Notes: And now… the middle districts.


Chapter 2: "Heart of the Nation"


July 1: Reaping Day

District Five


"Well, it was nice while it lasted," Peter Quill muttered to himself.

He wasn't sure, exactly, where he would be this time next year, or if he'd even get sent back to Five for the Reaping. He didn't even know how much of his duties as a victor he'd still be doing once he was…

Well.

He didn't like to say the word "married" at this point, or any variation of it, even though he knew that's the word people were muttering all around him. In the Capitol, it had been a whole bunch of airheads who either didn't understand that he wanted no part in this or who did understand and just didn't care — or worse, thought it was even better that he was being forced into this whole mess of a marriage.

Yeah, there were some seriously crazy, messed-up types in the Capitol.

It was both better and worse in the district. The nice part was that almost nobody out there knew that Gamora was more or less making a political statement with him, not only showing the victors that the royals controlled everything but also showing the country at large that she was the crown princess and heir to her father's country. There was a lot of talk about image, even more about heirs, but that… Peter more or less blacked out of the conversations whenever that came up.

But in District Five, it was a lot simpler: everyone thought he really was marrying Gamora because he liked her. Sure, there were a few people who actually knew him who knew better, who knew that he was paler than death every time the topic came up, but… that was a small handful out of an entire district of people who thought he was bought and paid for by the Capitol.

So it was a bit of a trade-off. On the one hand, it was nice to know that nobody was on the sadistic train to celebrate his suffering, but on the other, it was killing him to go home and see the looks of betrayal.

He used to be well-liked. Even before the Games. He just had that kind of face, and if he was being honest, he'd always thought that he was charming too. Even after the Games, he'd been popular, because he was the first victor from Five, and he hadn't been a crazy psychopath about winning, either.

Now? People glared at him. Called him a traitor. Or just flat-out ignored him.

And yet it was oh-so-much better than being in the Capitol. At least here, he wasn't constantly being told what to wear, how to walk, where to be, what to say. At least here, he could get a little alone time, considering his foster dad, Yondu, wasn't exactly the type to smother him. He could get a little space, some time to breathe.

Charles had suggested that he take the month the victors had at home before the Reaping to try to prepare himself, too, but Peter had no idea how he was supposed to do that.

No, seriously, was there a handbook of instructions for people who were about to be forced into a marriage that had been arranged specifically to make him miserable? If there was... he actually wasn't sure if he wanted to read it.

But now… now it was Reaping Day, which meant it was time to head back to the Capitol, and so he hadn't exactly gotten any sleep last night.

Or the night before.

If he was honest, he was having trouble sleeping just in general.

He examined his reflection in the mirror and knew that Michael was going to have fits when he got there. He had serious bags under his eyes, and he definitely looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep. He shrugged, ran a hand through his hair, and figured he should at least try to get something in him.

He'd intended to go for the coffee, but he ended up hitting the scotch.

When Michael finally did show up, he immediately proved him right in his earlier assessment by jumping straight to getting onto him for the state of his eyes, his hair—

"And your breath!" He swatted at the air in front of his nose. "You have to go on the stage. The mayor and everyone—"

"Nobody here is going to care if I'm drunk," Peter said tiredly. "It's not like it's going to sink my reputation any lower around here."

Michel narrowed his eyes before he seemed to decide that it wasn't worth it to get into that argument — yet. "Well, at least get dressed," he said, shoving a red leather jacket at him.

"No black?" he asked, surprised. That had been pretty much all he was wearing lately. It was more or less what Gamora said she wanted, and with how often he was around her in the past few months…

"No." Michael shrugged. "MJ says, and I quote, 'I've been designing way too much black for you, and it's not your color.'"

Peter started to smile just the slightest bit. "She's a good friend."

Michael shrugged. "Yeah, no kidding." He waved a hand toward the door to tell Peter to get dressed. "And try to sleep on the train, would you? I thought you were supposed to be taking something to help you sleep."

"Are you snooping in my medical file now?"

"I have access to everything about you. I have to. So does MJ, in case she ever decides you need fur or a skin dye job or something."

Peter froze, and Michael met his gaze.

"Not… green," Michael said falteringly, and Peter tried to give the guy a reassuring smile. He knew he hadn't meant anything by it, it was just…

It was hard to know how to navigate this whole thing, really.

"Yeah, that's… not my color either," he said with an attempt at a winning smile, though that only got Michael shaking his head and muttering under his breath about the "sham of a wedding."

It was going to be a long day.


The sun was too bright as Jessica Jones tried to avoid being touched in the middle of the crowd that had gathered. The mayor was already halfway through his stupid speech, and it was all she could do to keep from shouting for him to 'get on with it', though that's exactly what she wanted to do.

One of the girls behind her jostled her forward with a fake apology, and Jessica turned around for a second to find the saccharine smile and the little curtsy just … irritating. She turned back around, rolling her eyes, and when the girl bumped her again, she threw an elbow back into her stomach before she narrowed her eyes and put on her own fake smile. "Oops."

She'd gotten nothing but dirty looks and harassment since Carol had volunteered for her last year, and after all the rudeness — and the nasty commentary about how Carol should have lived — Jessica had finally had enough. She was going to do exactly like Carol had done and volunteer — unless of course the name pulled belonged to the idiot behind her that couldn't stand upright without pushing Jessica into the girls ahead of them.

But when the name that came out of the jar belonged to the pretty, well-mannered girl in the third row — Margaret someone or another — she just blurted it out. "I volunteer!" she called with a scowl on her face.

The girl turned with a shocked look on her face as Jessica pushed her way to the aisle. "You wanna move your ugly butts out of my way? Tribute coming through." When she got to the cleared aisle, she straightened her shirt and put on a fake smile for half a second before she started to stride up to the stage.

