I do not own the Hunger Games, but this story and the original characters are mine.

Note: If you haven't already, please go reread Chapter 12. I uploaded the wrong version. The correct one is now up.

Chapter 13

The last three days have comprised of me watching recaps of the reapings and opening ceremonies, trying to get to know my tributes, and playing the piano at weird intervals. I've also been trying to forget Dimitri's lips on mine. I have also taken advantage of watching them train on my television, though Dimitri has told me not to bother. "They don't pull out their bag of tricks until they are alone with the Gamemakers in their private sessions."

I have a notebook filled with possible advantages and disadvantages that tributes have. For example, Rue from District 11 has a small stature. She is at a disadvantage if she were to engage in hand to hand combat with one of the tributes such as one of the Careers from 1, 2, or 4. Dimitri hasn't been much help in guiding me as to what I'm looking for. I've only seen him briefly in the past three days. In fact, he seems to be keeping his distance. Maybe he's… I shake my head. "Stop over thinking this. He probably had too much to drink and is feeling guilty," I say aloud. "Or weird." He probably has a couple of girls on the side that he sleeps with on a weekly basis.

The clock reads ten-fifteen. I have to report to the training center by eleven. My copies of the tributes' stats are spread out all over the floor. My living room is a sea of papers and notes in which my kittens are having fun making a larger mess. Cato from District 2 is crumpled thanks to Oliver. Though he has seemed to have moved on and now has the hots for the District 1 tribute Glimmer. Althena sleeps peacefully on Peeta Mellark's face. I think if he was not so terribly young and being sent to die, I might find him attractive.

I give up stopping the two furballs from mangling the tributes. My doorbell rings and of course I'm wearing my pajamas. It's Dimitri. He has a long purple robe slung over his shoulder that matches the one he wears. It has the crest of the Capitol on the right breast.

"Hi." I say. This is embarrassing. I haven't even brushed my teeth my teeth yet. I assume this is what a drunk one-night stand feels like. The awkwardness of what you did under the influence of alcohol.

"May I come in?" The scary clown that I met several days ago is back. His face is painted white, with dark circles painted around his eyes. A garish red smile accents the scars around his mouth. Clearly, my influence was short-lived.

"I brought you the robe, you're supposed to wear. I meant to bring it over earlier…" his voice trails off. He hands me the purple robe. It is in plastic, fresh from the cleaners. He clears his throat. Dimitri seems odd of sorts. "But a couple of things… came up. I also brought you a bullet proof vest. I want you to wear it today."

"But—"

"You never know what can happen." He shoves past me. His breath reeks of alcohol.

"I see you've been… studying." He gestures to the strewn papers.

"Yeah, the kittens were trying to help," I say. "Oliver likes to knock over all of my stacks."

Dimitri drapes the robe and vest across the back of a chair and goes to explore the scattered papers. My notebook lies open on the coffee table. "Pop quiz. What do you remember from the other night?"

"You kissed me." I say. I sit next to him on the couch, our knees touch. He makes no move to put his arm around me or even notice that we are touching.

"Wrong. Five points off of your final score."

"But you did."

"It's great to know where your priorities lie," he snorts.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I retort. Clearly, I mean nothing to him and that hurts. Something is wrong. Even though I've known him for a short time, this is not how he would react.

"I'm not talking about what either you or I did the other night, or how much we had to drink. What do you remember about the other night?"

"Mockingjays."

Dimitri wrestles poor Cato away from Oliver and holds up the mangled pages. "Why are we here? This isn't a trick question."

Suddenly I understand what he's asking. "The tributes," I breathe.

"Yes." He picks up my notes. "Who stood out the most to you?"

"District 12," I say.

"Which tribute?"

"They both did." I pause. "They were on fire."

Dimitri purses his lips, clearly annoyed with my answer. "I need more. What stood out to…"

"Katniss smiled and blew kisses at the audience," I interrupt.

"So, she made the audience her bitch. Good, now we're getting somewhere. What did you notice about their hands?"

