The dull roar of the audience outside did little to ease the tension of their little waiting hallway (not a room—a literal hallway with white walls and a shining white floor which Obi-Wan could see his reflection in), but Obi-Wan figured that was to be expected. He could feel eyes boring into the back of his head, and even though he was at least a few feet away from District 2—Maul, Obi-Wan still wished he was standing a little farther away.

"Welcome, welcome!" boomed the cheerful, ever-so-energetic voice of Hondo Ohnaka from beyond the hallway. Obi-Wan could see the dancing lights of the stage just a little ways from him. That, and Hondo Ohnaka a moment later, bounding—literally bounding—across the stage with his ridiculous and slightly maniacal grin. Obi-Wan could have sworn Hondo looked the exact same as he had when he'd interviewed Qui-Gon. Slightly different clothes, perhaps: Hondo wore a bizarrely long red coat, complete with green and gold accents and a cap that Obi-Wan was fairly certain resembled a tortoise shell.

"And happy Hunger Games!" Hondo cried gleefully, clapping his hands together. "The 75th Hunger Games!" He stopped a moment, as if to think. "So does that mean I've been doing this for…" He held out his hand, ticking off his fingers, and then he shot the audience a mocking smile. "Don't do the math!"

Laughter from the audience. Hondo made that same joke every year—and the Capitol still found it funny every year. No one could guess how old Hondo was, anyways. Just as the Capitol wanted it.

As Hondo prattled off the rest of the typical pre-interview jokes, Obi-Wan recalled this morning's preparations to the front of his mind. He had been true to his word to Satine: he had come into the main living area of their quarters before the sun, and they had rehearsed.

And to Satine's great frustration and Obi-Wan's great satisfaction, Obi-Wan had managed to do well. He knew he did well because Qui-Gon drifted in eventually, and at the end of it all, Qui-Gon had nodded to him with the slightest of smiles on his face. And Obi-Wan had felt a slight prickle of pride, but he hadn't dared smile himself until Satine finally threw down her notecards.

"Well," she said, "you're quite proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"I live to please," Obi-Wan had replied with a mock bow. "And entertain."

Satine's expression had darkened a little at that, but all she said was, "Don't crack."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Obi-Wan replied, but Satine had already been getting up to call Cody and the other stylists in.

Live to please and entertain, Obi-Wan thought now as the applause died down.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen—without further ado, please welcome District 1, Obi-Wan Kenobi!"

Another roar of applause, and Obi-Wan felt himself walk up the steps. Felt his lips turn upwards into a smile as he walked across the platform. Instantly, all he saw were lights and flashes and blurs of color—so many in the audience tonight, Obi-Wan knew. So many all dressed in their ridiculous clothes with their ridiculous baubles, but Obi-Wan kept smiling, even if the colors made his eyes hurt.

He made it to the center of the stage, found Hondo's surprisingly warm hand.

"Kenobi!" Hondo said gleefully, as though they were old friends. "An honor! A pleasure! At last!" He pulled Obi-Wan down to the seat across from him—a surprisingly comfortable seat, one that was strangely round, but Obi-Wan managed not to slip.

"It's good to meet you, Hondo," Obi-Wan said, still shaking Hondo's hand.

"Do you hear that?" Hondo shouted at the crowd. "We're on a first-name basis already!" He cupped a hand over his mouth. "And you know what that means next…"

Obi-Wan laughed along with the crowd, which seemed to make the crowd even more delighted.

"I suppose we'll just have to move on to that later, won't we?" Obi-Wan said, letting go of Hondo's hand.

"Do you promise, Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan set a hand over his heart. "Of course," he said solemnly.

Another roar of laughter.

"I'll hold you to that," Hondo said, shaking his head. And then, leaning back in his seat, he gestured to the crowd. "Do you see everyone here? Everyone will be holding you to that promise now."

Obi-Wan turned to the crowd. "I better not disappoint them, then."

