Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: I am extremely sorry this took a while. A combination of things slowed this one down – some related to real life and some related to the fact that I was trying to decide exactly how to tackle training. (No one just wants to read about twenty-four different tributes throwing knives and learning to identify plants, after all.) Anyway, here's what I eventually came up with. Each day is going to feature eight different tributes. They are not in district order; the order was determined simply by which tributes would work better for that particular day. So, without further ado, here's day one.

Training Day One
The Gift of a Gentle Heart

Kiona Brink, 18
District Two Female

Wait for the right moment. Wait for the right moment.

Kiona had been telling herself to wait ever since the chariot rides the night before. She wanted more than anything to run straight to her brother, hold him close, and make up for the long years they had missed. But she knew she couldn't. She had to wait. Had to keep her cool.

He was at one of the knife stations. The boy from Eleven was there, as well. Kiona would have preferred a moment when they could be alone, but she was tired of waiting. She had to talk to him, at least. Had to say something.

As casually as she could, she made her way over to the knife station. Fortunately, the trainer chose that moment to take the other boy aside and help him one-on-one. Kiona chose a place beside Zione, picked up a few knives, and threw one of them at a dummy. She hadn't lost her touch. The knife pierced straight through where the heart would be.

"That's very good," Zione nodded. His voice was guarded. He knew they were being watched. He threw a knife.

"Thank you," Kiona said quietly, hoping those two words could convey the gratitude she truly felt. Gratitude that he was alive. That he was here. That they could be together, if only for a little while.

"You're welcome." Another one of his knives struck exactly on target.

"That's pretty impressive," Kiona smiled, trying to make it sound like small talk. "Did your parents teach you that?" Are our parents still alive?

Zione shook his head. "My parents died when I was young."

So they were the only two left. "I'm sorry to hear that." For a moment, there was silence. "That was a brave thing you did at the reaping – volunteering to save that girl's brother."

"Well, family has always been very important to me. I guess you never really know how important something is until you lose it. And when you have a chance to protect it … you just have to take it."

Kiona felt a lump growing in her throat. So he hadn't just volunteered in order to see her. He had volunteered to protect her. She had no intention of letting him die for her, but it was definitely true that they would both last longer if they protected each other. "I guess we could all use a little protection in the Games."

"My thoughts exactly," Zione agreed. "My mentor told me I should look for other tributes to form a group – an alliance."

"Your mentor's a smart man."

Zione smiled. "Well, I don't know about that, but he has a point. You're pretty handy with a knife. We'd last longer together."

Kiona did her best to look flattered, even though she knew "pretty handy with a knife" was a massive understatement. "You'd want me for an ally?"

"Who wouldn't? And I bet there are other tributes who might like the idea of a little help. Someone to watch their back."

Kiona nodded. She knew what he was saying. The two of them together, alone, might draw suspicion. But if they were part of a larger group, people might be less likely to notice their closeness. "Sounds like a good plan."

Kiona smiled as they both went back to knife-throwing. Only then did she notice the boy from Eleven watching them closely.

Angus Spencer, 13
District One Male

It was hard work keeping his skills a secret.

Angus spent the first part of the morning following Abstract around, trying to follow Jade's advice and act the part of the annoying little kid. But it quickly became clear that Abstract wasn't interested in the weapons stations. She was probably convinced she already knew what she needed to know about those – and she was probably right. But pestering her at the fire-starting station quickly began to bore Angus.

So he went back to the weapons stations on his own. Trying to pretend he knew nothing about daggers would have been useless, so he headed for the sword station, where the girl from Six was grinning while she practiced with a curved blade. Angus picked a sword he knew was too heavy and gave it a swing, barely grazing a dummy.

"Well, look at you!" the girl crooned. "Such a little fighter. But here – that sword won't do at all. You need something a bit more your size." Grinning, she picked a smaller sword, little larger than a dagger, and handed it to Angus. "Try this one."

Angus swung, cutting a little deeper into the dummy. The girl was practically jumping up and down with delight. "Excellent. Try it again – but harder. Like this." She sliced through the dummy's stomach.

Angus put on his best admiring smile and looked up at the girl. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

The girl grinned. "My family and I spent some time in your district. My father even arranged for me to meet your victor – Jade. He gave me a few lessons. It was amazing. Since then, I convinced my father to buy me a sword and let me practice on my own. He thought it was just a phase, of course – never dreamed I'd actually volunteer."