I struggle to remember even though I have watched the opening ceremonies multiple times. All the others tributes had hung onto the front of the chariot with both hands. Katniss was waving with her right hand then where was her left hand? Peeta only had one hand free too. The other was at his side. "Holding each other," I answer. "They were holding hands, none of the other tributes were. That means there must be a prearranged alliance."

"Good girl."

"The boy's a baker and the girl hunts using a bow outside the borders of District 12 to gather food for her family and other residents. She trades at the Hob. She sacrificed herself for her sister."

He waves his hand. "That last bit means nothing. It only means she's human and can play to the Capitol's soft side."

"But can't the Gamemakers use that as an advantage?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Not in these Games. We don't even know if she'll make it through."

I look back at my notes. "Previous history between her and Peeta: He gave her a burnt loaf of bread because her family was starving."

"So we have resentment," Dimitri muses.

"Maybe she'll protect him in the arena."

"Doubtful. She traded spots with her sister. Tell me about District—"

"She will," I insist. "If they're anything like the people of District 8, they hate being in debt to another person."

He licks his lips, and leans closer. "When you're in the arena, all of your humanity disappears. It's kill or be killed. There's no room for—"

"You've never owed someone for your life have you?" I'm treading into dangerous territory.

"You have no idea what I've done. That only goes so far when your own life is at stake," Dimitri sneers. "Go get dressed. We'll be late."

"You're wrong," I say.

He snorts. "You're naïve little girl. You have a lot to learn about humanity and how terrible we really are."

"Maybe she loves him."

"Or maybe she loves her cousin Gale," Dimitri replies. "They go hunting together every day. Did you miss that part?"

"On May 15th, they saw a hovercraft beam up two people, one was later killed and the other was made an Avox. Her name is Lavinia." I reply. "No, I didn't."

"Now, you're just showing off."

Now I know something is very, very wrong. His eyes are dilated larger than they should be in this light.

"You're not looking forward to this, are you?" I ask. This has to bring back some memories.

"Can you just get ready, so we can go?"

I get up from the couch to go take my shower. About half-way there, I turn around. "Oh, and for the record, it's ironic that Lavinia was made an Avox. There is a Shakespeare play called Titus Andonicus that is set in ancient Rome. The character Lavinia is Titus' daughter. Her lover is killed and then she is raped by Demetrius and Chiron, two sons of a family who swear revenge on Titus. After she is raped her tongue and hands are cut off so she is unable to tell her father who did it. She tells him by writing the words in the sand by putting a stick in her mouth and wrapping her two stumps around it. The human race has been cruel to each other for ages. The Hunger Games are nothing new."

"Then what happens?" Dimitri asks, sarcastically. "They catch the killers and everyone lives happily ever after? They sew her tongue back."

"No, the same thing that happens in every tragedy; everyone dies."

I close the door to my bedroom and then go take a shower. I am flustered by Dimitri's presence in my living room. So flustered that I hit a couple of wrong buttons and end up giving myself a too hot shower and manly smelling bodywash. I brush my teeth and quickly decide on something to wear. It doesn't really matter, considering that I am wearing a robe over my clothes. I put on a short-sleeve shirt and brown pants with knee high boots. I quickly braid my hair into a single braid.

Dimitri checks his watch. "About time."

"Shut up," I say. "I didn't take that long."

He helps me into my bullet proof vest, and the robe. It's a little big. The sleeves go past my fingertips and the hem drags on the floor. "Hm… Maybe I gave you the wrong one."

He unzips his robe. I notice that he too, is wearing a bulletproof vest. "Old habits die hard," he says. He helps me into the other. This one fits better. I don't look like I am drowning in purple fabric.

"I wouldn't worry about looking pretty. We all look like purple grapes in these things."

I pick up my notebook, pocketbook, and follow him out the door. On the way to the training center, he quizzes me about the other tributes, but my mind is still on Katniss Everdeen and why she and her fellow tribute, and possible enemy were holding hands.

