesn't exist anymore. Everything is forgettable to these people, isn't it? Actions, memories, people. Everything is expendable. Silently, I put my arms up in and close my eyes; even though I don't want to see the recap, don't want the interviews or the attention, I'm still curious about the dress that Sparkle is putting me into. I still want to be pretty.

The cool and slippery fabric slides over my head, fitting perfectly to my thin form, before draping itself around my sandaled feet. It's a lot more comfortable than a lot of things I've worn. Sparkle makes a few adjustments, then says, "Take a look!"

I open my eyes, facing a full length mirror, and I do love what I see. The dress is dark blue and ankle length, with the bodice and front section of the skirt in shining gold. Gold strapped sandals match it; my hair is pulled up on top of my head in back, while the rest hangs loose in waves around my shoulders. They've done wonders with their makeup too; my face doesn't look gaunt anymore. I look like a victor, and even though I dislike all three of them, I really am grateful that they've made me beautiful again.

"It's beautiful," I say, turning side to side in the mirror. Lara and Spila light up, and Sparkle looks very pleased with herself. Tonight, I look Capitol, and maybe that's what I need to get through the recap.

"We are on in an hour!" Delia calls out as she marches into the room in an absolutely absurd outfit covered in feathers. "Astrid, you look lovely."

"Thank you," I tell her, then she goes back to turning her attention to my prep team.

"I'll take her off; you three get ready. It's all of our nights!" she says, a grin breaking across her face, then she gestures for me to follow her. So I do, leaving my prep team behind.

"Where are we going?" I ask once we're in the living room.

"Down to the gymnasium level," she says distractedly as she presses the elevator button. "You'll be sent up to the stage from there."

I don't say anything else; there's nothing else to say. Everything is happening too fast; I was only released from the hospital this morning. Now I'm dressed in a blue silk dress and about to be shoved up onto a stage I don't want to be on.

As soon as the elevator drops, my stomach goes with it, and I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself from vomiting all over my pretty dress.

"Are you alright, Astrid?" Delia asks, frowning at me. I wave her off.

"I'm fine. Just not used to elevators anymore." I clench my teeth together and smile at her; let her think that being in a jungle for a week has made me forget how to ride an elevator. Better that than have her talk about my concussion to everyone. I don't want anyone to know that I'm confused, because then they'll take advantage of that. I know they would.

"Well, here we are!" Delia steps out of the elevator first, and I follow after her, into the all too familiar floor of the gymnasium. An overwhelming feeling of guilt and loss flows over me, which is ridiculous, since I didn't care about anybody but Elowyn. But everyone that I trained with is dead. The little girl from 8. The troublemakers, Kiril, all the Careers. They're all dead, and I'm the only one left. There's no reason for me to feel guilty, because I didn't kill anyone else besides the boy from 2 and Circuit, and technically Tilling, but I do all the same.

"This way!" Delia trills, gesturing for me to go after her. The floor down here is busier than it was in Training; I can see cameramen, women and men with makeup kits, electrical equipment, building supplies. "You'll be in this room here," Delia continues, pointing into a dimly lit room on my left.

"I'll take her from here," a Capitol woman with green skin and a headset says, grinning at Delia. "You'll be going on before her, so go take your places!" Delia smiles broadly back, then clicks away towards somewhere else that she has to be.

"Sit down right there," the woman says, pointing to a dark green love seat beside the door. "We'll come get you when it's time."

I nod at her and sit down, spreading out my gold and blue dress around me. People rush past me, all in some bizarre set of clothing, until I lose track of who is who. I'd love to just go to sleep right here and escape the recap all together, but I can't let myself do that. Instead, I try to get on top of my thoughts and pin them down, but they get away from me every time. I hate this foggy feeling inside my head, and it's too cloudy to focus. I need to be able to focus, to think; without my head, I'm nothing. I have to be smart to get through the next few days.

I just keep running after my slippery thoughts until she comes back; I don't know how much time has passed. There are no clocks down here, and there's no way that I can keep time correctly anymore. "Well, you get up now and follow me," she says, barely glancing in my direction. I stand up stiffly, and jerkily walk after her. I'm terrified, but I'll never admit it.