"I was going to volunteer," Angus ventured. "When I was older. Maybe a bit more ready."

The girl bent down to look him in the eye. "Oh, I think you're plenty ready. Come on, take another swing! Show 'em what you've got. A little confidence, that's all you need!"

"You really think so?"

"Of course! Now go on!"

Angus swung again. And again. The girl giggled and clapped her hands together as he tore the dummy apart. They started in on the next one together, him cutting low, her slicing high. By the time they finished with a third dummy, they were both laughing. Only once they stopped did Angus realize that his hands were sweaty and grimy from the blade. He froze.

Fortunately, the girl mistook it for weariness. "Oh, you must be all tuckered out. Training is such hard work. Come on, let's take a break." She took the sword and put it back in place. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Cleaned up. Did she know? No, she couldn't. But he followed her to a sink near the camouflage station, where the girl from Three was watching the trainer intently. He scrubbed his hands thoroughly and splashed water on his face and neck. The girl did the same. "Better?"

Angus nodded. "Thanks for the tips … you never told me your name."

"Prius."

"Angus."

"Oh, I know. I noticed you while I was watching the reapings."

Angus smiled. She had noticed him. Of course she had noticed him. And, soon, everyone would.

But not just yet.

Libby Hall, 15
District Ten Female

After about half an hour at one of the edible plants stations, Libby was near tears.

None of it made sense. All of the leaves looked exactly alike. One type of red berry looked exactly like another, except that one was edible, and the other would kill you in a matter of seconds.

It didn't help that everyone else seemed to know what they were doing almost immediately. The boy from Six and the girl from Eight matched plant after plant, rarely making a mistake. Tears came to Libby's eyes. Six and Eight weren't even known for having a lot of plants. If they could do it, why couldn't she?

She glanced around at the other stations. The girl from Four at the knife station. The boy from Seven practicing with an axe. The boy from Twelve trying out a hammer. The girl from Eleven wielding a scythe-like blade. Everyone seemed to have a skill. Something that came naturally. Everyone except her.

Trying to hide her tears, Libby got up and made her way over to the snack table. It had been less than an hour since breakfast, but she needed somewhere to hide. Somewhere the other tributes wouldn't follow.

Except one of them did. No sooner had she sat down in a corner with a plate of desserts than the little boy from Six plopped down next to her with a muffin. "Good idea," he remarked between bites. "A little learning about food, a little eating food – good motivation, if you ask me."

"What do you want?" Libby asked crossly, wiping her tears on her sleeve.

"Nothing. You looked like you could use a friend – that's all."

"A friend?" Libby looked up.

The boy nodded. "Yeah. You looked a bit upset. And don't get me wrong – you've got every right to be. We all do. So we can both sit here, eating our treats and crying our eyes out, or we could make the most of whatever time we have left. I'd rather use that time to make friends." He held out his hand. "My name's Pike."

Libby stared for a moment, but then shook it. "Libby."

Pike grinned. "Fantastic. Nice to meet you, Libby. Want to come back to the plant station with us?" He sprang to his feet.

"Us?" Libby got up slowly. "Who's us?"

Pike took her hand and pulled her back to the plant station, where the girl from Eight was still patiently identifying which plants were edible. Pike grinned – a wide, toothy grin. "Libby, meet Nicoline. Nicoline, Libby."

Nicoline smiled shyly. "Nice to meet you."

"You, too," Libby nodded.

"Nicoline's a cook," Pike grinned. "That's how she knows so much about plants."

Nicoline shrugged. "I'm a maid, but, yes, I do quite a bit of cooking. Not something I thought would really come in handy here, but I guess it helps."

Libby smiled. "Of course it does." She turned to Pike. "And how'd you get so good at this?"

"I guess it's a lot like looking for parts in a junkyard – you just have to know what to look for."

A maid. Cooking. Scavenging in a junkyard. Libby shook her head. These two were younger than her. Not for the first time, she was reminded of just how good she'd always had it. But their experience gave them an advantage here. "Can you teach me?"

Pike grinned. "Of course. But we can do even better than that."

Sterling Therms, 18
District Seven Male

"Is this seat taken?"