Their escort looked shocked as he offered her his hand and asked her name, but instead of letting him announce it, she took the microphone from him. "Jessica Jones — I was drawn last year. So I'm setting things right." She put on another quick, fake smile and tipped her head to the side for a second before she handed the mic back to Barnett and stepped back with her hands clasped behind her back as she waited for the boy's name to be called.


Bucky was more concerned about Mrs. Rogers than anything else that morning, stopping by her place to make sure she was alright. It had been a year since Steve had volunteered for him, and he felt responsible.

He'd spent a year trying to take care of Steve's mom, trying to do what he could. He worked overtime hours, and he helped out around the house. Peggy helped too, soldiering on like she always did.

The two of them were alright, though Bucky just felt tired watching them talk. Mrs. Rogers was much more open with her emotions than Peggy was, and it was clear she had been crying that morning, so he just let Peggy do her thing. She was much better at it than he was.

When she met up with him again to head down to the Reaping itself, he noticed the handkerchief in her pocket that she had clearly just used. "You doing alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Peggy replied curtly.

That was always her answer, but he felt like he had to ask for Steve's sake.

He was trying to do things for Steve like that, though he knew he was horrible at it. He wasn't Steve. He didn't operate like Steve did. He just didn't have that kind of… he wasn't sure if it was stupidity or what, but he sure didn't have it.

"I put aside a little money so we can get her dinners for the next few weeks," Bucky told her. He was good at that kind of thing — quietly getting things done and having something physical to show for it.

"I'll make sure it comes together," Peggy assured him, and Bucky nodded.

They split when they got to the main area where the boys and girls were separated, and he was planning on completely tuning the whole thing out. His name had already been pulled; he just had to listen through the girls' names and make sure his sister or Peggy stayed safe, and then he was thinking about disappearing for a while. He'd done what he could for the others, and he was no good for the crying part. He'd just… be better if he was gone.

But when the name they called out was Margaret Carter, his every muscle tensed, and he looked across the way to see the same shock in her face that he knew was on his own.

That just wasn't fair.

He didn't have anything he could offer for this, either. Peggy was supposed to take care of Steve's mom. She was supposed to do that part and he'd just take care of everything else — he couldn't do it without her, and he knew it. So he was halfway gearing up to volunteer so he could at least do that much and get her back home, protect her like Steve had done for him, when the little dark-haired girl volunteered in Peggy's place.

Bucky gaped for a moment as the girl got up to the stage and declared her name for everyone to hear — Jessica Jones.

He recognized the name. She'd been the other one to get Reaped last year, and Steve's partner had volunteered for her too. Another survivor stepping up to do their bit.

He didn't wait after that, just started to move, and he was halfway out of the crowd — and the Sentinels were halfway to him — when he realized he was supposed to announce his intentions first. "Yeah, I volunteer too," he bit out, ignoring Peggy's expression entirely and definitely not looking at his sister.

This whole thing was stupid, but if another kid had to die, might as well be him. Heck, if he won, he could keep Steve's mom and Peggy and everyone in the clear anyhow, just take care of them with the Capitol's money that should've gone to Steve.

It was obvious Michael recognized Bucky — how could he not, considering how much they'd played Steve's stupid volunteer move over and over again, not to mention that stupid tape they showed Steve during his Games. The whole thing was real, of course, right up until the part where they convinced Steve that Bucky hadn't made it out — the cameras mysteriously hadn't shown the window he got through before the whole place blew. Just to screw with Steve.

He wondered how many people in the Capitol knew it was all fake. Maybe he could give some heart attacks to a few ditzy Capitolites at being back from the dead. Could be fun.

When he got to the stage, he shook Jessica's hand, tipping his head the slightest bit her way. "You and me again, huh?" he muttered low, and she nodded in response, her jaw set.

"A year too late, apparently," Jessica replied low.

They separated and headed to the designated areas to wait for family, and Bucky wasn't surprised at all when Rebecca more or less melted all over him and called him a moron a thousand times over.

"You just had to make it through two more years, you idiot!" she told him with tears streaming down her face, and her sentiment was echoed — much louder — when Peggy clearly couldn't wait for the rest of the Barnes clan to clear out before she came storming in and punched him square in the jaw.

"C'mon, Peggy, what was that—"

She punched him again and then got right up in his face. "This. Is. Not. What Steve died for," she told him in a low hiss, her eyes narrowed.

She was inches away from him, so he decided it was probably safer if he didn't point out that Steve didn't have to die if he'd done this in the first place. Instead, he met her gaze for a moment and said, "So that money's under my pillow back home. If I win, I'll have more when I get back that you can have too."

"That's entirely not the point," Peggy said, straightening up her shirt front. "You … stupid, noble idiot."

"Careful there, sounds like you're thinking about Steve, not me," Bucky said.

"I'm thinking about hitting you again," she said. "Seeing as the two of you share the same brain. Still."

Bucky smirked the slightest bit and looked toward Rebecca. "Becca, I think she just said I'm half brain dead," he said in an attempt to get her to smile.

"Well, she's right," Rebecca replied with her arms crossed over her chest.

"Seriously? Both of you?" He looked between the two brunettes, but neither of them seemed willing to budge and were both openly glaring at him. He shook his head. "Fine. Look — I'll try not to die, alright?"

Peggy looked like she might hit him again for that one, so it was probably good timing when that was when the Sentinels showed up to tell them that their ten minutes were up. So instead, he got a good hug from Rebecca and a look from Peggy that was pure death threat before he found himself getting on the train to head to the Capitol.

Jessica was already there, and so was their mentor, though the smile Peter Quill was trying to give both of them just didn't have any power to it. The guy looked downright green, so Bucky ignored him in favor of sitting down next to his new district partner.

"So we're both a little late for this ride," Jessica said to Bucky.

