Your Own Kind

by Seta Suzume

What comes after. Mags as a mentor; Mags as a victor. [sequel to Save Yourself]

14. Part III, Chapter IV

Various tributes glance up curiously at the sound of the near-double cannon fire. Someone out there might be very deadly.

Someone indeed. The Gamemakers. Or luck.

Jerrick's knots were not the problem. Indeed, I can see them holding the top third of the rope still.

No other tribute cut at their lifeline. Nothing protruded from the side of the cliff significantly enough to suggest it might be worn away that way while they climbed. It was just a bad rope or something. Jerrick's testing wasn't thorough enough. Careful wasn't careful enough.

I can't quite be sad yet. I'm too busy being dumbstruck.

"What happened to Four's?" I hear Gerik asking someone. A testament to how fast it went.

My first condolences arrive in tandem from Sunny and Silk: "I'm so sorry." A handful of others follow. While it's nice for anyone with tributes remaining because there are two less potential opponents for their kids to make it through, the accidental manner of their passing has got to strike at least Gerik and Hector as something disappointing. Both out of the bloodbath. Both volunteers. Volunteering for non-related tributes might be off the table in 4 for decades now. I came home, but Jerrick and Maria barely had the chance to do anything. Dead on the second day.

I take off my headset and put it on the table. "I-" I declare, more for myself than for anyone around me (they have their own important business to stick to- what do they care?), "I'm going to get some lunch."

"Soup of the Day's good in the cafeteria," the District 11 coach volunteers.

"Thanks," I slink out.

I order the soup and a side of oyster crackers. While I wait for them, I catch a recap of my tributes' - my students', friends'- deaths. The cold analytics of the replay are what break me. They were people. They have names. They were- they are- so much more than deaths eight and nine of the Fourteenth Hunger Games.

I start to cry into my soup.

"They don't put enough salt in this to start out, do they?" Jack intrudes with this wry remark. He sits down beside me and puts his arm around my shoulders. I lean in against him. "Hey," he says, "Hey, it'll be all right."

"Liar," I counter, though I don't have much strength to throw behind it.

"Oh, I didn't say it'll be perfect," Jack goes on, not sounding much put out by my complaint, "I didn't say it'd last forever. But it'll be better than this for a while."

"That's not good, Jack," I turn to press my face against his shirt, "It's not enough."

His arm is comfortingly solid against my back. At least we will always be in this together, I console myself. I would burn out alone. I makes me suppose that, in a way, each new victor adds to our strength. There are thirteen of us and then there will be fourteen. We come from different districts, we have our own varied ways and personalities, but, in a way, we are the only ones of our kind. Not Capitol, but not just District any longer.

"Let's go," Jack whispers, "Let's get out of this place and forget for a while."

"You have tributes," I remind him in an equally hushed voice. I don't see how he could forget. I don't see how he could not care. Someone is presumably watching them for the time being, but at least we're still in the center just a few rooms away. He shouldn't even be considering going off and leaving the place to spend time with me. I hope he doesn't think I want him to do anything like that.

I pull away. "You should get back to them. I'll be all right. I'm just going to finish eating and go lie down for a while."

There's reluctance in his manner, but he ultimately does as I've pushed him to. "We'll talk later," I promise, "You can call me up later in the evening and I'll bring dinner in to you."

While I'm away not watching for the rest of that day, the girl from 5 and the girl from 11 are killed, both by the same tribute and in the same fashion. The boy from 7 did it by throwing them over the side of one of the cliffs (using the arena to his advantage like Jerrick wanted to).

I don't see Apple at all. Aulie tells me she started crying in a public part of the Games Center and went home after being chided by a junior Gamemaker for being in such bad form where other people could see her. That they were only district children after all. "She should've known better when it came to the location, but I don't blame her in the slightest for her reaction. They were good kids. There are lots and lots of good kids, but they're the price of the peace we've chosen. She could lose her job if she doesn't keep the right face on in public."

Well, that explains that. "You'll keep your eye on her for me, won't you, Aulie? I mean, if Apple decides this job is too much for her, that's one thing- I could definitely understand that- but I don't want her to get fired."

"For you, of course," he agrees.

Jack calls me in the evening, wondering if he can come up to the fourth floor and see me. I remind him of my promise to bring dinner in to him and force myself to act cheerful as I take his order.

"You have got some Games-damned luck, Mags," Hector greets me as I return with our meals in my hands, "I am so sorry. I keep watching that replay over and over, but short of not climbing at all, I just can't see what they could've done differently."

"The bad luck's gotta go somewhere," I shrug. I appreciate his kindness, but what else can I say?

Jack lets me sit with him at his station while we eat. I don't feel much like talking, so I pick at my food and watch his tributes as they move, separately, about the arena. Sincerity discovers a way downward that's almost like an abandoned staircase of rock, but is too afraid to follow it. Charlie doesn't seem to show any interest in trying to head down to the bottom of the arena either. Though Jack reiterates his interest in spending some time with me privately, I turn him down again. I have no desire to do anything that would separate him unnecessarily from his tributes. If he's going to take a break, he should spend it sleeping.

I'm exhausted. I go to sleep early.

In the night, Jack's girl follows my tributes in plunging to her death, but she does it by stepping off a ledge- no faulty equipment required. There's televised discussion of whether it's a suicide or an accident (when I get to down to Mentor Central, no one's talking about it). The Gamemakers can't stop arena suicides completely, but they don't like them. That's not the way the Games are meant to be played.

"I'm sorry about your girl," I tell Jack. Watching the creepy night vision footage, I'm inclined to think she meant to do it.