"A little less than half of these tributes will make it past the bloodbath," Dimitri explains. "Today will pretty much tell who those tributes are. Though we've had a few that have scored low and then completely surprised us. Johanna Mason, for example, scored extremely low, went into the arena and turned into a killing machine."

"Do you think that'll be any tributes' route to success this year?"

He shrugs as we fly down the long tunnel in his car. "Don't know. The tributes seem to have a lot of pride this year, so I doubt it."

"What about Rue?"

"She's so tiny and young. I don't think she'll make it past the bloodbath to be quite honest. She and the female from District 3."

"Graham knows her," I say. "Or her family, at least."

"I'm not surprised. District 3 isn't that big."

"I hope Rue makes it through the blood bath," I say. "She and both of the tributes from District 5."

"Why 5?"

I shrug. "No reason. Who are your picks?"

"Don't know. It all depends on how they do today in the training and in the interviews." I must look confused, because he continues. "What they say and don't say? If you watch past interviews, you'll see what I mean."

"Which Games do you recommend?"

"Watch your grandmother's Games. Hell, watch my Games for all I care." We hurry into the training center, past the room where the tributes wait before they are ushered into see us.

He stops and I almost slam into the back of him. Eyes belonging to tributes from Districts 1,2, and 4 stare back at us. Marvel and Cato glower back at us.

"Who's the clown?" Cato sneers. The six of them point and sneer at Dimitri.

"Look at that guy," Glimmer mocks. "Whoever his stylist is, they need to be fired."

They make a few more hurtful jokes, but Dimitri seems nonplussed. His face is a painted white mask. He doesn't smile. His presence makes them uneasy, they keep throwing glances back in his direction. We've caught Rue's and the tributes from District 5, and 6. They're eyes are wide. No doubt they recognize the purple robes we are wearing, unlike the Careers.

I grab Dimitri's sleeve to get him away from the window. "Let's go."

He doesn't move.

"Dimitri." I plead softly. I have no idea if they can hear me. "Don't let them bother you. They're just stupid kids."

"Yeah, I'm going to paint my face white and look like a fucking clown," Marvel sneers. "And I'll scare small children. Booga Booga!"

"Come on, let's go." I pull on his sleeve again. Dimitri doesn't move, he seems to be lost in thought.

I punch him in the shoulder.

He winces, and rubs his arm. "Ow. What was that for?"

I point at my non-existent watch. "We're going to be late."

"Keep your shirt on," he nods towards the Careers. "What did you notice in them just now?"

"They're tools and they made fun of you. I bet if they knew who you were, they wouldn't have done that."

He takes my hand, and my heart flutters. Stop it, I tell myself. He's your mentor. That kiss meant nothing. Besides, there's still Graham to consider. It would be unfair.

He looks around and pulls me into a small unused room and closes the door. It has a couch and a television. This is the one of the many rooms where the mentors will watch their tributes in the arena.

Again, his lips inches are away from mine. "No, no, no, I don't give a fuck of what those brats think of me. Don't you see?" His mouth turns into a cruel smile. "They're overconfident in their abilities."

"And they should be confident in their abilities," I say. "They have the best mentors and facilities to train."

"And the ego of entitlement to match," Dimitri adds. He grips my arm tighter. "Just like people from the Capitol who expect to be entertained by their deaths."

"But the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 think it's an honor to die," I argue.

He licks his lips and his eyes harden. "Do you think it's an honor to die in a barbaric fashion with most of your dignity stripped away? Some of the tributes plead for their lives and cry for their mothers, and yet you watch on your television with glee as they are brutally murdered," he sneers. Flecks of spittle fly from his mouth onto my face. He twists my arm tightly behind my back and backs me up against a wall. "What about the female tributes that are raped before they're killed? Do you think they deserve that? Of course, they don't show that on television. Yet to you and your little friends, it's a little game; an excuse to throw a party. Where's the honor in that?"

"You and the other tributes don't deserve what you go through in the arena. It's cruel and inhumane."