"Looks like," he agreed with a little nod before he held out his hand. "Bucky, by the way."

"Jessica," she replied as she shook his hand. "I hope we're not starting a trend, because I'm going to be pissed off if that girl does this next year."

"You and me both," Bucky said with the slightest of smirks. "I knew — I know her, and she would, too."

"Then I guess you better win and stop her from being stupid," Jessica replied straight-faced and in a flat tone.

"We'll see," he replied, sitting back in his chair.

"Well, you two will have plenty of sponsors this year, if it helps," Quill said as he finally seemed to find the wherewithal to join them, half holding his breath.

"Yeah, I heard," Jessica said as she looked him up and down. "Congratulations on your impending nuptials of doom."

He looked a bit pale as he mumbled out a 'thanks' before he straightened out the hem of his shirt and cleared his throat.

"Will that make you an actual lord?" Jessica asked with a frown. "Or will you be a duke?"

"I don't really know, but I'll take the lord title, thanks," he said with the beginnings of a little smirk her way. "Might as well."

"No offense, but I hope your bride chokes."

"None taken, whatsoeverdear," Quill assured her honestly.

She looked between Peter and Bucky for a moment before she scrunched up her face again. "I'm sorry, but how are you not drunk right now?"

"I was," Quill admitted. "But, ah, someone hid it from me."

"Huh," she said, looking around the car. "I can fix that."

Quill made a sweeping gesture. "Please do. It would make it easier on everyone."

She tipped her head and popped up to walk around the car and into the next one. Before the door closed all the way, the two of them could very clearly hear her tell someone loudly, "This isn't yours!" just before she breezed back into the car with a bottle in her hand. "You're welcome — but you're also sharing."

"I have no problems with those terms," Quill said as he cracked open the bottle and took a long drink before he passed it back to her. "You drinking with us, Barnes?"

"C'mon, district partner," Jessica said. "You only live once, right?"

Bucky looked between the two of them and shrugged up one shoulder before he reached for the bottle. "Might as well."


July 1: Reaping Day

District Six


He woke up angry, though this didn't surprise him in the least, of course. Brock woke up angry most days, and went to bed angry too. Ever since last year's Games, his fury had grown until vitriolic hatred dripped from his expression at all moments of the day. He thought of it as a skill more than anything else.

He pushed himself out of the bed he'd occupied that night. The one in question was not his usual bed. Last night, he'd slept in the abandoned house of Susan Scarbo. Sinthea Schmidt's grandmother had died several months ago, leaving her small, dilapidated home open for anyone to use. The district had no need for it, and Brock liked it. It felt more like home than his parents' house, really.

When he sat up in bed, he found himself staring at a big, fat rat that lay asleep in the corner. Brock smirked. He drew the dagger out from under his pillow and pelted it straight at the unsuspecting rodent. It released a pained shriek as it died in agony.

"If I didn't have such high tastes, I might call that breakfast," he muttered to himself. Brock stood and dressed himself quickly. As he left the room in Sinthea's old house, he ran his hand along the wooden door frame in something akin to nostalgia.

He closed the front door with a bang. A dog let out a howl and a bark in surprise not far down the lane. Brock sneered at it, and it shrunk back in fear. He picked up a stone and threw it at the puppy viciously.

He went to the nicer parts of the district, intent on visiting the cupcake shop on the main square. He walked silently, ignoring the bustling activity for Reaping Day all around him. The flamboyant display of Marvel's colors didn't interest him. The Capitol didn't interest him. His only thought was revenge, vengeance for the fallen.

As he entered the shop, the woman behind the counter nodded to him in trepidation. Brock had a rap sheet as long as the woman's record book. His criminal activities had only really started a year ago, but he gave the Serpent Squad a run for their money, and he was a solo kind of guy.

Brock stopped in front of the display case and pointed at one with a skull and crossbones. "That one."

"Aren't you a little old for pirates?" She chuckled at him despite her better judgement.

Brock glared and twirled his dagger. "Do you want 30 days worth of rations, or should I take the little pastry myself?"

"No, no." She handed him the cupcake. "Here!"

"Good decision."

She nodded, mouth drawn in a thin line as she watched him leave her store. Brock sat down outside at one of the little metal tables. He looked at the cupcake. It reminded him of better days and better company. But those days and that company was gone. He took his dagger and cut the cupcake into bites. Eating half, he left the other piece of the pirate cupcake on the table for anyone who wanted it. He only needed half. Now, he had work to do.

Brock Rumlow didn't even register the pain as the Games staff pricked his finger and took blood. He just walked past them when it was done, ignoring the brilliant and bright decorations and festivities. He made his way to where the other eighteen year old boys stood. But he didn't look at any of them; instead, he watched the sole mentor of District Six, Johann Schmidt. Brock glared as Schmidt drank a small glass of wine and chatted lightly with a few Sentinels.

After he won the Games, he'd kill the Red Skull first.

He spent the entire video glaring at the victor. When it finished up, and Darcy Lewis stepped up to the microphone, Brock finally smiled. The Red Skull had found him in the crowd.

"Alright, let's do the boys first this year, shall we?" Darcy moved to take a piece of paper from the bowl.

But Brock had other ideas. "I volunteer!"

He didn't make eye contact with Darcy, or the boys who parted quickly around him, murmuring. He maintained his gaze with Johann Schmidt, who, for his part, never looked away. As he reached the stage, he shook the Red Skull's hand, rage lacing his expression like arsenic.


Kamala Khan had worked hard to be accepted at the school in Six so that she could make the most out of what Six had to offer.

There had never really been any other option for her, because her parents were determined that their little girl would never be mediocre or left by the wayside. So she and her brother both worked hard, though Aamir had graduated by then and still didn't have a job to go with all that hard work, so she could hear the usual argument down the hall as she got dressed for Reaping Day in a new long-sleeved dress and a beautiful scarf.