Some giggling. Obi-Wan kept his smile plastered over his face, but he saw Qui-Gon and Satine and Cody sitting amongst the crowd. They were at the front, along with all the other mentors and escorts and stylists. Qui-Gon's expression betrayed nothing. Cody, too. Satine was the only one who showed any reaction: a slight wrinkle between her brows.

Obi-Wan turned back around to Hondo, who had at least started to sober up now.

"Well, Kenobi, here we are. Here you are. I have to ask—how are you feeling about the Games, hm? Feel you have an advantage?" A wiggle of Hondo's eyebrows, and then Hondo turned to the crowd. "In case any of you folks have been living under a rock, Kenobi here is the adopted son of Victor Qui-Gon Jinn—yes, yes, yes, go on, give an applause—Mr. Jinn, where are you? Jinn, give us a wave!"

Obi-Wan watched as people turned abruptly to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon looked up. And with a slight smile, he waved to everyone. Waved directly to the camera that floated in front of his face. And then the eyes were fixing back on Obi-Wan, waiting eagerly for his response.

Obi-Wan only smiled. He leaned back in his seat, casual as could be. "I have the advantage of a supporting father," he said. "But that is all."

"That is all?" Hondo asked, lifting his brows.

Obi-Wan paused. "Well, I can't say that I've gotten my good looks from him, now, can I?"

Another wave of laughter rippled across the room. Obi-Wan looked to Qui-Gon and Cody and Satine again. This time, a corner of Cody's lips twitched. Satine shook her head, looked deliberately away, which Obi-Wan decided was a sign he must be doing something right.

"In all seriousness," Obi-Wan said, turning back to Hondo, "all skills I've developed, I've developed on my own." He let his smile fade just a little bit—just by enough to show that he was serious. Pay attention now. Pay close attention. "My father wasn't in the training room with me when I scored that 9, now, was he?"

"Oh-ho!" Hondo crowed. "Oh-ho—now that's an attitude!"

Obi-Wan spread out his hands. "Come now," he said, bemused. "I only speak the truth."

"Yes, you do, Kenobi," Hondo said, shaking his head. "You certainly do. An admirable quality." Leaning forward, Hondo added, "And speaking of admirable…I have to ask as well—the incident with the, ah, chariots."

Obi-Wan paused. And then he smiled. "Yes," he said. "The chariots."

"You put on quite a show," Hondo said. He looked at the audience. "Didn't he look absolutely wonderful, ladies and gentlemen?"

Cries of approval.

"And towards the end—a heroic gesture. Truly noble." Hondo shook his head, set a hand over his heart. "It might have even touched this cold little stone in here." And though Hondo smiled, Obi-Wan caught the glitter in Hondo's eyes and knew that the real interview was about to start. "So tell me, Kenobi—what exactly was going through your head when you put out that awful electric fire?"

Obi-Wan was suddenly much, much more aware of the lights and the flashes and the cameras.

And even though the doors were closed, he could have sworn he could feel the eyes of all the other tributes boring straight through to him.

"Well," Obi-Wan said at last, "someone had to keep the show running." He looked to the audience. "And I'm sure everyone here wanted timely entertainment, yes? Yes?"

A sudden applause, shouts and whistles and nods of agreement.

Obi-Wan felt something loosen in his chest. He turned back around to Hondo and smiled. "Does that answer your question?"

Hondo only shook his head. "Yes," he said, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder. "That answers my question."

Good.

Obi-Wan smiled again.

So Obi-Wan Kenobi of District 1 was a charmer. Anakin wasn't surprised. There was something odd about that tribute—odd about the way he seemed to cut through other tributes and move with an ease that Anakin was still trying to figure out.

Obi-Wan didn't so much as look at the other tributes when he walked off the platform. He was already heading back down the long hallway, back to where Anakin knew was where his team was waiting.

Anakin turned back around and waited for District 2 to finish his interview. And tried to remember what Padmé and Threepio and Artoo had tried to tell him during the interview practice last night and this morning. Threepio had been too much of an anxious mess—he kept repeating himself, mostly. ("Be polite, my dear boy," was Threepio's main advice.