Perhaps that's why Jack doesn't seem too eaten up over it. No one's ever going to survive the Hunger Games without wanting to.

I buzz about aimlessly between the mentors I'm on the best terms with, playing gofer along with the Avoxes, though when they pick up trays and take orders and such, they often disappear off into their own special back rooms and walkways through the Games complex where, as an outsider, I hesitate to follow. The one Pal likes, Brendan, is present today, though he looks to be on window-washing duty. I haven't seen my sort-of-friend the blond Avox woman yet on this entire visit to the Capitol. I'm not sure if any of her coworkers will understand who I'm talking about if I ask after her. I have no idea how many Avoxes are employed by the Games Center.

Beto's girl and Shy's boy have both ventured down through different sections of the staircase-like rocks formations heading towards the bottom of the arena. "Okay, you know I want one of ours to win," Hector laughs, "But hear me out, all right? How exciting would it be if just the two of them made it to the bottom and fought out the final duel down there?"

"Yeah, I could go for that," Shy laughs, "I think they're about fairly matched."

Beto mutters something that probably isn't agreement, but it's not like out of the remaining tributes Shy's wouldn't be one of the better opponents for his girl. Half of the tributes in the Fourteenth Games are dead now and my resistance to feeling for each individual tribute weakens. This time Beto's girl is named Avi Brown. She has a green ribbon in her brown hair.

I ask Beto if there's anything I can to give him a hand and he gives me his notebook and lets me read a set of numbers to his escort, or whatever Capitolite helps him out with his sponsorships. I have no idea what any of it means, but I'm happy that he'll let me help.

There are no further fatalities until the early afternoon. Jack dips into his sponsor funds to send his remaining tribute a pair on binoculars. From the overhead map, we can all tell he's in a fairly hidden location at the moment, but it's right in the middle of the maneuvers of about half the other tributes, so he's going to have to be careful with where he goes from there.

Jack doesn't send any message with the binoculars. If it were me, I probably would, despite their meaning seeming pretty self-evident. I appreciate the opportunity to have some kind of contact with my tributes, even if it has to be clipped and careful. I want them to remember the world beyond the arena. I want them to know that I'm out there, thinking of them. That someone else is on their side.

But I think Jack is a very different sort of mentor than I am.

The boy uses the binoculars and takes a look around.

I think the message he takes away from what he sees is exactly the opposite of what Jack wants him to. He tries to surprise the boy from 7, but it doesn't wind up a surprise at all.

Jack rubs his face with both hands. "Stupid," he says to himself, "So stupid."

Kayta's boy is very pleased by the spoils of binoculars this kill nets him. He takes them up a dry, dead tree (I would be afraid to climb that tree- especially at his size and weight- it seems like it could just snap and fall to pieces) and surveys the arena as far as he can see.

I come up behind Jack and put my hand on his shoulder.

We stay like that a long time.

Setting aside the possibility of flukes that always exists and that idea that these Games might end on the canyon floor as opposed to up on the rock formation, as the third day progresses, I think this is 2 or 7's game to lose. One or two of those tributes is headed toward breaking the previous kill record. Kayta, Hector, and Gerik all seem quite enthused to be caught up in this mini rivalry. I doubt there will be any hard feelings whichever way it goes- those are three tributes playing these Games with every bit of strength in them.

"Come back to my place?" Jack asks me.

Well, now that we're both clear of responsibilities to living tributes, I acquiesce. Jack talks quietly on the way about small things- aside from the Games, small things are the only things on his mind now.

"I'm so tired," he says once back in his apartment.

"Where would be the most comfortable place to sit down?" I try to facilitate taking the edge off the worst of this. Obviously, it pains Jack to lose his tributes the same as any of us, but the way he shows that pain isn't as transparent to me as that of many of my colleagues.

"…bedroom," he mumbles, "If that doesn't bother you."

"No…" I go along with him down the hall and through the door I have only ever seen closed.

I find it to be a solemn-seeming room, despite the preponderance of warm colors in the decor. The bedspread stands out, a soft sort of yellow. Jack sits down heavily and the puffy fabric creases beneath him. Drained like this, he looks more or less his almost thirty years old rather than that feeling of 'just a bit older than me' I get from the ageless youthfulness of his excitement.

"Maybe you want to be alone?" It seems like a reasonable thing to think.

"Please," he holds out his hands, "Stay."

I take them. I'll stay. I sit down beside him, never letting go of his hands as I do. I kiss his forehead, lips brushing against bits of auburn bangs.

He returns with a kiss of his own to my lips.

Hands disentangle to wrap around my back and I can't help but think, at this grip, that Jack is strong. The way he's holding me doesn't hurt, but there's a roughness around the edges that doesn't usually surface in our contact- that he must be normally restraining himself from employing. There are fingers clutching around the curve of my shoulder that have killed people.

My own hands against his t-shirt are no better, even if they are weaker and smaller.

I kiss him back.

His fingers slip between the layers of my clothes- the outer off-white covering and the dark t-shirt below. They move along the hem of my shirt and I tremble at warmly electric impact of the touch of his skin to mine. We are right together like this, I think. There is so much wrong in this world and there's so little that I can do, but- But perhaps I can see Jack happy amidst it all. Perhaps I can swim with this tide and not run away from its rise out of fear.

Jack moves away and folds his hands.

I don't understand. I had expected him to say something, to ask something, but, instead, silence. "Jack?" I resist the urge to touch him.

"I shouldn't," he shakes his head, "I would feel like I was taking advantage…"

"Huh?"

"Because your tributes died like that." He looks sad.