"We're just asking you to apply yourself," she could hear Ami saying, and she shook her head quietly. Ami wasn't going to get anywhere there, and she could already hear her brother protesting his usual 'there isn't anything available.'

This happened every time she came home from the school, so she was pretty well used to it.

Kamala readjusted the scarf so that it sat just right around her shoulders before she came downstairs. It was only her second Reaping, but she'd shot up almost a foot since last year, so she got to have the new dress anyway — though her dad pointed out that this was probably about as tall as she was going to get, now that she'd passed her mother.

Aamir made it a point, as he'd done last year, to walk her down to the gathering. He took his duties as her big brother seriously, she knew, and he glared at any of the boys who looked at her at all.

"You don't have to do that," she complained as they got to the line where they'd have to separate so she could get her finger pricked and he could go stand with the other adults.

"Yes, I do," he countered, still standing with her all the way up until she got her finger pricked and he was not allowed to go any further. "I'll wait for you right here!" he called out her way as he headed back into the crowd, and she waved at him with a wide smile. He was a good brother, even if he was annoying.

She made her way over to stand with the other girls her age. Zoe Zimmer, the blonde from her school that was always commenting on the way Kamala dressed, the way she ate, the way she moved — everything — had somehow ended up behind her, and Kamala was doing her best to ignore her.

"That's a pretty scarf, Kamala," Zoe said in a tone that suggested she didn't think it was pretty, though it was hard to argue with her when she was saying nice things.

Kamala's best friend, Nakia, just shouldered past Zoe to stand by her in the line. "Ignore her," she muttered.

"Yeah, I got that," Kamala whispered back, though when Zoe kept trying to go on about Nakia's outfit, they had never been so pleased to hear Darcy launch into one of her rambling speeches so that Zoe was forced to shut up.

"This year is so exciting, because it marks twenty-five years of the Games!" Darcy said, though Kamala was a bit distracted from the rest of the enthusiastic Quarter Quell spiel as her other friend, Bruno, was making I am incredibly bored faces from across the way, and it was hard not to laugh at him.

"Alright, let's do the boys first this year, shall we?" Darcy declared at last, strolling over to the bowl to pluck out the name, though before she could call it out, a boy with dark hair rushed forward, shouting out that he was going to volunteer.

"O-kay then," Darcy said, putting the name back in the bowl as the boy joined her on the stage. He was probably a few years older than Kamala, but he looked like trouble, definitely like one of the boys Aamir was always trying to watch out for.

After Darcy quickly announced their volunteer as 'Brock Rumlow' to the crowd, the fuss and murmuring about another volunteer from Six two years in a row died down. Darcy finally made her way to the bowl with the girl's names.

"Kamala Khan?" Darcy called out, and Kamala froze.

The kids were starting to part around her, and Zoe prodded her forward with a hand in her back and a muttered, "That's you, stupid," that got the worst glare Kamala thought she'd ever seen Nakia give anyone.

But she just… couldn't get her legs to work. She just couldn't. She could see the Sentinels coming her way now that she had been more or less identified, but she just couldn't get her feet to move on their own, especially because she could hear Ami already crying, and she just couldn't.

She felt her feet lift off the ground and realized, oh, okay, she was getting to the stage this way, apparently, but she still couldn't quite make herself believe it until the Sentinels deposited her on the stage next to Darcy, and the brunette escort grabbed her hand to shake it, while Brock Rumlow looked like he was going to eat her alive.

"Are — are you sure?" she asked, somewhat delayed, after Darcy had announced them both to the crowd, and Darcy glanced at Schmidt and Brock with a hard glare before she pulled her arm around Kamala's shoulders.

"I'm just gonna show you where to go, and I'll pick you up when you're done with your family, mkay?" Darcy said, and Kamala didn't really think she had a choice in the matter as Darcy was physically steering her to the Justice Building.

It took a few moments for Kamala's family to get there, and Kamala tried very, very hard to pull herself together before they got there. She knew Ami was already a mess, but she wasn't expecting Aamir, who just wrapped her up in a hug and started crying, and the next thing she knew, she was the one comforting him. Which was kind of weird, because he was, what, five years older (five years and three months, but who was counting?)

"Hey, hey, it's no problem, right?" Kamala said. "I'll be the youngest victor ever. Right?"

"You just keep out of the way of that boy they've got you with," her father warned, completely seriously. "And your mentor while you're at it," he added as he kissed the top of her head, and stayed there, just holding her closely with his eyes shut tight for as long as he could manage.

"Don't worry; I can take care of myself," Kamala promised him, doing her best not to show too much emotion when her parents were already so clearly beside themselves.

There was not nearly enough time before the Sentinels returned to tell them that it was time to break it up, and Kamala was worried her parents were going to get in trouble when Ami very nearly refused to let her go — but finally, somehow, they managed to say goodbye without a total trainwreck, and as promised, Darcy was waiting for her to show her how to get to the train.

"Okay, so, listen," Darcy said, still with her arm around Kamala's shoulders. "I'm going to show you to your room, and you can watch the rest of the Reapings with me, okay?"

"Shouldn't I—"

"Nope." Darcy just put one hand on either of Kamala's shoulders and started to push. "Nope. You don't have to do anything except what I am telling you to do right now, my young friend. Just put one foot in front of the other, and I'll pop the popcorn."

Kamala glanced over her shoulder at Darcy for a moment, but then she saw Schmidt and Brock already talking heatedly, she decided, okay, yeah, she'd listen to Darcy.

"Alright. Sounds like a plan."

"I knew you were the smart one between the two of you," Darcy said with a smile that didn't look or feel forced in the least.


July 1: Reaping Day

District Seven


Even though most of the kids in the orphanage weren't actually old enough to be reaped, they still had to look their best for the Reaping itself, and that meant Scott Summers had his hands full, along with some of the other older kids, trying to wrangle kids into dresses and suits.