"I was one of those 'stupid kids' you referred to back there."

"I—"

"You know nothing about what happened to me in there, how they tortured me after the Games."

"I can relate sort of," I say.

"You don't fucking know me. Don't talk to me like you fucking know me! Don't fucking talk to me about what I went through in the arena while you were at home sitting on your cushy couch eating chocolate while I ran for my life." I smell alcohol on his breath. He shoves me into a counter. The mugs rattle dangerously. I escape briefly but he catches me and pins me against the refrigerator with his body. His eyes are filled with hatred and I am afraid that I will end up like the female tributes whose entire fates the Gamemakers chose not to show.

"Dimitri, you're hurting me," I plead. "Dimitri, stop. Please."

I try to think about my escape routes. If I screamed, would anyone come? The tributes surely would here me, but would they come? I could knee him in the groin and then run. Being a former tribute, his reflexes are probably pretty fast.

"As much as you don't want to admit it, you are exactly like your mother. You think everyone adores you."

"That's not true," My eyes fill with tears. "I lived in District 8 and worked in a factory with my sister."

"And so that makes you not like them. You-" He grabs my robe in both hands.

"What have I done to you for you to be so cruel to me? I know you suffered at the hands of the Capitol. I'm not discounting that at all. But what gives you the right to automatically to lump me with them?"

His jar twitches and then his eyes flicker back into focus, like someone has slapped him. The cruelty fades from eyes and he releases me. Footsteps hurry down the hall. I see the white helmets of Peacekeepers. Baffled, he looks around the room and runs a hand through his hair. There is fear in his eyes.

"Carmen," he whispers. "I don't know what came over me."

"That hurt," I spit, rubbing my shoulder.

"Oh my God," He repeats. "Carmen, I—"

Lupe peeks into the room. "What are you two doing in here?"

"Dimitri was giving me a tour," I lie.

Dimitri scuffs his feet on the ground. "I want her to have the entire experience."

Did you here someone scream?" He looks worried. "It's against the rules for the tributes to engage in combat before the Games."

"No, I didn't hear it. Did you?" I ask Dimitri.

He shakes his head. Lupe frowns at both of us. "You should go to the training room now. We want to start on time."

Dimitri nods and swallows hard. He puts an arm on my shoulder to lead me out.

"Don't touch me," I growl.

Dimitri immediately backs off, raising both of his hands above his shoulders. "As you wish." There's no malice in his voice.

I follow him into the room. We are the last ones there. A long table stretches the length of the gymnasium. There are about ten or so other people that I have never seen in my life wandering around. I tug on Dimitri's sleeve, "Who are these other people?"

He scowls at me. "Other Gamemakers. Some of them have served on other Games on the main committee. Some of them helped design the arena and the dangers that live in it."

"Trackerjackers?" I ask.

He chuckles. "Worse."

Dimitri and I take the seats closest to the punch bowl. There is one person already sitting at the end, and we squeeze behind him. Seneca Crane claps his hands and thanks us all for taking time out of our schedules to be here. Dimitri rolls his eyes and pours himself a glass of wine and drinks the entire thing in one gulp. At my place there is a clipboard with the names of the tributes and a place for a score. Seneca Crane explains the scoring system and what we are looking for to adapt the arena to allow the tributes to perform at the best of their abilities.

"Help yourself to the food," the mysterious gamemaker says. "It's going to be a long day."

I open my notebook and Dimtri pours himself another glass of wine. He pours me one too and sets it in front of me. He doesn't meet my eyes.

Districts 1 and 2's tributes are the ones who naturally show that they have any talent. District 3's tributes show as much skill as a cat trying to learn how to tap dance. The weapons are clumsy in their hands. Rosemary, the female tribute's throwing knives bounce off the target and skid across the floor. Several of the Gamemakers shake their heads, and she goes out in tears. I am mortified for her.

"Obviously, we'll curve the scores to make it look like the tributes will be evenly matched. It will also prevent the tributes from becoming discouraged, because you know we can't have a bad show," Dimitri murmurs.