"You'll stand right here," the woman continues, gesturing to a spot on the floor that looks familiar. I can't quite place why it makes me feel sick, until I realize that it's a copy of the metal pedestals we were put into the arena on.

"Do I have to?"

She rolls her eyes. "Obviously. That's how you're getting onto the stage."

I throw her a glare, then force myself to step onto the metal plate. If I was any other victor, I might cry, but I'm not. I'm Astrid Clearwater, District 3's first female victor, and I will not cry for the whole nation to see. I won't give them that satisfaction.

"Good luck tonight."

I jump and clutch the silky folds of my skirt in my hands when he speaks. "Thank you."

"You did well," Beetee says, in that voice of his that makes me feel like he's meaning something more with every simple phrase.

"I killed your tribute," I say. Better to get that out in the open, and it doesn't matter if the cameras pick it up. Everyone knows I did it.

"Yes," Beetee concedes, but keeps looking at me like I'm a puzzle.

"We need to talk."

"Yes. I think we do," he says, raising his head up and tilting it slightly. "Enjoy the show tonight, Astrid."

"Oh I will," I say as sarcastically as I can. Watching my fellow tributes die again? A wonderful evening is ahead of me.

"Mr. Latier, you're on in five!" somebody calls. Beetee nods at me, puts his hands behind his back, and walks away. I don't know what to make of him. In some ways I'm angry. But I'm also unnerved. He won't tell me the full story of what happened, and he's the only one who knows. I have to know who he chose; I need to know who he thought was the capable one. And if he chose Circuit- I can never trust my mentor.

"Counting down!" somebody else shouts. I don't want to go onto the stage. I want to run into a dark corner and cover my ears, block out the whole world. But I'm the victor and I can't. Let them torture me for a few days more, it doesn't matter in the end. I'm the victor, and I have to play that role tonight, no matter what.

Above me, the anthem swells, reverberating through my chest and making my head spin again. I look up and see only rough scaffolding and wood beams, and a circular hole where I suppose I'm going to come out of in a moment. Breathe. I have to breathe.

"Welcome back Panem!" Marcus Fireglen shouts; I can hear him walking across the stage above me. The anthem is still going, and I hate it even more than usual. Every time that song played, a few more dead tributes went up in the sky. Every day for seven days.

"Can you believe we're at the end already?" Marcus continues, and the audience gives a disappointed sigh. Poor Capitolites, they've run out of children to murder. Now they have to wait until next year.

I'd kill the lot of them if I had my axe, and I wouldn't feel guilty at all.

"But the fun isn't quite over yet! Let's welcome onto the stage some of our very special guests!" The audience applauds, just as the anthem turns off and switches into something upbeat and irritating. "First we have the prep team that made the makeup happen: Lara Krito and Spila Wimble!"

More applause as Spila and Lara must walk across the stage, basking in the attention. Let them have their moments of fame, before I'll hopefully never have to deal with them again.

"The woman who chose the victor, Delia Charm!" More applause. I wrap my hands in my skirt until they resemble bandages around them, then unwrap them again. I want to throw up, and that's the last thing I need to do right now.

"The brilliant stylist that we couldn't do without, Sparkle Starglow!" I could have done without her very well. I haven't forgotten the robot outfits she put me into for the chariot rides.

"The victor of the Thirty-fifth Hunger Games, Beetee Latier!"

It's me. It has to be me next.

"And the girl of the hour, our very own victor of the Forty-first Hunger Games- Astrid Clearwater!"

The metal plate shudders under me, and I just about fall off as it rises, but I steady myself at the last moment. I am a victor. I am the victor, and I can't be scared. No weakness, no terror. Nothing. I am ruthless and deadly, and guiltless. I am a victor, and victors are stone. Stone is hard to break, and Agrippina did not break me.

Above me, the bright stage lights shine in my eyes and blind me, but I force myself not to squint. Even though it hurts, I make myself keep my eyes open, until I can look at the stage, at Marcus Fireglen and the Capitol audience, and at my team, sitting to the side.

The whole of Panem is looking at me, a girl who killed and was nearly killed, standing here in a blue dress lined in gold. The whole world is watching me.

So I raise my chin up, and I smile.