Elsie Dee had already escaped him three times, and he had just finally wrestled her into her dress when Heather Hudson came by, a hairbrush in hand, to survey the damage.

"You look like you could use some help," she said as she started to pull kids close to her and brush their hair — and suddenly Scott was the 'good cop,' as no one wanted to get their tangles pulled out.

"Thanks," he breathed out Heather's way as he managed to snag one of the kids before he could take his shirt off again.

"You know, you're the one who's going to have to go to the Reaping, and you're a mess," Heather pointed out.

"Nobody's going to care," he replied, though he was already trying to straighten his tie. The wrinkles from catching and snagging kids he couldn't do much about, though. "The cutters' kids wear flannels and jeans. I'm fine."

But Heather reached over and fixed his collar all the same, then pressed something into his hand.

He glanced down to see that she'd gotten him new cufflinks, with red glass in the middle to match the single red tie that he owned. "What's this?" he asked, his eyebrows high.

"Don't think I forgot it was your birthday yesterday," she told him, shaking her head. "Sixteen years old — you should have your own cufflinks."

"You really don't have to—"

"Scott, if you try to give them back, I will take it as a personal insult, and I swear to God, I will cry on you," she warned, though she was smirking the slightest bit, and he had to shake his head and chuckle as he put the cufflinks on and then gave her a quick hug.

"Thanks," he muttered, and she beamed at him and wrapped him in a much more proper hug before she helped him herd all the kids down to where they were supposed to be.

Last year, Scott had been about a head shorter than the kids in his age group — they grew them tall in Seven — but now he was one of the tallest kids there, which meant he had a good line of sight to some of the younger kids, the ones who were going to their first Reaping. One of the girls from the orphanage was already pulling out the braids Heather had put in her hair because she was nervous and needed something to do with her hands.

The speech Moira MacTaggert gave and then anthem and video were about the same as usual, and Scott wasn't paying much attention, looking over his shoulder to spot the rest of the kids, most of whom were crowded around Heather, though Elsie saw him look her way and waved jauntily before she went back to trying to catch Logan's attention — or Groot's or Rocket's. She wanted to say hi to everyone, really.

There really wasn't anyone else that he was worried about, and he let his mind wander through most of the ceremony. He didn't envy whoever was drawn this year — they'd probably get drowned out of sponsor attention by Logan's drama with Creed, not that either of them would care to help whoever it was. If Groot had been around this year, that would be different, but Creed was a creep, and Logan had already proven he'd walk away from people who needed him.

But when Moira got up to the names, Scott stood up a little straighter, straining with the rest of the kids to hear the name as first up was the girls: "Clara Creed!"

The hush that fell over everyone in District Seven was almost deafening as the tall blonde, who was unmistakably a Creed, started to make her way forward. But the silence didn't last long at all as already the muttering was starting up around her. It was unheard of, the sister of a victor getting drawn.

Scott just let out a breath. Whoever the kid was that got stuck with a Creed for a partner was screwed.

He watched Clara make her way up to the stage, though she didn't actually make it to shake Moira's hand as Creed broke form, simply grabbing up his sister as soon as she'd cleared the steps, which had the whole district in shock all over again. No one knew it was even possible for Victor to … well. Care.

Scott couldn't hear over all the rumble of the crowd what Clara and Victor Creed were saying to each other as Moira told everyone to quiet down, though the mood of the entire gathered crowd had definitely shifted with that one name being called.

Finally, when Moira felt there was reasonable silence, she pulled the boy's name out of the bowl and cleared her throat: "Scott Summers."

Typical.

Scott climbed up the stairs past the victors and Clara to shake Moira's hand, though he was at least pleasantly surprised to find that his new district partner wasn't scowling at him like her brother was, so that was something. Hopefully that meant she wasn't planning to outright murder him until at least the Games.

"Don't worry," Clara said as she took his hand to shake it. "I'll deal with my idiot brother."

Scott smirked the slightest bit at that. "And I'll deal with the other idiot," he told her as Moira announced the two of them as the new tributes.

Scott was surprised to find that his smirk stayed in place as he watched Clara head off to the Justice Building with Creed, and it was clear now that they were away from the stage and all the murmurings from the crowd that she was giving him what-for about him pulling that stunt he had on the stage. Scott had to shake his head. She'd be fine, clearly — and at least she wasn't as psychotic as her brother. He could work with that for a little while, anyway.

He wasn't expecting anyone to come for him for the family visitation time, and he was actually looking forward to taking a few minutes to himself to gather his thoughts, come up with a good plan, figure out how to beat the game when his two mentor choices were both… well. He wasn't going to get any help there, so he knew he had to do it himself.

He had his head in his hands and his eyes closed, mulling it over, thinking on what he knew, what he could learn — he was good with carving, with knives, but that was about it… But he was shocked out of his thoughts when Heather, of all people, came bursting through the door and nearly knocked him out of his seat in a hug.

"Hey, you've got this," she told him as she gave him another squeeze. "You've got the better deal on a coach, just — fight. You got that, Summers?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, shaking his head the slightest bit and wondering if it was Mac who let her in. It was probably Mac.

She held onto him a little tighter as her voice turned fierce and determined. "I don't care what the rules say, when you get back, I'm adopting you officially. Like it or not. You hear me? You're my boy."

For a moment, he was totally shocked as he turned his head toward Heather. She's just trying to psych me up, he thought, in disbelief, as he tried to stow the smirk and make it something more like a smile. "Do I get a say in any of this?"

"Have we met? No. Of course you don't," Heather said before she couldn't help but give him another hug. "Those kids ... we need you here."

He took a breath and let it out slowly. "Heather," he said low. "I've got … there's about four years' worth of savings that I've got stashed in the mattress in my room."