"But your tributes died too," I insist. And today, while mine went the day before. I don't see why mine would make a greater difference than his. Because they died at the same time? Because I knew them better than he presumably knew his? …Or maybe because he's upset over his tributes and doesn't trust himself to judge my feelings properly in light of his own condition?

He turns to fully face me and I feel his breath against my cheek we're still so close together. "I know," is all the acknowledgement he gives his fallen tributes.

I put my arms around his neck and lean my head against his chest. He sets one hand on my back and drops his head, gently, backward onto the bed. He closes his eyes. He stays quiet.

I maintain my silence as well. It seems to last a long time.

I pull my hands free from the weight upon them and try not to lean against him too heavily as I realize he's fallen asleep.

He's still, but there doesn't seem to be anything particularly peaceful about it. It's just Jack sleeping, turned slightly toward his side. I kiss his cheek.

He twitches, but doesn't wake.

Slowly, I rise up and off the bed, leaving Jack to his dreams, whatever they might be. The temperature in the room is pleasant, so it's not as if I think he will be cold, but I search around for a blanket to drape over him since it seems like the kind thing to do. There. That looks a bit better. And with a whispered, "Goodnight, Jack," I depart.

"Oh, Mags," Apple meets me immediately upon my return to the Games complex, reaching into her purse, "Here's the photography for Maria's, ah-"

"Her grandmother," I supply.

"Yes. Grandmother," she agrees. "Well, Maria did look very pretty in lots of shots, so I picked two instead of just one. A picture of Jerrick too, poor boy."

I feel slightly sick when I look at their cautiously smiling face.

"…Mags," Apple starts again, also cautiously, "If you're not too tired from, ah, being out with Jack, would you feel like taking a walk with me?"

She wants to talk, I think, but not within the Games Center. Somewhere where we're less conspicuous? No, where there are less interested ears. "Sure. Jack's the one who was worn out."

"Men always seem to fall asleep after," Apple sighs, in a manner I think is intended as sympathetic. I don't speak up in contradiction of her assumption.

Apple drives us out to the second ring of the city. I haven't really been in this area of the Capitol- everything related to the Games is in the center ring, the same as the homes of the president and Aulie and Jack. Things are colorful, but in a more low-key way. I watch multicolored buildings of two or three stories and sidewalks broken by exotic, but no so perfectly groomed, trees pass us by. Apple's car brings back memories of Beanpole. "…Is this your neighborhood, Apple?"

"Yes. …Do you want to see where I live?" Apple turns down a side road, seemingly making up her mind already on her own.

"Sure," I assent.

Driving off in this new direction for a while, she finally slows in from of a three story mint green building. "…The second floor flat is mine. I was finally able to move out here into my own place once I secured this job as an escort. Before that I lived in the Fourth Tier, with my mother and sister." She doesn't really stop, but we move past the place very slowly. I can see something shining in one of her windows- like a windchime or prism or something. It seems like her. The green of the place and the shimmer in the window.

"What's it mean?" I express my curiosity as we move onward. "The 'Fourth Tier?'"

"The Third Ring of the Capitol is the largest." She doesn't look at me, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the road, "And so, for ease of explanation- where do you live, how respected is your family, such things- it's divided into Tiers. …and that's why I put in for District Four as my first choice when I was allowed to apply as an escort. Because the ocean looked pretty on television and I assumed you were all about my equivalents in the scheme of district things- not the top, but enough above the bottom."

There's a tremor in her voice. When I look at her, Apple glances suddenly off to the far left. This must be an emotional thing for her to talk about. I wonder if we make eye contact if she's going to start crying.

I don't push for it. I turn obviously to the side and look to the right out the window. "I didn't know any of that."

"It…it would be better if you didn't go trying to tell everyone back home about it. You know how things here are about…appearances…"

"I won't." I don't see the point. People should be able to realize on their own that one way or another not everyone in the Capitol is considered equal. People everywhere have trouble with that. And it's not like even the most hot-blooded malcontents back home could get any use out of it. I'm the only one from Four who goes to the Capitol (though I think the mayor has been once when he was formally invested?). I'm the only one from Four that the Capitol cares about.

It does raise other thoughts in my mind though, like ripples on water. "I'm going to guess there are twelve or thirteen tiers?"

"Twelve. And the Twelfth is full of debtors and the like."

She pulls into a small lot where the street surface is made up of variegated green cement or whatever it is streets are made up of in the Capitol. Despite the varied hues here, the texture seems particularly smooth. "Here we are." She dabs at one eye with a handkerchief for a moment once we stop, but I don't poke at this. "Aspen Park. …because of the trees," she gestures toward some tall trees with white bark. "Let's walk here."

Her heels make a muted clack as they hit the pavement.

Apple walks without saying anything for the first few yards.

"You're sad about Maria and Jerrick too, aren't you?" I'm not sure this is only about them, but I can be confident what happened to them isn't making it any better. I don't want to outright mention what Aulie told me about her crying over them in public.

"Yes," she sighs, "And they remind me of Salvador when here I was thinking I had gotten over that… Mags," she stops and I stumble not to bump into her. "Where you come from, you believe something happens to people after they die, right?"

"Err. Yes." I don't think that much is considered seditious.

"Until I met people from the districts- well, your district, that is- I still barely know anyone from the others- I'd never met anyone I knew believed that sort of thing. But the longer I work as part of the Games, the more I think I understand why that would be a nice thing to believe."

When she says things like that, I feel sorry for Apple. "Hmm," I respond. I'm not sure what to tell her.

"Maria and Jerrick, Salvador, Simon, Beanpole, that Shaya girl. …they're living on somewhere else?" she tries.