"Don't be polite," Artoo had countered. "Capitol people like it when you stick it to their balls. Like what you did with the training room. Do that again, but it'll be better, because you'll look prettier this time around. Capitol loves pretty things."

"Your last 'pretty thing' nearly burned me to a crisp," Anakin had said.

"Yes, but a pretty crisp.")

In the end, Padmé had been the one to shoo both Artoo and Threepio out, and then it had just been the two of them practicing the interview. Padmé would ask a question, and then Anakin would answer, and Padmé would listen to his full answer before shaking her head and giving criticism.

"You need to stop moving your hands," Padmé said. "It might make you look antsy."

Then, a few minutes later: "Now you sound bored."

And then, a little while later: "Anakin, please don't talk about sand. Please."

"Well, you were the one who asked about District 3—"

"Yes, but you can't complain about how the sand gets everywhere—"

"Okay, then what am I supposed to talk about?" Anakin had snarled, tossing aside a couch pillow. It hit the carpet with a soft thump. "Am I supposed to talk about how nice the district is? The Peacekeepers? The time they whipped my mom? Or am I supposed to drool after the Capitol? What am I supposed to talk about?" He knew his voice had gotten too loud, because he heard a sudden shuffling behind him, and when he turned around, he saw Artoo dragging Threepio back out to the hallway.

When he turned back around, Padmé was giving him a sad look.

"Don't look at me like that," Anakin had muttered, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry." Padmé said, looking down at her cards.

They had sat in silence before Anakin muttered, "I didn't mean to get mad."

"I know." Padmé sighed, set her cards aside. "Talk to me about something real."

Anakin thought of all the times he used to fiddle with the radios in the district, how he had gotten his mom into trouble just by doing that. "I don't think that's going to—"

"You don't have to talk about everything," Padmé said softly. "But something small. You mentioned your mother. What's she like? What would you two do?"

Anakin had paused. And then he had started with something small.

"We run a shop," he had started haltingly, and then Padmé had smiled. She had stood up, rested a hand on Anakin's shoulder. A brief touch.

"Tell me when you get to the interview," she said, and that had been that.

And now Anakin was standing, waiting for the interview to commence.

There was a dull applause, and Anakin looked up in time to see District 2—Maul—walking out. Maul flicked his yellow eyes over to Anakin, smirked. Your turn.

Anakin looked up to the doors.

He pushed back his shoulders and, letting out a quiet breath, marched up the stairs.

He was met with shouts and whoops and a wide grin from Hondo Ohnaka, who got up to do a little dance over to Anakin.

"Anakin Skywalker from District 3!" Hondo exclaimed, taking Anakin's hand and pumping it up and down. "A pleasure! Welcome, welcome—"

Anakin just barely sat down before Hondo said, "I'm glad that you're not burning this time!"

A laugh from the audience.

Anakin stared for a second—was that supposed to be funny—

But then he heard himself say, "I'm glad, too."

The audience, thankfully, seemed to eat that up. They shouted and laughed, clinging onto each other like the nonsensical people they were. And Anakin, all the while, looked for—

Padmé was sitting next to the same person she had nodded to at the beginning of the chariot ceremony. The mentor and team of District 1. So Obi-Wan hadn't joined them yet—or maybe they had already talked to each other before coming back here. Either way, Padmé looked up now and gave him a small little nod.

Anakin almost nodded back, but then, eyeing the cameras floating around him, he instead looked to Hondo. "I mean, did you see me?" he asked. "I thought my stylist was crazy. I think he is crazy."

Another laugh. This time, Anakin heard Artoo's, "well, you're not burning up now, are you?"

Anakin looked. Artoo was shaking his fist, but there was that slightly maniacal, almost conspiratorial look on his stylist's face again, and Anakin wondered briefly if he had been waiting for this little part to play out since the beginning of the interview.

"Don't jinx it!" Anakin shouted back.