"Stop," she said, shaking her head. "Tell me about it when you get back."

"No, I'm serious."

"So am I!"

"I need you to use it for the kids if I don't make it, alright?" he insisted.

Her tough composure cracked the slightest, and she looked like she was fighting back the compulsion to cry. "Alright. But that's plan Z."

"Right. Plan A is to come back. I got that," he said with a little nod, clearly trying to backtrack on seeing that he'd made her a bit emotional. "You made that loud and clear."

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "You know Logan will do everything he can, right?"

"Don't worry; I'll work hard," Scott said. "I'll figure it out."

"That's not what I said," she countered. "And I know you will. You always do."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Yeah, well — I'll see you back here in a few weeks, then. Make sure the kids don't watch though, huh?"

"I'll do my best, but you know that's going to be hard when two of their favorite people are going to be on TV for the next few weeks."

"Three if you count Logan," Scott said with a smirk.

She gave him a dry look. "Groot is staying here, smart-alec."

"Then he can help you with the kids," Scott reasoned.

"Not the same, but yes. We'll be pulling for you." She couldn't stop herself from hugging him again and even went so far as to brush back his hair. "Watch out for the Creed girl. God forbid she's anything like her brother."

"If she is, I know what to do about it," Scott promised her before he gave her an honest hug as the Sentinels at the door seemed a little wary on just how to tell Mac's wife it was time to leave, so they just… didn't for a while.

"Are you ready to leave?" she whispered. "It appears as though I have a reputation in the white helmet crowd."

"You sound surprised," he whispered back with a smirk.

"Good Luck, Scott," Heather said with a genuinely sad tone. "All the Sentinels are pulling for you — right guys?" she called toward the men at the door, who all nodded their head and muttered their well wishes as she gave him a wink. "Toldja."


Logan couldn't sleep the night before the Reapings. It was every bit as bad as when he was in the draw, but for entirely different reasons. Thankfully, at least, he didn't have to deal with Jubilee first thing in the morning, and if there was any kind of God, she'd be distracted enough by her new tribute once they got to the Capitol that she'd leave him alone.

He did at least shave, because he knew that more than Jubilee would give him flack otherwise, so rather than fight the tide, he just went with it for a change.

When he stepped out of the house, he was only marginally surprised to see Groot standing outside waiting for him with Rocket. The two of them headed up toward the center of the town side by side. The kids were already gathering when they got there, and Groot showed Logan the way to the backstage section, where Moira greeted them both a bit more warmly than he'd expected her to.

"They'll be startin' in a few," Moira said as she pulled Logan along by the hand, still not quite approaching Groot and Rocket, as the big raccoon did not like her in the least. "Jest follow Groot and try tae stay opposite of Creed an' we'll get through this jest fine." She patted his arm affectionately before she left him with Groot to wait for the ceremony to start.

Before the speeches began, they all filed out onto the stage, and Logan had to hold his breath as he looked out at the crowd gathered. It was a totally different sensation being up there as a victor, and the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't helping him at all.

Elsie was down in front, and when he spotted her bouncing on the balls of her feet, he had to give her a little wink. Groot was chuckling quietly at her, and Rocket's ears were perked up toward the little blonde that had been giving him so many cookies.

Logan looked out over the crowd to spot the rest of the kids — most of whom were talking among themselves — though Scott was clearly watching out for the littler ones as it looked like he was doing a mental headcount, his head bobbing slightly as he turned to each in turn.

The speeches went quickly, and when Moira pulled the name out for the girl, Logan realized he was holding his breath, though he simply wasn't prepared to hear 'Clara Creed'.

He couldn't help but look up at Victor as the shock washed over the monster, even before he looked out to the crowd. Logan wasn't even aware Victor had siblings — and the pretty blonde girl headed up the aisle … couldn't be Victor's sister.

The murmurs from the crowd rose up as Victor made a bit of a scene, and Logan tactfully looked away from the two of them even as Clara told her big brother to keep his paws to himself before she broke them.

Clara shot a little tight smile toward Logan and Groot and took her place near Moira with a look that clearly read that she was ready for her to get on with it, her hands folded in front of her and her long, white-blonde braid hanging right down the middle of her back.

But when they called Scott's name, Logan just …. "No," he whispered, entirely taken back as the murmurs rose up again. He watched as Scott came up, jaw locked and looking serious, though after that, he and Creed shared a look that read clearly that neither of them thought this was a coincidence.

But Logan couldn't afford to stew on it right now. Not knowing that Scott didn't have anyone to see him off.

As soon as they were cleared of the stage, Victor started muttering to Clara about how there was no way in hell he was going to let her lose as she threw her hand up in his face and told him to worry about himself.

Logan, on the other hand, had moved quickly, abandoning the protocols to head right off the front of the stage and grab Heather to pull her past the Sentinels that had come in from the Capitol. "She's the closest he's got to family," he told them as he pushed her through, sure that she'd want a moment with him.

"Are you coming?" Heather asked.

"No, I'll have time later," Logan said. "He probably won't want to see me anyhow. Kid doesn't like me." And before Heather could argue with him, she was whisked into the Justice Building.

Logan started pacing after she was gone, already running through how the hell he was going to get the kid funded, since he knew there was no way Scott would ever listen to him. He stopped when he thought of it. When was the last time anyone actually won because of mentor advice anyhow?

Logan made his way to the train once the new tributes stepped out of the rooms — though Clara and Victor had to wait a few extra minutes for Scott... which wasn't a shock by the look on the Sentinel's faces outside the door, who kept checking their watches.

Logan and Creed shared a look and sat at opposite sides of the car as the two new tributes walked in. When Clara got to the center of the car, she looked both ways at the two victors and turned sharply on her heel to go sit near Logan.

"You — give me some space," she said to her brother with one finger pointed his way.