Sterling looked up, startled. Of course the seat wasn't taken. Most of the tributes made a point of sitting alone, although a few small groups seemed to be forming. The boy from Six was sitting with the girls from Eight and Ten. The boy and girl from Three were sitting together, as were the pair from Eleven. And the boy from Eight was sitting off to one side with the girl from Two.

"No, go ahead," Sterling answered, his expression guarded, nonetheless. The girl who sat down across from him was from Five, he was pretty sure, and he had seen her practicing at the sword station. She was good, from what he could tell.

Not that he knew much about swords. He'd spent most of the morning practicing with an axe. Hazel had suggested that he practice what he knew for a while before moving on and trying something new. She thought it might help him to get used to using an axe as a weapon. And it had helped a little. But he still had trouble imagining killing anybody with one.

The girl smiled. "Thanks. No one seems to want to sit together, but I figured there wasn't any harm in getting to know people."

"Not really, I guess," Sterling agreed cautiously. "But it might make it harder once we're in the arena and have to … well, you know."

"Kill each other," the girl finished. "You can say it – everybody knows that's why we're here."

"True, but not all of us volunteered for it," Sterling pointed out. He remembered watching the tape. The way the girl had run forward, anxious, desperate.

The girl took a drink. "Is there a question there?"

"You don't look like a killer," Sterling observed. "Someone who wanted to kill everyone in this room wouldn't be going around trying to meet them all first. What are you doing here?"

"My brother. He's going to be executed. But if I win, I can use the money to prove he's innocent."

Sterling stared, then realized his hand had instinctively flown to Patches, the little doll that was still in his pocket. "I … I'm sorry."

"What's that?" the girl asked, changing the subject.

Sterling brought out the doll. "It's my daughter's. Silly thing to bring into the Games, but—"

"Not so silly," the girl smiled, producing a small toy soldier from her pocket. "How old's your daughter?"

"Three." He tucked the doll back in her pocket. "Her name's Bailey. Hopefully, she still has no idea what I'm really doing here."

"I'm sorry."

Sterling nodded. "Me, too." And he was. Very sorry. He'd been right; it would be harder to kill someone in the arena if he knew them first. How could he even think about killing her now, knowing that her brother's life was also at stake? Was that her plan? To make everyone feel sorry for her, so that no one would want to kill her?

No. No, watching her now, he didn't believe that. Because her eyes said the same thing. How could she think about killing him now, knowing that his daughter was waiting for him? She put the little toy soldier back in her pocket. "So, you told me your daughter's name. What's yours?"

"Sterling. And you?"

"Brie."

"Good to meet you."

And it was, even if it made things harder. It was still good. Still good to remember that the other tributes were people. That they had families waiting for them, hoping for their return. Feeling sorry for them, pitying them, made everything harder.

But it was still good.

Pike Carter, 12
District Six Male

Pike hadn't exactly meant to form an alliance. But it only made sense. Alone, none of them stood much of a chance – and, worse, they all knew it. So it made sense to stick together, help each other, keep each other's spirits up.

The last one was the most important, of course. There was no escaping the fact that, even in the best of scenarios, two of them would be dead quite soon. No escaping it. But they could ignore it, if only for a little while. And maybe, together, they could postpone it.

He, Nicoline, and Libby had spent the morning wandering from survival station to survival station, where Pike had made it a personal goal to find something that each of his new friends was good at. Nicoline proved to be excellent at starting fires – probably from quite a bit of practice lighting an old stove – and Libby, to her own surprise, had a knack for identifying animal tracks.

"Not that it'll help much in the arena," Libby admitted glumly over lunch. "I'll probably have just enough time to say, 'Hey, those tracks belong to—' before it eats us."

Pike shrugged. "That's more than I'd have time to say. I might get out, 'Hey, those tracks!' before—" He mimed being eaten by a giant animal, falling out of his chair and waving his arms around comically. Nicoline giggled a little. Even Libby smiled. "There we go," Pike smiled, getting back in his chair. "No point getting upset about it now. There'll be plenty of time for that later."

Later. That was what he kept telling himself. He'd worry later. Be afraid later. Right now, his friends needed him to keep a cheerful attitude. And, since it was the only thing he could really do to help them, he intended to do just that.

