Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews. I am going to attempt to check my email and actually *gasp!* respond to some of them for once! You may all pick your jaws up off the floor now. However, I will make no promises for I fear that I will only disappoint you in the end. But hey, I'm going to try!

Teamwork

I shrink as far behind Gale as I can manage. Years of sitting through dinners and presentations and all of the other political socializing that I was forced to do as a child has paid off only by giving me the ability to keep a straight face, observe obscure details, and to make myself look as small as possible. Unfortunately, only one of these "secret talents" will come in handy anytime in the near future. I should be practicing trying to keep a straight face no matter what, more than anything, but I continue attempting to disappear beside Gale and pray that if they can't find me when we get to the Capitol, I won't have to compete.

I'm pulled back into my normal sized reality by Gale turning around and nearly knocking me over. I gather from he surprised expression that he hadn't realized I was there. He clears his throat awkwardly and runs one of his monstrous, calloused hands through his shaggy black hair, looking anywhere but at me. I shift my gaze downwards at the thick plushy white carpet. Gale seems to have sprinkled a bit of coal dust on it because it's slightly gray.

I look up again and our eyes meet for a brief moment. He clears his throat again and mumbles:

"We ought to go see our rooms."

However, he makes no motion to follow Effie and he's blocking the doorway. I wonder if I should say something or try to squeeze past him. I decide that it would be far easier to say something. Also, I wouldn't look like a mute anymore.

"Gale," I start, but he gives me a look. It's a look so intense that I almost fall over. It's full of hidden pain and suffering; of envy and pity and maybe even a bit of anger. I swallow nervously. He obviously remembered me giving him the dresses for his sister, Rosy… no, Posy. I open my mouth to speak, but he says it first.

"We should go now, Madge."

He turns and walks down the car after Effie. I follow nervously, wringing my hands together behind my back. My shoulders shake as I look out of a window and see my home is nothing more than a blip in the distance. But I won't cry. I will not cry.

Stay strong, my dearest Margaret, my mother's voice rings in my ears.

I will fight for my mother and father and even my Aunt Maysilee. My hand touches my pocket and I feel the Mockingjay pin that I gave to Katniss last year. It's my token. I will fight for Katniss and for Peeta too. I won't give up without a fight.

I turn my nose up and take a deep breath as I walk past Gale into my lavish room. Tomorrow is going to be a big, big, big day, I remind myself.

Even at my large, three bedroom house, we didn't have a shower. Well, not a real shower. It was really just a drippy faucet placed high in the ceiling that you could stick your head under if your hair still had shampoo left over in it after a bath. I felt, for the first time in my life, truly clean. I lay on my bed, running my hands through my soft hair.

I'm about to start wondering how Gale's doing, when I hear a knock at the door.

"It's dinner time!" Effie calls excitedly.

"All right," I managed to call back, trying not to sound scared. My voice cracks, though, and I begin to realize how hungry I am. I couldn't manage to eat breakfast this morning and at lunch time my parents and I were saying our final goodbyes. I get up and head for the door, hoping that they have soup like what Merriam, our housekeeper from the Seam, used to make.

I walk in and Gale is already seated along with Haymitch and Effie. Though he still appears to be in some sort of drunken state, Haymitch seems to notice my appearance as well as my pin. For a moment it crosses my mind that he might still think I'm Auntie Maysilee. But I forget when a huge bowl of lamb stew is placed in front of me. I remember Katniss's comment about how this was her favorite part of the capitol. I take my spoon and timidly dip it into the stew. Haymitch is scooping his up like nobody's business and Effie has asked for a meal with fewer calories. Gale is staring at the way I hold my spoon.

The thought occurs to me that in the Seam the probably don't have time for manners or the money to buy utensils. He's probably only ever eaten stew with bread. I don't point any of this out, but I make sure that my movements are clear and easy to copy from where he's sitting.

I take a bite of it, and am struck by how delicious it is. Gale also looks amazed by the stew and my face must mirror his, because Effie begins to laugh about how easily amused all of the tributes from District 12 seem to be by the simplest of things and how strangely charming it is.

It feels like the meal just keeps going and going and going. There's a part of me that feels guilty for eating and eating and eating without a second thought while more than half of our district would have starved to death long ago without taking tesserae. I look across the table at Gale, and the chocolate cake seems to have spurred the same train of thought for him as well.

I noticed how much the bone in his elbows stick out, and I'm not hungry anymore.

Effie seems to have noticed that I've stopped eating because she says:

"Well, there's no use in idly sitting around! We'd better find out all we can about these other tributes than start talking strategy!"

I want to hit her so badly.