"Yeah. Somewhere better."

"…that part I could guess," she shakes her head and starts walking again. "I imagine your father could tell me all about it?"

"He'd tell you a lot of things if he thought he could." It's a funny thing to think- that Papa detoured from his priestly studies upon meeting my mother and now a Capitol woman wonders toward religion and considers him. "But, you know." Apple and I can get some privacy, seeing as we're together enough and it's natural enough. Papa and Apple are unlikely to have a single conversation they're sure they're having alone. "Someone in the Capitol might know too though," I shrug. "Or is forbidden to read about even within the framework of history? It's old, it was there before our district, it had to come from somewhere."

"I'm not sure. …I suppose I'll try and do some reading and research on my own…"

"Apple, you know," I broach an awkward subject of my own, "Jack and I- I haven't had sex with Jack."

"Oh. I apologize for having assumed otherwise." We're a ways back from the street and the lot and the modest multicolored swing set and slide set up for the enjoyment of local children. "I know I was skeptical at first, but I'm sure it- if you do he'll treat you very well. He tries to be as light and easy with this relationship as anything else, but I can see that he cares for you very much."

It's not a subject I'm good at talking about, but Apple's manner makes me smile. "If he doesn't, I'm guessing he'll have you to answer to?"

"Well, I don't imagine your father would ever find the proper opportunity." She reaches out and takes my hand, tugging me along so we're walking side by side now instead of me following behind. "So, do you think you will? If I think he's sincere about you, you know that I know about you. I knew right away. That you're so sincere is part of why I thought I should discourage you."

"I have mixed feelings. Not about Jack, but… I don't know. I do love Jack. I'm sure of that, but I'm together with him about four weeks total, on and off, out of the whole year. Because we're from different districts this is it. This is probably too much as it is."

"You've managed this far. I suppose I can't properly imagine it, but would it hurt to try?"

"We're going to have to work side by side for the foreseeable future, Apple." I can't help but think she hasn't considered that part in depth. "I want us to stay friends."

"Hmm…I am friends with only one old boyfriend- and I've had many… Oh, well, Jack does live in the Capitol often. You don't think you could live here with him?"

"I'd be leaving Papa," I start, but I don't have to mention anyone or anything further because Apple can understand that.

"It's not as if it would be permanent," she goes on, "But. But, I see."

"So, it's complicated."

We stay out and eat together in a small cafe in the Second Ring where I'm recognized, but in a sort of polite, "Hey, look, I know who she is," way rather than any paparazzi fury. The woman running the place asks to take a picture of Apple and me with our dinner, then hurries to print out a copy and have us sign it.

There are only two faces for the night's anthem show- the two tributes from District 1. Three days and the field has been halved. These may either be shaping up to be a very short Games or a very long endgame.

The spread of deaths at this point has been such that even with half the tributes gone, only three districts are out- 1, 4 and 8. While Kayta and the 2s have strong odds, Beto keeps on running numbers for his girl, Ferdinand is scarcely off the phones on Emmy's behalf (that both of 10's tributes are alive at this point isn't a first, I think, but since Emmy, they've usually been an early blow-out), and even the victor-less District 12 coach is getting her chance to do something.

The following day I get back to watching the Games from first thing in the morning, though I can't say my heart is exactly in it. The boy from 12 is headed down through the cavernous pathways in the rock formation. The girl from 9 did pretty much the same thing as Maria and Jerrick, but whether it was all that more successful of a job is questionable at this point because the hole in the stone she'd hiding out in only goes about three yards back- it doesn't connect up with any of the more complex paths leading down- so she's stuck unless she's willing to tackle the cliff face again.

Jack shows up about twenty minutes later. "Hey, pretty boy," Gerik grabs him immediately, "The three of us need to talk," and directs him over to Hector's side.

I can't stop myself from looking away from the Games activity to watch them, but it's not as if I can go over and insert myself into the conversation as much as I wonder what they're talking about. I get fidgety forcing myself not to try and listen in.

Kayta gets up from his station with his headset still on to walk around the room and stretch a bit. "You look bored," he addresses me.

"I thought maybe Silk and Pal would be here," I admit.

"Go figure," he shrugs, "But, hey, I brought a game you could play." He goes back to his mentoring station and digs a zippered pouch of his bag. "Hey, Jack," he interrupts the three-man Inner District conversation that seems to be more or less dissolving on its own anyway, "Catch!" He makes a little preliminary jerk with his wrist, the sort of tossing feint I've seen boys back home make to tease dogs, to be sure that Jack sees what's about to come his way, before he actually tosses the item over.

Jack doesn't have any trouble catching it. He looks quizzical. "What's in the bag?"

"A real simple game from back home." Kayta pauses to make some observations about his boy, but there isn't much to note. He's sitting up in that tree again looking around with the binoculars. He's been sharpening his spear on a rock. I sort of wonder if he's hoping to see his impromptu rival from 2 or if it's "too early" yet. Save that showdown for the very last (well, the Gamemakers would like that).

"Pick-up sticks," Kayta comes over and explains the game, which is pretty well described by its name and boasts exceedingly simple rules. "…and go!" he cheers us on to play.

"What does the winner get?" I tease.

"Didn't think that part out yet," Kayta heads back to his seat to focus his attention back on his work. "Get back to me about it when someone's won."

Jack stretches his hands. "I'm going to blow you out of the water," he grins.

It turns out my touch is clumsy today and I keep bumping the sticks. Jack fulfills his promise. When he reports to Kayta about having won though, Kayta tells him he doesn't deserve any prizes. Jack protests a bit about the unfairness ("So you would've come up with something for Mags?" "Of course, I would've."), so Kayta nags some of the other victors for their opinions on the situation.