"Okay if I sit here, then?" Scott asked, indicating a seat across from her, his head tipped to one side as he was clearly studying her.

"Sure," she said as she glared toward Victor. "Are you considering a partnership, because that would tweak my brother terribly. So I'm all for it."

"Oh. Yeah, sure — that would help our chances," Scott said, sounding a bit surprised at the offer and the reasoning behind it.

"So, Scott," Clara said, in a bit of a businesslike tone. "What did you do back home?"

"I'm a carver," he said with a shrug.

She leaned forward just a bit with an expression on her face that showed her heritage. "You were a carver. One way or another, you're not anymore."

He leaned forward to match her body language and meet her gaze. "Think I'll stick to the present tense until they bury me, thanks."

She smiled crookedly. "That's not what I meant. Even if you win, you won't go back to what you were. Ask your mentor. It's not allowed anymore."

"Yeah, well, my work's a little safer than what he did. And easily transferred to hobbies," Scott pointed out with one eyebrow raised. "

"My brother worked in the saw mill," Clara said. "Nothing dangerous about the job he worked there ... "

"Well, when I get back and keep on carving in my spare time, you'll have to eat those words, won't you?" he said.

"I look forward to it, Scott," Clara said, still smiling crookedly before she put her hand out. "So. You wanna make this official? We're supposed to pass it by our mentors, but I know mine will say no, which means yours will say yes."

"I'd ask if I have a choice in the matter, but it's apparently just not that kind of day." Scott smirked at her before he put his hand in hers and nodded once, sharply. "Yeah. Let's do it."

Logan shook his head at the two of them and glanced toward Victor, who was clearly fuming already. This was shaping up to be another highly dramatic showing from Seven one way or another.


July 1: Reaping Day

District Eight


Most of the district had already gone down to the main area for the Reaping, but Remy LeBeau knew this was the best time to get the finest pickings.

He didn't steal from the citizens of Eight during the Reaping — he wasn't honorless — but the victors and the Sentinels and the mayor? Different story entirely. And since everyone was down where the action was, Remy was where the loot was.

Norman Osborn had plenty of anti-theft measures around the place, and he'd certainly turned them all on now that he would be going to the Capitol for a few weeks. But that just made it more of a challenge — and more fun — for Remy.

The roof would be his best point of entry, and Remy climbed up the side of the tall, gaudy building to get himself there, cutting through a few wires on his way. He didn't much care that Osborn would know he'd been there after the fact as long as he didn't leave anything to implicate himself, so once the alarm systems and cameras were down, it was really more a matter of getting past the rest of the systems.

And Remy knew there were plenty of systems he'd have to cut through. There were plenty more wires and control boxes, more than necessary for just a simple camera setup or alarms. But again, that was what made it worth his while.

He slipped in through the window into one of the bedrooms on the top floor, though it looked like the place had been converted to an office or something — bookshelves lined the walls, and there was a pretty desk in the center of the room, but that wasn't what Remy was there for. He knew Osborn had an eye for finer things than simply nice oak desks.

The door was wired, and so was the handle, so Remy took it off its hinges once he'd cut the wires and set the whole thing aside, strolling down the stairs into the living room to find what he was looking for — plenty of ostentatious decorations, shiny baubles, and trinkets.

Remy filled the pockets of his long coat with what he could find, glancing at the green ivory clock to see how much time he had left before the Sentinels would come looking for him for not showing up to the Reaping. With a flourish, he tossed the last shiny bauble back and forth in his hands before it landed in his pocket, and he climbed back out through a different window before he rushed down to where the rest of the district was gathering, taking care to watch his coat for pickpockets so no one would take his loot before he could get it fleeced after the Reaping.

He was only just in time, and the Sentinels gave him a sharp look, but they were always just giving him looks. Nobody had a thing on him, not that they could prove, so he grinned at them, gave them a two-fingered wave, and took his place with the older kids in the lines. Next year, this would be even easier. They didn't look so hard at the ones who weren't Reaping age if they were late. And Remy had seen some yellow gold decorations he wanted to go back for next time.

The escort for Eight gave her little speech about the Quarter Quell and its historical significance as Remy searched the crowd for a pretty face. There was always someone after a Reaping who needed a shoulder to cry their relief into, usually the older girls who were so happy they were safe — and there was no shortage of pretty girls in Eight.

He had his sights on a pretty blonde and had just shot her a wide grin when she noticed him looking her way when Shirley stepped to the bowl with the names in it, so when she called out Remy's name, it took him a second to realize what had happened.

And here he'd been thinking that he'd get all the way through without his old man delivering on his promise...

He looked to either side of him for a moment as the kids started to part before he just shook his head and let out a low whistle. "Well, alrighty den," he muttered to himself as he strode toward the stage, his pockets filled with trinkets from Eight's mentor as he ran through how he could keep all the baubles well enough hidden that they'd still be waiting for him when he got back — maybe he could hide them in the Justice Building. He'd have ten minutes to his lonesome, after all.

He shook Shirley Lewis' hand when he got up to the stage and shot her a brilliant grin, though when they called the girl's name and a skinny little blonde made her way up, Remy was sure to give her an even wider smile as "Gwen Stacey" made her way up with wide eyes. She looked scared half to death, so Remy took her offered hand and just made a sweeping bow as he kissed it.

"Don't you worry none, cher. You stick wit' ol' Remy and you gon' be jes' fine," he said with a little smile and a wink.

She stared at him in near disbelief as Shirley presented the district with their two tributes, though Remy was surprised when Osborn himself almost immediately put an arm around the little blonde's shoulders to steer her toward the Justice Building.

Which was fine by him. He didn't need Osborn's attention for the next, oh, ten minutes.