She wasn't a part of our "Team" (however loosely that term would be used), she wasn't from District 12, she didn't care that there were children starving in the streets and killing each other on television, and she didn't see how unfair the games were. She thought that they were fun, entertainment for the whole of Panem. She was an attendant of the Capitol, not a citizen of Panem.

But instead of hitting her, both Gale and I get up from the table and walk over to the plushy, soft couch that faces the large television. I feel myself sinking rapidly and I attempt to straighten up. Gale is next to me and sitting on the very edge.

"Well, the recap of the reapings doesn't start for another few minutes, so I might as well try to convince Haymitch to join us!" Effie says brightly as she turns back to the dining car to go attempt a retrieval on Haymitch and the bottle he's probably cradling.

I hear Gale sigh. I'm unsure of what to say. Maybe it's best if we don't say anything at all seeing as we'll be trying to kill each other in a little less than a week. But I feel compelled to speak, even if it will make this whole ordeal harder. I want to say something, but Gale speaks first.

"I'm sorry for what I said last year. I guess that anyone can get picked. First it was Prim and now you're going to the games. I guess the reaping really is fair," he mumbles all of this without meeting my eyes. He's uncomfortable.

"Yeah, the most unfair part of Panem is the only thing in life that's really fair. It's wonderful, isn't it?" I amaze even myself by saying this. Of course, I had been thinking along these lines for years, but thinking and saying were two different things. People could hear when you spoke.

But Gale doesn't show his surprise except for his eyebrows rising a bit. Then he snorts in agreement. Or at least I assume it's agreement.

"I'm sorry you were reaped. Not that I don't feel horrible for everyone that's been reaped, but it's just that last year was supposed to be your last year, and now…" I begin to ramble about how unfair it all is when Gale starts to chuckle.

I think that he might be crazy.

Oh, god, I hope he doesn't become a cannibal like that one tribute, Tardis or Titus or something, did all of those years ago.

He raises his eyebrow again and I am embarrassed to realize that I've spoken out loud.

"Sorry," I mumble, my cheeks and ears turning pink with embarrassment.

"I guess that it's just the absurdity of it all," Gale starts. "First we grow up starving and as if that isn't enough, we're then forced to kill each other for absolutely no reason. If anything, the games should give us an even larger reason to rebel, but they're what keep us down. I guess it's just finally gotten to me." He sighs as he finishes.

I'm about to reply, but Effie enters the room with a sopping wet Haymitch. Though I'm curious as to what's been going on, I'm reluctant to ask because I know that it can't be good. Plus, Haymitch is our only hope for what to do and it's evident that he's not going to be much help.

"Well, let's see what those other Districts are hoping to match us with!" Effie says, as she turns on the TV.

The girl from 1 (Satin, I think her name was) is tall and beautiful. Her hair is long and blonde, but not yellowy like mine. Her hair is like her name: satin. Her name is called and she strolls out of the eighteen year old section with pride and confidence.

The boy (Gleam) is also tall, but more muscle. He has a look of disdain and boredom in his eyes, but he still rushes forward to volunteer for a slightly scrawny looking sixteen year old. At nineteen, he probably realized that this was his last chance.

In a break from tradition, neither of District 2's tributes are volunteers. They're probably still recovering from watching Cato get eaten alive by those horrible mutts that looked just like Clove. Instead of the large, proud twenty year olds looking for a second chance at going in, two sixteen year olds are called and the crowd is silent as the call for volunteers rings out against the buildings surrounding the square.

Both tributes from District 3 look too young to be in these games, with their dark hair, pasty white complexions, and skinny arms. But they still stand there bravely, their noses in the air. The girl from 4 is like them too, only tanner and sixteen instead of nineteen or twenty.

I gasp as a male volunteer steps forward in 4. He's quite possibly the scariest looking person I've ever seen. Yes, 4 has a reputation for producing careers, but none like this. Even on the television, it's obvious that he's much taller than Gale (who is well over six feet) and wider than two of 12's largest Peacekeepers put together. He's like Cato or Thresh, only he's in my games, not someone else's. He stands there proudly as the Mayor begins the reading of the Treaty of Treason.

Mart Santiago, is what the commentators call him. The name makes me shudder, for some reason that is probably related to fear. Gale unexpectedly wraps his arm around me and I feel a strange jumpy feeling in my stomach that distracts me from the recap as I try to calm my nerves.

I begin to relax, only to find that during the time I have spent calming my nerves that we are now on District 7. I hope 5 and 6 were nothing too special that I should keep my eye out for, but if they were, I probably would have noticed like I did for 7.

Both from 7 are nineteen and look like they've put in some serious time working in the forests chopping down those huge pine trees. They'll be well equipped with an ax, I dread to think. I shudder again, and Gale (probably subconsciously) pulls me closer. I vow to never admit how comforting it feels.