Everyone either agrees with Kayta or declines to comment (though I think Shy and Hector agree with Kayta just because they think that's the funnier option). Luna bothers to say that she thinks Jack is the worst mentor of everyone, including the not particularly dedicated District 11 coach and, "this one here," she points her thumb over at Emmy.

Jack's frown is pronounced.

I think this jab is too much for Kayta- he didn't expect anyone to take the teasing that far. "…Mags should give you something because she's the loser," Kayta corrects his earlier judgement.

Jack sits down heavily beside me. He doesn't say anything, just looks up at the main screen and lets his eyes follow the movements of Liam from 5 as he reaches the canyon floor and heads toward the river.

"Hey, Jack," I say eventually. It's enough to get his attention. I kiss his cheek.

"Would you like to go somewhere?" he inquires.

"…well, I'm not sure I really want to go out, but we don't have to do our watching here."

We go up to the fourth floor. "Oh, hello, Jack," Aulie looks up from his new comm device. "Mags, the last of the hats are here," he points out an open box sitting next to the couch.

"Thank you."

"They were popular enough then?" Jack asks.

"It was a wonderful idea," Aulie answers. He gets up from the table. "You two take it easy."

"I'll finish the autographs," I tell Aulie, though I'm sure he expects me to get to it anyway. "Have a nice afternoon."

Jack spends several innocuous hours with me before he's scheduled to tape one of his pieces down at the studio. The process of his cheering up goes on gradually (obviously being called a bad mentor to his face bothers him), but by the time he leaves I doubt anyone would know that any such disturbance had marred his day.

The fifth day dawns. The 2s are in masterful seek and destroy mode as they roam the caverns on the side of the cliff. The boy from 9 tries to run away from them, but he's too slow.

When they head down deeper, the 2 girl notices some weak spots in the rocks and they decide to engage in a bit of careful mining sort of work (Hector seems impressed that such skills would ever end up being of use in the Games). They bust through the wall the blocks the girl from 9 with the rest of the arena. Like that, they wipe out the 9s. Luna storms off without a word to any of us. The 2 girl is hurt pretty badly in the fight though. Her partner helps her to find a well-hidden place to stay and they split their supplies. "I'll come back for you," the boy says.

"I'm a Two," the girl shakes her head, "I can take care of myself. And if I can't, that should be on me, not you."

He thinks on this a moment, then they shake hands and part. "Goodbye, Leda."

"Damn, I hate it when it works out like that," Hector rubs his temples. Assuming the rest of the tributes don't manage to kill one another, leaving only Leda living, she has pretty much conceded the Games to Inro.

In the live commentary, Hector takes some flack from Mr. Bronze for sending Leda some painkillers and antiseptic solution and when Danae- I think she's just part of the Games programing team? I can't even remember where I learned her name- comes down to take him aside and get a clip about it, I can overhear him from the tiny filming booth they've added off to the side for this kind of thing saying some rather fierce words about Leda being his tribute and still being alive and how once he's received the sponsor funds he can do with them whatever he wants.

When Hector steps back out of filming booth, someone claps for him. Hector is taken aback. Pal and Silk, sitting beside me, join in the applause and I follow their lead. Gerik laughs and begins clapping too. Jack and Sunny stand and follow suit.

"O-oh," Danae hurries to turn her small camera back on and capture some of this.

"Who clapped first?" Hector wonders.

"Kayta," Sunny reveals him.

"Shoot, brother!" Hector stands at the District 2 mentor station and leans against the partition, looking over at Kayta, "You know you are in my good book forever, right?"

Kayta rises from his seat to see Hector eye to eye. He holds out his hand. "We're all transplants to the same forest." He winks and Sunny starts laughing.

Everyone swerves suddenly back to attention at the sound of a cannon and the reveal for one possible reason for Beto's lack of either participation in or response to our show of mutual support. The District 3 girl has just killed the District 12 boy. "Oh, no," Acedia, the District 12 coach, gasps. Danae, happily taking in all this drama moves around to the other side of mentoring stations and captures Acedia on camera wringing her hands. Her abnormally blue eyes well up with tears almost immediately and her mascara begins to run down her pink skin.

Beto is saying something to himself that I want to interpret as, "Well done." Avi, his girl this year is fifteen or so, with a pinched face and heavy-lidded eyes. If she comes out of this alive, I imagine he will treat her with whatever his version would be of all the love and care that Pal showers on Silk.

…If Inro comes home to 2 or Reinhold to 7, there will surely be many who love them, but as far as their mentors are concerned, they will be more a partner or a buddy than the boon that girl would be to Beto (or the miracle 11's girl would be to her district).

That's it, the final eight.

Over lunch, Apple invites me to a movie and manages to get through my mixed feelings to convince me to actually go. Part of it, I think, is that she wants me to see that she's gotten herself together. The movie she's picked is a modern comedy. My favorite part is a cameo by Sophie Varen, playing herself, where she interviews the hapless hero (a Capitol citizen working in District 1) on local television. It's a funny touch.

Afterward Apple takes me clothes shopping, although I just look rather than buying anything. We manage to barely mention the Games at all, though they're certainly close to the thoughts of many of the people who recognize me. A few clerks tell me that they're very sorry. It's just one of those unfortunate things. One asks me some things about Jack that I don't have answers for.