Somewhere in between District 7's female tribute and District 8's male tributes, Dimitri slides a napkin with several dashes on it. "Guess a letter."

We are supposed to be watching the tributes, but they are so bad that it's painful to watch.

"Don't you think you've had enough to drink?"

"That's not a letter.

I look at the napkin with all the dashes. "That's not a word, that's a small book."

"It's seven, actually. If I wanted it to be a novel, I would make it 50,000."

"Q."

He draws a head on the stand. "He's got a head."

"After what you said to me back there, what makes you think I want to talk to you," I hiss. "Let alone play hangman with you." I try to focus on the tribute. The person that sat next to us has moved farther down the table and is talking to Contessa.

"Are you, are you,

coming to the tree

Where they strung up a man they say murdered three.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree." Dimitri sings softly.

My blood runs cold. "R."

"Two R's."

"Are the tributes always this bad?" I try to steer the conversation away from that song.

He shrugs and helps himself to a plate of food. "It depends on the year. They'll do…. Well, some of them will do better in the arena. If they make it through the bloodbath. Can I get you some punch?"

I rub my eyes wearily. "Is it spiked?"

"No, but I'll spike it with something if you want?"

"O."

He counts his letters on his napkin. "Two 'o's. You need to pick up your game."

"S."

"Three."

My stomach growls. The smell of the food is too much. I help myself to several things on the table. Between eating, drinking and playing hangman, Dimitri and I attempt to pass the time. He kidnaps my notebook during District 11 and draws obscene pictures of the other Gamemakers, mainly Contessa, whose behavior has gotten out of hand and is sitting on another Gamemaker's lap, sucking his face. The angry individual I saw earlier in Dimitri is gone, probably mellowed out by the wine. He hums along to the old Irish drinking song that the Elmo is leading.

Dimitri and I watch Rue. She is very light on her feet. She makes a few snares, demonstrates knowledge in edible plants, and is pretty good with a knife.

"If she can escape the bloodbath and outrun some of the larger tributes, she might have a chance." Dimitri says. "Her knife work is a little sloppy. I wish I could show her a few things."

It goes without saying; giving any tribute any advantage is illegal. Dimitri hands me my notebook back so I can make a few notes. I chuckle at his picture of Contess. He has given her a large penis and huge boobs.

The different platters are cleared and a boar with an apple in its mouth is set on our end of the table. People ooh and ahh, before they fire up another dinking song. Peeta comes in and he throws around weights. I don't blame him. I'd be pissed too,.

"I don't understand you," I say.

"Most people don't," Dimitri says. He takes a sip of his wine and keeps his eyes focused on Peeta. The drinking song grows louder. Peeta stops and looks up, annoyed, and then goes back to throwing weights. He takes back my notebook and goes back to sketching.

I sigh. My butt is falling asleep. I haven't moved since District 6 when I went to the bathroom. We sit there in silence trying to ignore the singing. Some of these tributes must find us to be disgusting. Dimitri's words about being an entitled Capitol girl come back. I probably did sit on the couch and watch him run for his life. I can't even imagine what it would be like to be in a place like District 12, that doesn't always have electricity to a place where you can push a button and food appears.

Peeta leaves and Katniss comes in. She fiddles around the bows, picking up each one. Finally, she chooses one. Her first shot goes wide. Katniss is baffled, then she shoots better the next few times.

"Carmen." He touches my shoulder. "About what happened earlier? I just want to tell you-"

Katniss aims her bow directly at me. My heart stops as she releases string and it moves towards me in slow motion.

"LOOK OUT!" Dimitri yells. He shoves me out of my chair, his body landing on top of mine. There is a loud crack as my skull hits the concrete floor. Different colors of stars pop in front of my eyes. I feel as though I have looked in to a very bright camera flash. Then there is darkness, like whatever bright light existed there has been extinguished.

A/n: This is really long. Sorry about that. Please review.