Suddenly, there was shouting. Pike whirled around. At the other end of the lunchroom, two boys – from Two and Nine, Pike was pretty sure – were arguing over what appeared to be a spilled lunch. One threw a punch. Then the other. Two trainers hurried in from the hall, ready to break up the fight.

But another boy beat them to it. "Enough!" Immediately, both large boys scrambled to their feet and dusted themselves off, then looked around, startled, unsure where the voice had come from.

But Pike had spotted the boy – small, thin, not at all a match for either of the two. But, as Pike watched – and as the other tributes returned to their lunches – the boy from Five spoke in hushed tones with first one older boy, then the other.

"What do you think he's saying?" Libby asked.

Pike shrugged. "Probably something like, 'Don't you think it would be a better use of your talents if you worked together?' That's what I would say if I were looking for older, stronger allies."

Libby eyed him curiously. "If you're trying for the same angle, you have interesting tastes."

Pike giggled. She had a point. And he'd thought about that. But it just didn't seem like the best tactic. "I'd rather have allies I can trust," he admitted. Nicoline and Libby nodded and returned to their lunches, but Pike found himself watching the boy from Five, watching as the two older boys shook hands and grudgingly sat down next to each other.

Pike shrugged and returned to his food. He had seen what the other tributes hadn't. As soon as the fight had started, Libby had instinctively scooted over a little next to Pike, as if trying to shield him, and Nicoline had tensed up, ready to duck under the table or run at any moment if things got worse. Maybe his allies weren't big or strong or good in a fight. But they were smart. And if he died ... when he died ... it wouldn't be by their hands.

It would be at their side.

Lina Leto, 15
District Three Female

"So what did you do?"

Lina looked up. The girl from Seven – Cahra, she was pretty sure – plopped down beside her and quickly started a fire of her own.

"What do you mean?" Lina asked, surprised. She wasn't aware that she had done anything.

Cahra shrugged. "What did you do to make them pick you for the Games?"

Lina stared for a moment. Did the girl know about her uncle, somehow – that he had been one of the rebel leaders? Did Cahra's family have a similar connection? Lina studied her for a moment, hopeful. Maybe she wasn't alone. But that wasn't exactly the sort of thing you said here, where everyone was watching. "I didn't do anything," she said at last.

Which was true. She hadn't done anything. Her uncle had. But she wasn't like him. She wasn't a threat to the Capitol. Surely they knew that. So why had they chosen her?

Cahra looked a little disappointed. "Really? I set the Justice Building on fire. Would have burned it down, except my parents stopped me. They're afraid." She smiled – an oddly confident and slightly unnerving smile. "But I'm not. That's what they want – the Capitol. They want us scared. Hiding from them, and from each other."

"You don't seem like one for hiding," Lina observed.

Cahra shook her head. "No one wins the Games by hiding. Well, not usually. Fighters win the Games. Are you a fighter or a hider?"

Lina hesitated. She didn't want to be either. She had never wanted to fight, to kill. But Cahra was right about fighters winning the Games. "What are you really asking?" Lina asked at last.

Cahra shrugged. "Just curious."

She wasn't. She was fishing. Looking for allies. But Lina wasn't sure she'd want this girl as an ally. If what she'd said about the Justice Building was true, Cahra already had a target painted on her back, a target that Lina didn't want to be anywhere near when the shooting started.

"I'm not sure," Lina said non-commitedly.

Cahra nodded. "That's okay. Take some time to think it through. I'll talk to you later?"

Lina nodded, then returned to her work.

Tracer Norren, 18
District Three Male

"That's completely ridiculous." Back in their room on the third floor, Tracer leaned forward a little in his chair, shaking his head. "She's got no idea what she's talking about."

Lina blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

Tracer shrugged. "Look, if the Capitol thought somebody was actually a threat, actually posed some sort of danger to them, the Games is the last place they'd want to put them."

"Why?"

"Why?" She really didn't get it, did she? "It gives them an audience. Someone speaks out against the Capitol in the districts, and who finds out? Maybe a handful of people before they're shot. Someone speaks out against the Capitol in the Games, and who finds out? Everyone. All of Panem is watching. And, what's worse, what if they win? Then suddenly the districts have a hero the Capitol couldn't stop. What she's suggesting would be completely idiotic."