It hasn't been our year, either District One or District Four. There are two districts left with both of theirs still in it- Two and Ten. For Ten, it feels like a fluke (not that I would begrudge anyone a fluke), for Two, it seems…well-orchestrated. Two's girl may be basically out of it, but the way she handled herself anyway… They're both sharp kids and great fighters. There is something going on in Two- a dangerous something as far as the way the Games are played is concerned. It's training of some sort, in whatever way Gerik and Hector have managed to finagle it into legality. The four of us had talked about the idea before, but I don't know how implementation has worked out. Things are kind of on the fence in Four (or should I say with me?).

There's a possibility for trouble on both sides. …I'm a bit afraid as it is to come out and ask…well, who? Whoever I should ask about it in the Capitol. And, on the other hand, just because the Capitol will give it the okay doesn't necessarily mean that the mayor and other people of note will agree to it. They may not want to feel complicit.

I don't know what, if anything, they're doing in One. For all that I like Jack, for all that we talk, he rarely tells me about any of the goings-on in his home district. I would listen if he wanted to tell me. It's hard to decide whether there's some kind of secrecy cloaking it or if he just finds it so mundane that it's not worth mentioning or if it has something to do with being unhappy when he's there. I know there was a period back after his Victory Tour when he wouldn't go back to One at all. I learn a tiny bit more about Jack all the time, but I still don't know the details.

Apple thinks I'm getting too moody (I suppose I am thinking about Games-related things more than what we're doing now) and drags me off to a shop that sells just swimsuits. "You have to help me pick one out!" she insists, "Or I won't let you go back to the Games Center!"

I am swayed by this ridiculous threat.

I don't think I've ever spent so much time choosing a garment in my life, but I am having fun with Apple. We settle on a polka-dotted one piece. It…seems to…flatter her shape? I don't know. It looks nice and she says something like that about the cut.

Then she insists that I get one and we bicker about it a bit in good fun and I end up back in my quarters at the Center with a green, not particularly fancy two piece.

6 lost their boy while we were out. I feel sort of guilty I didn't see, but I can't be responsible for all of them…

The following day family interviews air. A final seven rather than a final eight.

"I got my hopes up," Sunny sighs to me, "Again. I shouldn't have. I should know better."

"There's always a tradeoff," Pal says sympathetically.

The girl from 3 and the boy from 5, Avi and Liam, run into one another on the rocks by the river, but after a moment of tension, neither attacks the other. "Do you want to talk?" Liam asks, "I really want to talk to another person. I guess it hasn't even been a week, but I feel like I'm going to go crazy."

"I'll talk," Avi agrees.

They crouch on the rocks, shielded from any others who might pass by by the noise of the river, and talk for maybe a full fifteen minutes, not that all of it is going to be aired as part of the main program.

"Sorry we can't be friends," Avi finally gets up and walks away.

"See you, Avi. …Or better not," Liam agrees.

Silk sighs and leans her head on Pal's shoulder, "That's so sweet."

Beto and Shy both seemed pleased by this interaction too. For multiple reasons I think- it's a way of seeing that their tributes are still sane, but I can see that it's lighting up the sponsor lines as well.

The boy from Seven, Reinhold, does a lot more looking around from his perch before deciding to go…on the hunt, I guess? "Let's clear the field," he says to himself, takes a big swig of water from the full canteen Kayta sent him (actually, his only sponsor gift from Kayta thus far, so that wedding gift money must be being carefully hoarded, because his spear is from the Cornucopia and most of his other supplies have been taken off the tributes he's killed).

"Oh, he can't think he's going to finish it all today," Shy scoffs.

"Not the whole field field," Kayta counters, either understanding his tribute better than Shy does or just guessing, "The physical field he's on."

From the overhead map on the main screen it's clear that only two tributes remain on top of the mesa at this point- Reinhold and Riata, the girl from 10.

"Call them!" Emmy holds the phone out to Ferdinand, "Call buy a weapon!"

"I don't believe anyone but you is authorized to make a purchase while you're clocked in, dear," Ferdinand answers calmly, though he is dialing. "Yes, District Ten," he tells the operator or whomever, "This is Ferdinand L'Guard. She wants to buy a weapon. For the girl. Of course for the girl. …Can't even afford a penknife? Draw it from my account then!"

"He's kind of mad, huh?" Sunny remarks, "I've never seen him mad."

"No, not the penknife- a, uh, a bigger knife. A steak knife!" He recites a long account number. "How can it need authorization if I am paying for it myself- I am her designated speller!"

"Yeah, nice effort, but good luck," Kayta mutters.

I can't see all of Emmy from here, but she seems to be swaying fretfully in her seat.

"Please approve it," Ferdinand holds the phone toward her.

She doesn't take it. She leans her head in and listens as it stays in Ferdinand's hand. "Yes," she answers the person very coherently, "Yes, please."

Riata Davis gets her steak knife, but is mightily disappointed that it isn't more water and candy, the same as the package Emmy scraped together for both her tributes on the second night. Then, as she thinks it over, she becomes nervous- her mentor has sent her a weapon. That means she's going to need it. She can barely hold the knife without trembling.

It take the boy from 7 half an hour to find and catch her, but less than ten minutes to kill her.

Emmy cries and babbles and shakes. Ferdinand holds her shoulders. "Emmy," he addresses her firmly, "Emmy, think of Zachary."

But she can't calm down. I get up off the couch to give Ferdinand some room to settle her down between Silk and Sunny. Silk looks distinctly uncomfortable. Ferdinand gives Emmy his lacy, lilac handkerchief, pats her hair, and takes over at her station. Silk scoots further from Emmy, closer to Pal. Sunny, on the other hand, starts to comfort her, talking a soft, soothing voice.