That got him another round of laughs, Hondo's laugh being the loudest and most cheerful of them all. "No, no, don't jinx him!" Hondo agreed, clapping a hand on Anakin's shoulder. "Look at this young man—ladies, gentlemen, would we want him to be jinxed in these Games?"

Anakin wanted to brush Hondo's hand away, and he almost did, but he found Padmé's eyes again.

"Noooo," the crowd was saying, shaking their heads mournfully.

"Do you hear that, my boy?" Hondo crowed. "They're already attached!"

Anakin managed a smile. "Nice to know I have a fan club," he said. He managed a salute—it was an idiotic move, really—but he gave a two-fingered salute, and distantly, he heard some high-pitched shouts of both men and women.

He hadn't anticipated that, but the rest of the audience seemed to like it.

"Careful, Skywalker, we don't want a competition to begin right here!"

"Sorry," Anakin said.

"You're not sorry at all, aren't you?" Hondo asked, wagging his finger.

Anakin looked at Padmé again. She nodded.

Anakin turned back around. "No," he said, shrugging. "Not really."

More laughter, some more high-pitched shouting.

Anakin shot a smile in the general direction of the audience, even though something in his stomach twisted.

"You know," Hondo said at last, "I had the feeling that you've got a big heart." He shook his head. "Even before you came right here." He gestured to the audience. "Everyone saw you when you were selected—" Selected, not reaped. "Comforting that little boy from the start. And now here you are, making all the ladies and gentlemen swoon left and right. You a sensitive soul, Skywalker? Big heart underneath those big muscles?" Hondo poked at Anakin's bicep.

Anakin again resisted the urge to back away. Don't touch me—

"Well, you know," Anakin said at last. "I'm a person. Figured there might be more to me."

Serious—maybe that was too serious, because the audience quieted a little bit at that, but Hondo seemed to take it in a stride.

"Of course you are, my boy," Hondo said, clapping Anakin's shoulder. "Of course you are. A person who hopes to win these Games, no doubt?"

"'Course," Anakin replied. No. This was not good. One-worded answers were something Padmé warned him against—

"You have to share that big heart of yours with someone back home," Hondo said with a nod. "Yes?"

Anakin was relieved for the quick escape. Even if Hondo touched him a little more than he wanted and laughed a little louder than he liked, he was still grateful for the—

"Yeah. Sure." No, Anakin, do better than that—

"It's just me and my mom back home," Anakin said quickly. "I told her I'd win the games. And she told me to come back home."

Some more quiet this time, but not necessarily the same quiet as before.

"Did she now," Hondo said.

"Yeah." That's one word. Anakin dug his hand in his pocket, found the chip of wood that his mom had given him. He felt stupid for carrying it around with him—he hadn't carved anything in it yet, but now, he tugged it out. "She taught me a lot of what I know. And she gave me this. To make something out of it." He turned the chip of wood over in his hands. "I'm still trying to figure out what to make." He looked up at Hondo. "I know I'll have to leave it behind—but she gave it to me as a good luck charm."

Anakin wasn't sure where he was going with this now. But just that the words were slipping out, and Padmé had told him to say something real, and this felt like the most real thing he had said since stepping into the Capitol.

Anakin looked down at the chip of wood in his hands again. Still unmarked. "It'll be okay though," he said. "I'm lucky even without this thing."

A smile from Hondo. "I'm sure you are," he said, and his voice was just a little quieter than it had been a moment ago. Then, leaning forward, Hondo said conspiratorially, "I'll tell you what—maybe you can hand that good luck charm of yours to some lucky lady or gentleman out here in the crowd. I'm sure they'll wish you all the luck in the world." He turned to the audience. "Am I right?"

Hollers and whistles and shouts showed Anakin the audience's…enthusiasm.

It made Anakin sick to the stomach.

But he found Padmé's eyes again.

And he smiled along.