He waved the Sentinels off once they got to the Justice Building, and in an instant, Remy was in motion, secreting away the baubles and trinkets throughout the room — so he could find them later when he got back to Eight. No point in wasting all that hard work, after all. He almost had to smile, though, when he was examining the bookshelf and found, etched in with what had to be a penknife, "Peter Parker was here."

"You were, sho' 'nuff," Remy told the little etching, smirking to himself as he put one of the better pieces under Peter's name. Might as well carry on the tradition.

The whole thing took him a little more than five minutes, so he politely asked the Sentinels to take him to the train with a grin that had both of them glancing at each other.

"Don' go lettin' nobody step in ol' Remy's reputation 'til I get back!" he called out over his shoulder, still chuckling to himself all the way to the train.


Gwen Stacey was all nerves that morning. She'd made sure to go check on Aunt May — she'd kept her promise to Peter to keep an eye out for her — and when she got there, May was waiting with that same kind smile that she always wore whenever Gwen came by to say hello. She waved at her as she made her way up the front porch steps.

"Just had to say hello before I have to go … you know. Reaping Day. Again," Gwen said as she played with her fingers and tried to hold still. "Had to make sure you were doing okay this morning."

"As well as I can be, Gwen," May told her with a little smile. "And what about you?"

"Oh. Me? I'm .. I'll be fine. Just fine."

May watched Gwen for a minute before she reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. "It's alright. I miss him too," she whispered into Gwen's shoulder for the duration of the hug.

Gwen hugged her tightly for as long as May was willing to go along with it before she sniffed a little bit and wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. "Okay, so. I just had to say hello." She shrugged her shoulders up as she wrapped her arms around herself and tried to smile.

"Yes, thank you," May said gently. Her own eyes were glistening, and she laid a hand on Gwen's arm. "Would you walk with me to the main square? It looks like we both could use the company."

Gwen just nodded quickly. "Yes. please," she said as she took May's arm and the two of them started toward the square in silence.

The walk was long and slightly awkward as the two women slowed the closer they got to the square, but once they reached the point where Gwen had to go get in line, May gave her another quick hug and wished her luck.

She didn't make it ten steps before she nearly bumped into Harry Osborn. Or he nearly bumped into her. She gave him a wave and a tight smile as they got into the line and slowly made their way to the check in. Harry was nervous, and looked concerned for her sake, if not his own too. "You doing alright?" he asked, bumping her shoulder with his.

"Sure," she said, sucking it up a bit more with him nearby. "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked, though her tone clearly said otherwise.

"Well… you know. Last year," Harry said awkwardly. "I know you're still upset about Peter — and I know it's gotta be rough coming back here — so ... maybe after this let's go do something, huh? Just ... screw the Reaping and the Games."

She tried to smile but scrunched up her nose instead. "Like what? I was planning to go see Aunt May afterward. She could use the company, you know?"

"Yeah, that's true," he said, though he looked openly disappointed. "I could join you, then?"

"I'm sure May would appreciate that, yeah," she said with a nod as they got up to where the kids separated. "So. I'll … see you later then."

"Yeah, I'll come find you later," Harry called out her way.

Gwen shook her head to herself as she took her place with the other sixteen-year-olds. Harry had been nearly impossible to avoid since last year's Games. She didn't know how the Capitol had fabricated that video of her and Harry, but it was just wrong. She'd never thought of Harry like that, and she wasn't sure if it was animation or some kind of actors or what — but whatever it was clearly had Harry thinking about it. Which… made him hard to deal with sometimes. Or all the time, really.

By the time the speeches started, Gwen had mostly distracted herself to the point that she could ignore the looks she was getting from some of the kids in the crowd. That tape had done her no favors. Truly.

The boy's name was called, and a rarely seen roguish young man swept up to the stage with a swagger, of all things, and a cheeky smile that had Gwen trying not to gape at his sass as she lifted one hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear and turned partway away from the stage, trying to keep her reactions in check since she'd learned already that the cameras had a tendency to seek out old family and friends of past tributes.

And a few short moments later, the crowd around her gasped, and she looked around — too distracted in her thoughts to pay attention to the fact that they'd called her name. "Oh crap," she whispered, then started to shakily make her way toward the aisle, her head tipped downward as she peeked at the people around her, trying to look smaller.

But when she got on the stage and this Remy character didn't shake her hand but kissed it instead … well she was at a complete loss of words. Not for lack of nerve or because he'd shaken her up — but because she couldn't believe that he was flirting with her at a time like this!

She stared at him open-mouthed for a moment before she snapped her mouth shut and crinkled her nose his way. "Okay then," she said as she stepped to her spot on the stage and just gave her new district partner the side eyes, leaning a bit away from him.

As soon as Shirley had presented them to the crowd, though, Gwen found Norman Osborn at her side, his arm around her shoulders as he started to steer her along toward the Justice Building with a look of concern. "Don't worry, Miss Stacey," he told her in a low tone. "I'm not losing anyone else to these Games."

She smiled up at him a bit nervously but just followed along as he led her, letting him talk her through what he was going to teach her but not really listening. She'd been in the Justice Building only a year ago saying goodbye to Peter, and here she was all over again.

Her dad was the first one to get there, crossing the room in three strides to wrap her in a tight hug. "You listen to Norman Osborn, and you stay away from the Careers, and if you're in danger, you run, Gwen. You got that? Don't be a hero."

"Yes, Daddy," she said, nodding her head as she squeezed him back. "We don't need any more heroes in the family."

He kissed the top of her head at that. "Honey, you can be a hero when you come back to me, but don't be one in the Games. It's just not worth it."

"I know," she said. "That never works out for anyone."

He just hugged her tighter and kissed her forehead once more, though when the door opened again to admit Peter's Aunt May, even Gwen's dad couldn't hold back his emotion when the older woman simply sat down beside Gwen and wrapped her arms around the both of them in silence.