Glenn

The stylists are doing all they can to help us. They're going for the ethereal look with Amy and they don't have to do much because she's already blond and pretty with a faraway look in her eyes. It should play well in her interview. There are few Asians in the Games so they were excited to work on me but I'm a disappointment. They wanted me to be a badass ninja or some sort of martial arts expert and I can't carry it off. Daryl says it's because I look too nice, that in fact I am too nice. He means it as a compliment but there's despair in his voice. Daryl loves me but he doesn't believe in me. I don't blame him. He's watched 30 tributes die and many of them had advantages I don't have. But I'm stronger than I look. I didn't die with my parents from influenza. I didn't even get sick. I hope that counts for something.

Vanity has taken charge of Amy. She's good with her and Amy clings to her. Daryl told me the escort often tends to the girl and he takes the boy. He instructs us together on everything he knows about the games and the arena. But that's not as helpful as you might think because the arena is a biosphere and it changes each year. Weather and terrain can be manipulated so you never know what to expect. After this long, they're running out of ideas so they do recycle from previous games. We watch the recordings and Daryl points out mistakes tributes make and the stuff they do right.

Daryl and I haven't slept together since District 11. He doesn't want anyone in the Capitol to know about us; it could only hurt me. The mentor and the escort aren't allowed to see the tributes the morning the games begin. Amy and I won't even see each other until we're in the arena. The stylists will dress us in whatever the Gamemakers have approved and Peacekeepers will accompany us to the launch area.

On the last night after our week of training and interviews, Daryl and Vanity go to Amy's room to wish her luck and then come to mine. They leave together but Daryl's eyes tell me he'll be back later. He arrives at midnight and I'm not asleep yet. I don't expect to sleep even though I should. I won't get much rest after tonight.

I ask Daryl if we can top each other and he agrees. On what is possibly our last night together we find that we fit in all ways physically just as we've known for awhile that we're a match mentally and emotionally. Afterwards he gives me a pill that will let me sleep for a few hours and holds me until I drop off. He's gone when the stylist wakes me.

Daryl

Glenn came across in his Flickerman interview as the nicest guy in the world but without survival skills. He made a dish for the Gamemakers using only a few odd ingredients. They pronounced it delicious but gave him a rating of four. Amy got a three. The other tributes took note.

Daryl did the best he could for both of them and felt guilty for not caring more about Amy's fate. He wondered if his punishment would be that by some stroke of luck she would survive instead of Glenn. But Daryl didn't believe in miracles. He resigned himself to taking the train home alone again.

In that minute after launch when tributes can't leave their platforms, the bright peaceful meadow was flooded with fog. In the days that followed the ever present mist grew more menacing and something had been done to the acoustics in the arena. Sounds echoed ominously and you couldn't tell what direction they came from.

Amy was quickly killed at the cornucopia. She had meant to make for the woods but the fog was confusing and she was one of the first victims. Glenn was on his own for awhile. He found water and managed to avoid the other tributes but he couldn't really fend for himself. Rick Grimes personally paid for a parachute with bread for him the first day. Rick and his family never went hungry but he was far from wealthy. It took donations from the whole district to pay for a bread parachute for each tribute. Glenn's was sent the second day and Amy's unneeded one the third day. The fourth day the Careers found him and took him in. He would be easy to do away with when the time came but meanwhile they could keep him close at hand and make use of him.

When they found water, Glenn carried it to their camp. When they thought it was safe to have a fire, Glenn fetched the wood. He made more of their scraps of food than they thought possible. When he turned his ankle they even made a crutch from a branch but they were wary of him having any weapon so someone always watched him and they took it away from him at night. He was with them for a week as they roamed the arena killing other tributes. But they were all dead now and Daryl knew Glenn would be next.

Someone had snared a rabbit and that night Glenn made stew. The others saw it as a pitiful attempt to curry favor. It wouldn't work but they were glad to have a last decent meal before disposing of Glenn and turning on each other. It was time to end this.

Daryl watched Glenn hunched over on a tree stump, eyes hopeful, hands twisting, expression pleading, and he felt like crying because soon he would watch the man he loved die.

The leader, Dave, feeling a last moment of benevolence toward the soon-to-be deceased, tilted his head toward the stew where Tony was already scooping seconds and said, "Go ahead, have some."

Glenn shook his head. "Oh, no, I'm fine. You all help yourself."

Dave frowned and his eyes narrowed. "Stop!" he ordered the others. "There's something wrong …" His speech slurred but he stepped toward Glenn with fury in his eyes. Glenn stood and reached for his crutch but Dave swayed and dropped to his knees then fell to one side. All around him the others slumped into unconsciousness, shocked and disbelieving.

Glenn was a ghost figure in the fog, kneeling beside each tribute, pinching their noses shut and covering their mouths until the cannon sounded, announcing that the tracking device had confirmed death then moving on to the next.

Daryl watched in wonder the most bloodless victory he'd ever witnessed. Not only was his Glenn a born baker but the kid should be on stage because he had an act going on and Daryl had been as taken in as everyone else. Actually, Glenn had been on stage for weeks and he'd never once broken character. Never shown the smart mouth and spirit that Daryl knew. Daryl was afraid that part wasn't an act, that the arena had taken something essential from Glenn.