Ahsoka was restless by the time it was her turn to walk up the stage. She had been waiting for so long, and her feet had gone numb from standing so still for so long, which didn't make sense, because Ahsoka had stood still for longer before, but this was different, because Ahsoka could hear the roar of the audience every other minute, followed by Hondo's booming voice and whatever it was the tributes were saying. She had watched each tribute go before her—she had learned the names of all the tributes: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Maul, Anakin Skywalker, Savage Oppress being the first four. Ahsoka hadn't been surprised by how all of their interviews went—they all acted exactly as she figured they would. Somehow, she had known that Obi-Wan would be sly and smooth-talking, and somehow she knew that Maul would be oddly talkative, and somehow she knew that Anakin would capture hearts as quickly as he did, and somehow she knew that Savage would give short grunts and glowers for answers.

And the next set of tributes: Aayla Secura, Caleb Dume, Lux Bonteri. Aayla was soft-spoken but fierce, Caleb energetic and so hopelessly young, Lux quiet but intelligent.

Ahsoka was thrilled to see Barriss—the girl from District 8—shoot Ahsoka a quick, nervous smile before she walked up the steps to her interview. And Ahsoka had been thrilled and annoyed with herself to find herself smiling back, and she almost whispered good luck, but the sensible part of her just barely held her back.

And then the next two tributes: Steela Gerrera, who proved tough and confident ("I know what I'm good at"), and Cad Bane, who spoke in long, slow drawls and casually spun a toothpick around his teeth.

And then it was time for Ahsoka.

She looked to the steps and walked forward. With each step closer, she tried to remember what exactly Rex and Ventress and Riyo had cautioned her against.

"Hondo's crazy, but he can be fair," Rex had told her. "He's smarter than he looks, and he'll still want to bring out the best of the tributes. Hard to believe, but he does."

"He'll like you," Riyo had told Ahsoka. "He always took the most sympathy for the younger ones. He did with Katooni last year."

That much was true—Ahsoka was pretty sure Katooni and Hondo still spoke to each other, which struck Ahsoka as bizarre. She would think that victors would want to distance themselves as much as possible from anyone to do with the Games, but then again…perhaps that was all a part of the strategy. Especially with the District 12 tribute—a young boy named Petro, Ahsoka learned—being as young as he was.

Ventress hadn't offered too much advice until the very end. She had flicked Ahsoka on the forehead—an actual flick, and then Ventress had said, "Chin up, sweetheart. You've done a good job of sitting still and looking pretty so far. I trust you won't mess this up."

"Thanks," Ahsoka had said, rubbing at her forehead. "For the vote of confidence."

"That's the closest she'll ever get to admitting that she likes you," Rex had told Ahsoka later. "You should feel honored."

Ahsoka had managed a smile at that.

"There you go," Rex said. "That's the one."

"It's a nice smile," Riyo had agreed. "A young one."

A young one, Ahsoka thought now as she mounted the steps. She wasn't the youngest of the tributes—not in the slightest—but she was still young. And she could still use that to her advantage.

So Ahsoka brushed her hands against the gown of her skirt and made her way through the doors. Not by walking—she added a little skip in her step, a little acrobatic jolt that made the now slightly worn audience sit up a little. Good.

"Ahsoka Tano, District 11!" Hondo boomed.

Rex was right about one thing: Hondo seemed to want to make the most out of the tributes. And despite the fact that Hondo had been here through all these interviews, he didn't seem the slightest tired or fazed as Ahsoka made her way across the stage. "Welcome, my dear girl, welcome!"

"Thank you," Ahsoka said, taking Hondo's hand with a smile. She sat down across from him, crossed her ankles.

"Well, well." Hondo leaned back in his seat, smiled at Ahsoka. "You're the little lady who scored the only other 9 in the entire trial, am I correct?" Without waiting for Ahsoka to respond, Hondo turned to the audience and said in a stage whisper, "Of course I'm correct! Who do you think I am?"

Laughter from the audience told Ahsoka to laugh too.

"That's me," she said when everyone had quieted enough for her to speak.

"Dare I ask—and don't be offended, my dear—but how did you get that 9?" Hondo asked, leaning forward.