"So you don't think the reapings are rigged."

"No. I hate to burst your bubble, but you're just not that important to them." Lina opened her mouth to object, but Tracer went on. "Neither am I. If they rig the reapings to include people they think are threats, what am I doing here? What did you do?"

Lina looked away. "Not me … my uncle. He was a rebel. What if they chose me because…"

"Seriously? That's what you think this is about? That's even sillier. Lina, you'd have to look long and hard in some districts to find someone who doesn't have some connection to the rebels, doesn't have some family member who fought in the war. If they put all the children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews of rebels in the arena, who would be left?" He shook his head. "It's just chance, Lina. Blind chance and dumb luck."

Lina was quiet for a moment, staring at the ground. Tracer watched her, unsure. Had he said too much? Hurt her feelings. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I just meant … well, I think your friend has the wrong idea."

Lina looked up, and Tracer was surprised to see a hint of a smile on her face. "No. No, you're probably right. My gut was telling me the same thing. I guess I just needed to hear someone else say it."

Tracer smiled a little. "Happy to help."

"Besides," Lina offered, "if the reapings are just chance, then that means they aren't trying to kill me – at least, not any more than they're trying to kill any of us. So we have a chance."

Tracer nodded. "Of course we do. Same chance as anyone else – one in twenty-four."

For a moment, that didn't sound so bad.

Nicoline Peters, 13
District Eight Female

Lander pulled up a chair between Nicoline and Zione. "All right, first day of training. What did you learn?"

"I learned how to make a fire," Nicoline offered hopefully.

Lander shook his head. "Not what I meant. I don't care what survival or fighting skills you think you learned – you're not going to learn anything in three days that's really going to help you in the arena. I meant, what did you learn about the other tributes? Any potential allies?"

Zione jumped in without missing a beat. "Three, I think, so far. The boy from Seven and the girls from Five and Two."

Lander nodded. "Okay. Tell me why. What makes you think they're going to join this little group of yours?"

Zione shook his head. "Not a group – a family. If I present it as a family – watching each others' backs, protecting each other, helping each other survive – I think they'll go for it. I heard the boy talking to the girl from Five at lunch. He has a daughter. She volunteered because she thinks she'll be able to save her brother. They're both very protective, both the sort who would recognize that they've got a better chance with a larger group."

Lander nodded. "Have you talked to either of them?"

"A little, after lunch – introduced myself. I'll try again tomorrow, mention the possibility of an alliance. I think they'll go for it."

"Good. And the girl from Two?"

"She approached me. Seemed pretty receptive. And she's very good with a knife."

"Good combination. Just make sure you watch your back. If she came to you, she may be a step ahead of you."

"I'm not too worried about that."

"You should be. This is no time to get cocky. Just remember, this little group you're forming will fall apart eventually. Don't get attached to anyone, you hear me?"

Zione nodded. "Of course." He turned to Nicoline. "What about you? I saw you with the boy from Six and the girl from Ten."

"Pike and Libby," Nicoline corrected. "And the others you were talking about are Sterling, Brie, and Kiona. They're people."

A strange look crossed Zione's face. Pity, maybe. "You're right. It's just easier to think about them as numbers. A district. An age."

"Twenty-three is a number, too."

"Twenty-three?" Zione asked.

Nicoline nodded. "The number of us who will be dead soon. That's all the Capitol's going to see – numbers. A number of tributes who died each day. A number for a district. A number for how many days we lasted – maybe how many hours. But I can't see them like that – not now that I've met them." She tucked her knees to her chest, tears in her eyes. "I'm one of the twenty-three, aren't I."

Zione didn't say anything. But Nicoline knew she was right. She and Pike and Libby – none of them really stood a chance, not against tributes like Zione – older, stronger tributes, some of whom would kill her without a second thought. She closed her eyes, blocking it all out. "Zero is a good number, though."

"Zero?" Zione asked.

Nicoline nodded. "Zero. The number of people I'm going to kill. I can't do it, Zione. I can't kill them. No, maybe that's not right. Maybe I can. But … I'm not going to."

It felt better to say it. She knew Lander must be shaking his head in disgust. Zione was probably eyeing her with pity. But it felt good. It felt right. It felt human.

It felt like more than a number.

"Do not scorn pity that is the gift of a gentle heart."