I can't imagine there's anyone here better for that than Sunny. She has a very calming presence. Sparrow may not have thought she was a good mentor, but Sparrow had a decent shot at winning those Games. If you're going to die, you could choose many worse people to have with you in your last days.

Emmy grows quiet, curled up against Sunny.

I decide to step out to get some air. I run into Jack headed in. He's carrying a pink cardboard box. "How's your sweet tooth? I brought some really fancy pastries- enough for everyone."

"Emmy can have mine if she wants it. She lost her girl."

"That's a shame." He looks down at his shoes.

It seems like there's so much time during the Games if your tributes are out early. It's a strange change from last year.

I visit a bookstore with Aulie. It's absolutely enormous, and, unlike at the library, I can look at any section I like. All the books that are for sale have cleared the censorship board as safe for general consumption. There are books that teach the basics of certain practical survival skills and self-defense (Aulie tells me there are people who get into these things as hobbies, just like anything else that could possibly interest a person). With all the things I know nothing about, they'll be a helpful aid to the club (assuming there will still be a club after this year's fiasco). For Faline, Papa, and myself, I err in favor of books that are fiction- stories.

I feel a bit proud having Aulie see how naturally I know how to use my bankcard now compared to when he first had to explain it to me.

There are tabloid magazines on a rack below the counter. My eye is drawn to Silk's picture. "Sweet Sixteen," it says. "No more need for babysitters," it goes on beneath, "We hope to be seeing more of you."

If they think that Pal is holding her back from being a part of the wilder side of Capitol life- well, they aren't exactly wrong, but I sincerely doubt she would be doing any differently on her own. Silk strikes me as more or less an ordinary girl with conventional district tastes and morals.

"Do you hear a lot of talk about her?" I ask for Aulie's insight into the matter.

"Well, little girls aren't exactly my type, and I have my own favorite district to invest my time in, but it's true that her tour footage has been very popular. Actually, my friend Cal- he sponsored her- she and Pal sent him a unique thank you card."

"Why did Cal sponsor Silk?"

"Because he has a family fortune to burn and Pal got to him before I did," Aulie scoffs.

"Hmm, I see." We leave the bookstore and come out onto the decorative lantern-hung street.

Aulie takes me to eat at a small place that sells bowls of hot, spiced noodles that would seem sort of like something back home if they would only add some bits of fish in along with the vegetables slices floating in the soup. We talk about Maria and Jerrick for a while, along the lines of things that I could try and learn about with my 'fan club,' but I start to feel too frustrated about it, so I have to stop.

I say my sniffling is caused by the heat of the soup, but we both know better than that.

I don't want to be alone in my bedroom back to at the Games complex, so I sit up on the couch watching some crummy movie.

Leda from 2 makes it through the sixth day, though she's really not looking that good. In the morning Hector sends her a package of crackers (not the standard Crispco type- these ones are bright orange and presumably of a different flavor) and a message that just reads: "Sorry."

She makes it through the seventh day as well. Gerik pats Hector on the shoulder about it often.

7's Reinhold traverses the entire top of the area, making sure he's cleared it out before heading down.

The eighth day, Leda expires. I don't see it live. I am out at the butterfly garden with Pal and Silk because there's really no use in us spending all of our time hanging around the Games Center. Silk goes to buy a little saucer of the sugar water you can use to feed the butterflies and the man at the counter just gives it to her. She finds a spot she likes, sits down cross-legged, and balances the saucer on her knee. "Take my picture, please, if a lot of butterflies come," she insists to Pal.

He reaches into the big, loose sleeve of his mousy brown outer garment and pulls out a camera, holding it up so she can see it, but remains standing with me some distance away.

"Are people still…" I struggle to decide how to put it, "…Giving you a hard time about her?"

"They think that 'big brother' is keeping her from coming out and having any fun. …Well, I don't think I even want her to know about the sort of things people in various quarters are hoping she'll do with them. They mostly keep it sort of veiled, but I'm not so naive as to misunderstand..."

"That's creepy," I shudder.

"I make sure and field all the messages from someone we don't know. They don't call directly, but they bother our escort about it and such." He sighs. "I'm holding out hope that when we have our new victor though, most of the attention will turn to him or her."

"People do like their fads around here."

"Paaaaal!" Silk calls to him, "Look! Look!" There are butterflies all up and down her arm and she grins wildly.

I buy them lunch and Silk shows me a bunch of photographs on Pal's camera that mainly depict the inside of her new house in various stages as she and Pal worked to decorate it. She asks about what my home looks in return, but I'm not all that great and describing it, and, honestly, I haven't put in half the effort into making it so uniquely mine as Silk has.

Out of all the things in her new house, what she's most enthused about is a dollhouse she's busy making and collecting tiny furniture for. There's a single little doll inside dressed in gray and white with black stockings and a scarf on her hair- she's a typical District 8 factory girl.

"I make her other clothes too," Silk explains, "But I like this best. It's actually a doll that came from the Capitol, but my mother cut her hair and dressed her like this for me to make her a local girl."

"The doll stuff is her talent," Pal adds.

"Well," Silk shrugs.

"But I like that I can help and we can do these things together."

"I think we should make all the victors," she laughs, "Wouldn't everyone get a kick out of that?"

"Jack would," I vouch for my only fellow victor I think I can predict a reaction for, "…Actually, if you told him about this idea he'd probably make suggestions of his own about how you should make everyone look- what they should be wearing and all."

"Jack would have to be in his madras and a t-shirt," Silk decides on the spot. "…But I'd want to make you first, Pal. You can help me make all the tiny patches and embroidery that would make it look especially like you."