Ahsoka leaned forward too. And smiled again. The kind of smile she would give her brothers before stealing their ball right from under their noses. And suddenly, Ahsoka's chest ached. She missed her brothers. She missed her dad. She missed their house, and she missed her room tied off with the curtain, and she missed the marigolds that her dad had given her before she went off to the train. She suddenly wished she had those flowers with her now.

"Do you really want to know?" Ahsoka asked.

Hondo looked from her to the audience. When the audience clamored for an answer, Hondo nodded. "I think we all want to know."

"Well, come here," Ahsoka said, crooking her finger.

Hondo paused, and then, shrugging, he leaned forward.

Ahsoka cupped her hand over Hondo's ear and then, at the last second, she whipped her head to the audience and shouted, "You'll have to find out!"

A stunned little break, and then everyone was laughing again, including Hondo.

"Ooh, you're a tricky one!" Hondo said, shaking his head. "A tricky, tricky little thing! A smart one, too! A quick one! A bold one!" He shook his head again, leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees. "I should not be surprised."

"You really shouldn't," Ahsoka said cheerfully. Or at least, as cheerfully as she could. Which, she discovered, was rather cheerful.

"That should explain your events at the chariot, then, yes?"

Ahsoka smiled again.

"They'll want to know about what happened at the chariots," Rex had told her on their walk to the hallway. "You'll have to be careful. You did it only because you wanted to help."

Ahsoka had paused at that. "But I did want to help," she said slowly.

Rex had blinked, surprised. And after a moment of silence, he had said, "Good."

Ahsoka looked at Hondo now. "Well, someone had to do something." She sat up a little. "I just wanted to help."

"Admirable," Hondo said warmly, although Ahsoka noticed there was a strange look in his eyes. One that Ahsoka couldn't quite place. But then Hondo smiled and turned to the audience. "Everyone, give it up for Ahsoka Tano!"

Ahsoka smiled and waved.

Obi-Wan went to bed later that night, listening to the celebrations outside.

He lay in bed and waited and waited and waited, and finally, he heard a knock to his door.

He sat up.

"Come in," he said.

"You're not asleep."

"No," Obi-Wan replied, letting the blankets pool around his waist. "Were you able to? The night before?"

Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan a sad smile. "Not quite." He walked across the room, sat at the foot of the bed. "Tomorrow," he said, "you will want to distance yourself from the other tributes as much as possible. The others—Maul and Oppress—will want to ally themselves with you. Although you've already told me that—"

"I'm not interested in allying myself with them," Obi-Wan replied. "They'll only kill me."

"You three will cross paths eventually," Qui-Gon warned. "Take care to—"

"I will."

A silence passed.

And then Qui-Gon said quietly, "I am sorry. That you must enter the Games this way."

Obi-Wan didn't say anything. He wasn't sure if he wanted to say anything. Not about this.

"Don't worry," he said at last, laying back down in the bed. "I'll win. And then we can forget."

Another silence.

"I don't think this is something you can forget."

Obi-Wan didn't say anything.

He knew that already, too.

Anakin sat at the living room window, carving out the last of the block of wood. He hadn't really known where he was going with it—just that he had started at one end, and now he was at the other, and now he was looking down at the carved bit of rock and wondering how exactly he had gotten to that point. But he had.

And it was finished.

It was simple—not the most elaborate thing he had made, but it felt right.

"You should sleep," Padmé said. She was sitting on the couch. She had been sitting there for some time. They had both been sitting in the living room for some time. Anakin had joined her after spending an hour tossing and turning in his own bed. She hadn't said anything—she had just silently moved over on the couch, but Anakin had settled for the window.

But now, Anakin pushed himself off the window ledge. "I'll sleep soon."

He sat down on the couch a little ways from Padmé. She didn't look up from the book she was reading. It had a glossy cover, but when Anakin looked, he found that the pages were yellow.

"Some books weren't allowed to be read when the Capitol was established," Padmé said quietly. "But there are some old copies still being handed around."

