AUTHOR'S NOTES: Two chapters in a row? Who knew I could get on a roll? Whatever the case, the victory tour chapters are fairly concise and they came easily to me, and so I might try to post chapters of this fic rapidly over the next week or so as I try to meet my (self-imposed) the meantime... Clove's parents are losers. Huzzah.
Happy Reading!

CHAPTER 25: Personal Issues

Shortly after the crowds dispersed, Clove took a bit of a break over at Elroy's home in the victor village to rest, and to contemplate what her next course of action was. Despite spending a few hours here, Clove knew at once what she wanted to do first—or try first.

Clove wished to give her parents one last chance—perhaps in one last attempt to try and reconcile with them—in hopes that they would recognize her accomplishments.

They were an older couple—both of them retired Peacekeepers who had been in the field for at least 25 years, which in turn meant that they had been gone during Chive and Clove's early years. By the time they had gotten back from their posts in District 6, they had been almost fundamentally transformed—distant, aloof, but able to be the alcoholic losers that they were because of the Capitol stipend that was rewarded to loyal agents and soldiers of Panem's glittering heart.

Even as Clove pushed open the door, she was greeted with silence. Both her mother and father were there watching television—reruns of the 74th Hunger Games, no less, and they did not even acknowledge the freckled girl who now stood before them.

A moment later, the scene transitioned from showing Rue to showing Clove, which caused a reaction of some sort, but not what Clove had hoped for.

"Hey…" her mother spoke up, "that girl on the television… she looks like you. Do you know her?"
"Mom," Clove put her hand to her chest, "It's me… that was me in the games. I'm back. I survived."

"We had a daughter that went to the Hunger Games once," her father spoke up, only causing Clove further emotional anguish.

"Dad…" Clove pleaded, "that was me. I'm the one from the Hunger Games. I'm your daughter."

Maybe she had spent too much time listening to fantasy stories from Elroy, but Clove longed for a functional family, even if she knew she wouldn't get one.
"Our daughter…" both of Clove's parents seemed to be contemplative of that phrase. "we had… two daughters, didn't we?"

"Yes; yes!" Clove exclaimed excitedly, thinking and hoping that it was coming back. "Chive's a peacekeeper in District 12, and I volunteered for the Hunger Games and won. I'm a victor now. I've got the cool mansion over in the Victor Village with Leto, Layla, Brutus, Elroy, Enobaria, and all of them… you know—the victors!"

"You can win it if you try," Clove's mother smiled oddly, "like that girl… that could be our daughter…"

"But I did!" Clove's eyes briefly narrowed, "that was me! How do you not realize that!? I'm right here—that was my game only a couple days ago, I…" she stammered, rambling a little bit in an attempt to get it through her parents' heads, but as she saw the glazed-over expressions remain unchanged, she sighed in defeat, knowing that it was no use.
"Tell Clove…" her father called out as she was leaving, "may the odds… be ever in her favor…"

Dejectedly, Clove left the house, far more disappointed than she had been coming in. Did she look that different? She was fairly certain that she didn't—but her parents were far worse than she remembered them. Were their minds that addled by the booze or whatever else they were putting in their bodies? Clove wished that Chive were here to talk to. Maybe she would know a bit more about what had happened—Clove had never understood it. For a while she had thought that maybe if she had not been so fixated on winning the games that she could have stopped to try and figure them out, but now that she was here, she was simply frustrated, and so she left before she lashed out at them or something.

She'd have to ask Enobaria about those sedatives they had used on her back in the Capitol. Sure they made her a little groggy, but maybe it was a way out of the emotional turmoil that she was suffering at the moment. She had always just thought of her parents as deadbeat losers who had nothing going for them, but perhaps there was more to the story that she didn't realize or know. Maybe when Chive came back in a few months she might be able to shed some light on it. Either that or someone in District 6 would tell her—if they were even willing to speak to her.

In the meantime, Clove slinked back to her own mansion, disappearing behind the large double doors, where she remained fairly isolated from the remainder of District 2.

Weeks and months went by, and Clove did find herself using those sedatives more often—but they worked, and had on more than one occasion kept her from going ballistic. It was an odd sensation. Clove liked being by herself, but hated being alone.

"This is the 3rd time this week, kid." Enobaria sighed as she let a somewhat manic Clove into her home, "and I don't think banging on someone's door at 3 in the morning is a smart way to get into their good graces—just saying."

"Sorry," Clove sighed, "it's just… you and Elroy are pretty much all I've got left. My parents don't even recognize me, Chive is off in District 12 for 330 days out of the year, my friends at the academy have gone on with their lives, and my friends from the arena are dead. I know it's not really me to say this… but I really need you guys. I can't lose you."
"I'm not going anywhere…" Enobaria guided Clove inside to sit her down. "It's not really me to be like this either, so don't go telling people I've gone soft or anything. Look… I volunteered for the games when I was 18. I was older than you and had a bit better of an idea of what I was getting into—but even then, there was no way I would have known what I had gotten into. War is hell, and the Hunger Games are war. It will harden even the best of us, and shut us off from those around us. I'm not like this to just anyone, Clove. I feel for you because I've got an idea of what you've been through. It's hard enough being the new kid on the block, and it's even harder once you realize that these are scars that are never, ever going to go away."

"I just don't want to be weak though," Clove asserted, "you, Elroy, Brutus, Layla, Leto, Lincoln… you guys all come off as sop strong and stoic—and I'm over here kicking myself for coming crying to your doorstep every few nights."

"Ha!" Enobaria chuckled, "do you really think we haven't had our moments? Don't go telling anyone this, Clove—but we've all been there before, and we've all looked to those before us to help us get through it. There is no therapy for victors other than what we can give each other, which is hard enough considering the trauma and demons that we all face on our own. I've got your back, and I'm sure the others do too—besides: I can't have my knife-fighting companion getting soft now, can I?"

Clove growled as Enobaria playfully dug her knuckles into Clove's scalp, her right foot kicking the air as she tried to break free of the larger woman's headlock. Enobaria's free arm seized Clove's wrist to keep her from scratching, and a few minutes later she was laughing as she let the younger victor up.

"I don't see a weakling in the girl in front of me," she smirked, "you've got your issues, and so does everyone. I'm willing to bet good coin that Elroy has told you the same thing. Maybe you just want to get your little ego stroked, eh, missy?"

"Shh," Clove cracked a smile of her own, "what Elroy doesn't know isn't going to hurt him."

"Hey, if you're going to keep our support, you've gotta earn it, kiddo," Enobaria retorted, "my house, 2:30 tomorrow—bring your throwing knives."

Maybe it was a desire to keep up her skills from the training centers, but Clove still enjoyed the feeling of a sleek, shiny throwing knife in her hand, whizzing through the air from between her fingers into the dead-center of her target with the flick of her wrist.

"Will do," she smirked. "And by the way…" Clove paused, turning up to her mentor, "thanks."
"I can't just let the Capitol screw us over and leave us to fester in our trauma, can I?" Enobaria quipped, "Any time, kid; it's nothing, really."

The smile that appeared on Clove's face was almost unnatural—it was not her usual sneer or smirk, but rather, a genuine, heartfelt smile that was spawned from nothing short of true happiness. It was not sadistic pleasure or mischievous mirth; this was a smile that showed solace and comfort—a smile of serenity and relief. Clove was ready for her approaching victory tour. She knew that with her team at her side and this comfort and confidence, that she could handle anything.