Hovercrafts were in the arena now, one for the bodies and a medical unit for Glenn who suddenly seemed boneless. Daryl ran for the door the instant he collapsed.

Daryl had been sitting by Glenn's bed close enough to hold his hand for 14 hours. He was thin and dehydrated coming out of the arena but not in bad shape physically. The doctors were more worried about his mental and emotional well-being. So was Daryl. When they suggested the shot to let him sleep, Daryl agreed. It was often given to victors although Daryl had refused his.

Glenn was receiving hydration and nutrition by IV and was catheterized. They had cleaned him up while he slept. His skin was clear and his hair was shiny. The hollow cheeks and sunken eyes were already filling out. You bounce back fast at that age. Daryl knew he would be okay but he couldn't completely believe it until Glenn said so. He leaned his forearms on his thighs and dropped his head. He had to be here when the kid woke up but the emotions that had kept him going were draining him now that the crisis was over.

"Daryl?" Glenn's voice was soft.

Daryl's head jerked up and there were Glenn's bright eyes looking at him and his lips curving in a smile. The smile disappeared and Glenn asked, "What's wrong?" with a note of panic in his voice.

Daryl thought Glenn looked great but he sounded like he was in pain. Was there some internal injury? "What do you mean? Do you hurt?"

"Not me, you. You look terrible, Daryl."

Daryl took stock. All through the games he hadn't slept, barely ate, washed up and changed clothes in a hurry every few days. He'd been glued to the screen. His skin was pasty from never seeing the light of day, hair lank, eyes bloodshot, and he was none too clean.

"Guess I'm worse off than you right now."

"You look like you should be in this bed instead of me. In fact, that's a good idea. Lay down with me." Glenn started to scoot over. "Ow! It feels like there's a needle in my cock."

"A tube."

"Take it out."

"I'll call somebody."

"You do it."

"I'm not trained."

"Who has more experience with that piece of me than you?"

Daryl grinned. His kid was back. He pulled the sheet down, held Glenn's penis and gently removed the catheter. Then he got on the bed and put his arms around Glenn. "Don't suppose I smell so good."

Glenn inhaled. "You smell like concentrated Daryl. You smell like home."

They lay together quietly for a few moments.

"How long have I been out?" Glenn asked.

"Fourteen hours."

"It's really over?"

"Yep. You're the victor of the 68th Annual Hunger Games. They thought at first it was poison. But blood work showed a tranquilizer powerful enough to knock out a horse."

"Not surprising since I stole it from Hershel when I helped him with that foaling mare a couple of months ago."

"But where was it?" Daryl demanded. "They check tributes' clothes and empty their pockets before they get on the train."

"I suppose from now on they'll do body cavity searches," Glenn said.

"And the scan before entering the arena?"

"An ampoule wrapped in oilskin must look like poop. And you can bet most tributes feel like shitting at that point."

"Is that why you wanted me to top you the last night? To make sure you'd be able to stick something else up there?"

Glenn laughed. "Well, if your cock fit, there wouldn't be any problem with some horse tranq. But remember, it had already been in there."

"You couldn't have let me in on what you had up your sleeve, or orifice as the case may be?"

Glenn's smile faded. "Daryl, I believed I could win but the tranquilizer didn't guarantee it. Too many things could go wrong. It was better if you didn't know, that you were prepared for the worst. I didn't want you to have false hope if it failed. I was ready to die in there. The memory of you and me together was all I needed to take with me."

"I hated thinking that might be all I was left with. And still, it was better than nothing."

"But we're alive. We won. We can have a life. And we can do more for our district."

Daryl nodded. It was true. And he wanted it, was looking forward to it. But Glenn didn't understand yet the price to be paid. He would be a mentor, too. They would go to the Capitol every year and watch the tributes die. Because Daryl didn't think anybody from District 11 would ever win again. Two victories tainted by trickery would not be forgotten or forgiven. There were ways to manipulate the games, to make sure certain tributes didn't win.

Daryl considered whether their lives were in danger. He decided Snow probably wouldn't have them killed. Winning by any means was admired in the Capitol even if it was against Snow's personal preference. So victors dying in suspicious circumstances could cause more trouble than it was worth. But there were other ways to inflict suffering. Merle's existence was a continuing irritant to Snow. Glenn had no family but he was fond of Dale and Snow would be aware of that. Daryl figured they'd be lucky if both Merle and Dale made it through the next year.

But for now it was enough to be alive and together. Daryl could feel he was fading fast but Glenn was talking again.

"You have a beard."

Daryl rubbed a hand along his jaw. Shaving was something else he hadn't taken time for. "You mind it?"

"It's all right but I prefer the barely-there whiskers. I like seeing more of your face."

"I'll shave."

"Why don't you wait a while? Just until you blow me. I want to know what it feels like."

Yeah, the real Glenn was definitely back, Daryl thought as he slipped into sleep.