Anakin blinked. He hadn't expected Padmé to—

"What is that?" Padmé asked, nodding to the wooden piece in Anakin's hand. She closed her book, set it aside on the coffee table. "Did you make that just now?"

"I—yeah." Anakin spread out his hand so that he could show Padmé the full piece. "Something…Hondo said earlier today. Had me thinking." He reached over, found Padmé's wrist. He found Padmé already instinctively opening her hand, and Anakin dropped the wooden piece right into her waiting palm. "I won't be able to bring it with me in the arena, but if you…hold onto it." He looked at Padmé. "Be my good luck?"

Padmé didn't say anything for a moment, and Anakin wondered if maybe this wasn't—

"You won't need it."

"I was lucky during the interview."

"You did well on the interview."

"I pretended to be talking to you the whole time." Anakin felt a corner of his lips twitch. "That helped."

"I'm glad it did." Padmé's eyes flicked down to the wooden piece. And then she looked back up.

When their lips found each other, Anakin decided that this could probably count as luck, too.

"You know what's weird?" Ahsoka asked.

She was sitting at the rooftop. She figured she should be cold, but there was a force field keeping out the cold. Trapping Ahsoka and Rex in. ("It's to keep the tributes from jumping off," Rex told her grimly. Ahsoka didn't bother asking if Rex had ever tried that himself. And Rex didn't bother sharing.)

"What?" Rex asked now. He was sitting next to her. They both looked down at the streets, at the bright lights and the brighter costumes that blinked up at Ahsoka even from this height.

"I have four older brothers. And they all look like you," Ahsoka said. She closed her eyes once, pushed her forehead to her knees. "So when I first saw you, that was why I looked really surprised. Because it looked like one of my brothers had come back to me for a second."

Rex was quiet.

"It's really weird," Ahsoka said. "I don't know why you guys look so alike, but you do. And…that kind of made me feel safer. Around you. About this. But you're not gonna be in the arena with me tomorrow. No one from home is. It's just going to be me. I won't even have another District 11 tribute, like in all the other games. I'll be alone."

"You won't be."

"Pretty sure I will," Ahsoka said tiredly. She felt suddenly much, much older than just fourteen. "All my life, I've been surrounded by family. And friends. And in there, I'll be alone when I was never meant to." She looked at Rex. "So thanks. Thank you. For making me…not feel alone. Even right now. Even if it's weird."

Rex looked at Ahsoka.

And then he said, "The part about your brothers…it's not weird."

"What?"

"There are people who look like me," Rex said slowly. Quietly. Sadly. "Or I look like some people." He turned to the streets. "I don't know all the details—but the Capitol's a strange place. A strange place where there were sometimes some…processes. Some research and experiments of all kinds. You've seen them all."

Ahsoka knew that much. Some of the surgical implants she had seen in the Capitol were worthy of nightmares.

"Sometimes they go wrong," Rex said. "Sometimes the Capitol tries to forget they ever existed. Sometimes they get dropped in other districts. Scattered."

Ahsoka stopped.

"District 11 just seems like a popular place to drop them off," Rex said at last. "Abandoned little pieces by the Capitol."

Ahsoka blinked. "But if the Capitol didn't want anyone to—"

"I don't show up to the Reapings for a reason," Rex said with a wry smile. "Cameras don't show me. I won the games my year, and then the Capitol tried to make everyone forget. Tried to do things to make sure that there'd be nothing left to remember."

A chill ran up Ahsoka's spine. "Rex—"

"But I'm still here. And your brothers are still over there." Rex looked to the streets again. "We're living proof that the Capitol isn't as ship-shape as it wants to be. I take pride in that."

Ahsoka looked down the streets. "I'm sorry," she said at last.

"I'm sorry, you're sorry—there's no one who should be sorry except the Capitol." Rex's voice was matter-of-fact, cool. "So tell you what, little'un—you go in that arena tomorrow, and you win the Games. Give them something to be sorry about. Got it?"

Ahsoka looked at Rex.

"Got it."

A/N: As always, reviews/favorites/follows are greatly appreciated!