The tributes from 8, 9, and 10 are large and frightening enough, but are still nothing too special. They seem like the typical run of the mill District tribute- not eager, but not willing to give up without a serious fight.

The girl from 11, though, is petite and small for a sixteen year old. Even more so than I am. As she is called on stage, I see unmistakable pain flash in Thresh's eyes. I have a feeling, but the truth is that I just don't want to know. It would only make things harder.

A twenty year old volunteers for a sixteen year old that turns out to be his cousin as well as a very close friend. I can feel the tears start to rise when they start to pull the younger of the two away from the square as he screams out "Don't do it! Please".

But then, before I even know what's going on, the commentators begin dissecting Haymitch's drunken antics, deciding that they must be some sort of publicity stunt. As we all know, this strategy worked well enough last year. Haymitch had two in the final eight for the first time in almost ten years.

My name is called and the commentators begin discussing my ties to Maysilee Donner, from the last Quarter Quell, as well as Katniss. They all sigh in exasperation as Haymitch makes yet another drunken mistake and confuses me with his past ally.

I can feel Gale's shoulders tighten as he listens to all of this. I can't tell why, though. Maybe he hates me more than he always seems to have. But why is his arm around you? The annoying, overly romanticizing part of my brain asks. I push that thought away as fast as I can because Gale is now being called.

He looks large and determined next to me. I can tell who will be receiving all of the sponsors, as can the commentators. He's handsome and has ties to Katniss, probably the most popular tribute of the most recent Games. He'll have no trouble with sponsors as long as he does well enough in training and remembers to play up his cousin status during the interviews.

I don't think that I have a chance.

"Well, tomorrow's going to be a big, big, big day, so I'm off to bed!" Effie says, getting up from her chair and heading out the door. We are left alone with the drunken mess that is our mentor and only hope: Haymitch Abernathy. Winner of the 50th Hunger Games and 2nd Quarter Quell. Prefers his liquor straight out of the bottle.

"Do you have any suggestions or strategies for us, Mr. Abernathy?" I begin, but I falter a bit as he starts laughing.

"Yeah, stay alive," he replies and then starts laughing as if he's just created the world's funniest joke.

Gale is not quite as amused.

"Look, we need you. District 12 needs you. If one of us wins, maybe we'll actually have a chance now!" Gale yells, frustrated.

"Fine, you want advice? Stay alive. Use your talents, if you actually have any. Don't be idiots, like Katniss was last year," Haymitch says nonchalantly.

This is the last straw for Gale. He leaps up, walks over to the chair that Haymitch is sitting on, and grabs him by the collar, hoisting him off of his chair and over the floor, with his feet dangling about four inches from the thick, white carpets.

"I don't know what your tributes have said in the past, but I'm not here to die. I plan on living and seeing my family again, and I'm pretty sure that Madge would also appreciate if you could get off of your lazy, drunk ass and actually do something to help your tributes for once!" Gale growls in a voice so low that I can barely hear it, yet it rattles the floor and chandelier.

I look at Haymitch's face, and he's staring at me sadly. He must be remembering Auntie Maysilee and their games.

"You look just like her, you know," he mumbles, as Gale slowly puts him back down.

"Yeah, I've been told by my mother," I whisper.

"Did your mom get to say good bye, or was she having another one of her headaches again?" he questions.

I'm confused by his questions, but at least he's coherent.

"She was too ill," I reply carefully.

Haymitch sighs again and flops back into his chair, scratching his long, greasy hair.

"Don't spend too long with any of the weapons during training, but try to find something that fits you well enough. Spend more time at the edible plants, knots, and first aid. They'll also help give you clues about what the arena will be like. During the private session, try to get the game makers' attentions. Surprise them. And stay alive," he adds. He grabs his bottle again and seems to drift out into nowhere. Gale and I take this as our cue to leave.

"I'm sorry about your Aunt," Gale mumbles as we reach my room.

It's the first time that he's spoken and I'm unsure of what to say, so I settle for a shrug.

"At least we got a little something out of Haymitch," I say, trying to brighten the mood. It doesn't work.

"Yeah. Stay alive, Madge," Gale rolls his eyes as he walks down the corridor.

I feel something in my stomach again as I watch him go. I want to keep looking, but I can't even imagine how embarrassed I would be if he turned around and caught me staring, so I quickly try to undo the lock on my door.

I stumble into my room, flip on the lights. I pull off everything down to my underwear. There's a nightgown on the chair so I pull it over my head, then I collapse onto the silky sheets. I take a deep breath as I close my eyes and my dreams begin.

I don't know why, but this took me forever to write. Usually I can crank out a chapter in an evening or two, but this took me Friday night, all of Saturday, and about three hours today just to write. I don't even know why!

You should all reward me for my hard work with a nice review :)