She's sold on the idea. I have to say, I do look forward to seeing what she comes up with and what parts Pal puts in to help her.

The ninth day, the Gamemakers rattle the arena with an earthquake (we know it's on purpose because the commentators say so), shaking debris about to fill up the majority of the caves and tunnels to keep any of the tributes from heading back up now that all of them are on the canyon floor. Zachary, the boy from 10, is killed by a falling rock. I see all of this from a big screen on one of the streets while out taking a walk.

A teenage girl approaches and asks if I'm all right because apparently I look so pale at seeing him crushed. Well, I'm not all right, but being kind and asking is really all I think she can do about it. I suppose I'm glad that I wasn't up with the other mentors for this. I imagine Emmy is having a rough time of it.

This death brings us down to a final four. One girl, 3's Avi, and three boys, 2's Inro, 5's Liam, and 7's Reinhold.

When my thoughts return to myself, rather than what I'm seeing onscreen, I realize the girl never left me. "Oh, it's really nice of you, but you don't need to stay with me," I say.

"Just making sure," she smiles at me, "And, um, nice to meet you, Mags."

I must give her a quizzical look, trying to decide whether this isn't just some random teenage girl, but someone I've met before. "I'm Julia Crane. My dad is one of the Gamemakers."

"Oh," I reply stupidly, "Oh, I see."

She walks me back to the center and I acquiesce to an awkward request to take a picture with me. Aulie just around the corner once I come inside- sort of like he was trying to wait out of sight? "Were you looking for me?" I wonder.

"Yes. But casually. I mean, it's not because of any particular business you have to do."

"And-?"

"That's Crane's daughter… No, don't be concerned, there's nothing you need to worry about over her. It's just, I can't stand the son, Seneca Junior, and I keep finding excuses not to go to his horrid parties, so the less the Cranes are reminded of me, the better, I think."

"Horrid parties?" I venture a small smile. I'm not quite sure what that would entail.

"You honestly would be better off not knowing, dear," Aulie puts his arm around my shoulders.

I am not sure I agree that I would be better off, but I decide not to ask. I know of enough horrible things and circumstances that I can't change. This isn't one I need to add to my list.

On the tenth day, as I idly watch the Games from the couch on the fourth floor, the river starts to flow over its banks- a sure sign to me that they mean to encourage the last four tributes back toward one another.

I figure I should go down and watch in the mentoring room, to provide moral support for my comrades who are still in this, if nothing else. I pack up one of the new books I bought, a notepad, and some bottled drinks I could share and head down in the elevator.

There's not far to travel at that point, but I find myself delayed upon seeing the pretty blond Avox from years past. "Hey!" I approach her, "I was wondering about you. I'm glad you're…Okay." Well, as best as I can tell.

She seems surprised at first, but composes herself to smile at me and give a small nod.

"I…" She's carrying a bucket and a mop. "I suppose I shouldn't hold you up. Please, uh, take care of yourself."

"Columbine, have you-" Jack stops when he sees me.

The woman- Columbine?- freezes awkwardly between us, clutching at her tools.

"Sorry," Jack addresses her, "Sorry, never mind. You just go and take care of it."

"…Good-bye…Columbine," I lean around Jack to wave, even though I suppose it's a bit silly.

"Emmy…uh, Ferdinand…" Jack tries to decide what it is he's trying to explain or how to tell it or where to start, "Ferdinand visited the health center and tried to pick up a stronger medication for Emmy, but it turned out to be too hard on her stomach."

That part makes sense then. "…Yeah, throwing up is the worst," I agree, frowning. I didn't know that Emmy regularly took any sort of medication, but maybe that makes sense.

Then we're just standing there in the hall looking at one another. He doesn't offer any information about Columbine- like Pal and Brendan, maybe he has just communicated with some of the Avoxes and happens to know her name.

Finally, I decide to tell him what I was up to. "I'm just going into the mentor room. I get the feeling they're heading toward wrapping this up."

"Oh. …I was thinking of asking if you'd like to go out and do something with me instead." Jack hooks his thumbs into his pockets and looks down at me, keeping his expression more or less neutral, but…

I think we're at something of an impasse. "I figure I should be watching."

"You're not obligated," Jack says, "If there's anyone they aren't going to go overboard with forcing to see required viewing, it's us. We all know what the Games are like; we all know what the Capitol's crucible has forged us into."

"I feel obligated," I reply. I'm only being honest. "Personally. Morally."

Jack considers this and then poses a follow-up question: "To see all of it? Or to see the conclusion?"

I don't watch all of it. I can't say any of us keep our eyes on every minute in real time once our district is out. "The end, I suppose. To see how things turn out."

"I'll get someone to send me a message then. By phone, the moment that the Games come down to the last two tributes."

I hold my ground a few moments- I don't know, if just seems the right thing to do not to give in immediately. "…Okay."

We take what seems like a very long walk around the interior edges of the Games complex before picking up some lunch on the way to his apartment.

To get away from the inescapable Games footage and such, we go up and eat while sitting on his roof. Jack sings me a song about working in a diamond mine, "Although all the diamonds in One are entirely synthetic," he informs me. It's interesting to hear him actually talk about something regarding his home district.

He tries to teach me how to play some kind of charades-esque game, but I can't quite grasp the rules. "Is this a game from One?" I inquire.

"No, it's from the Capitol."

"That explains why it's so unnecessarily complicated then," I sigh, then move on to something else. "…You know, I know I talk about Four a lot, maybe more than I should, but you barely say a word about One. It makes me get curious about it. …I've watched Sophie on TV a bunch of times now, probably just because of the way you don't bring it up."

"…Would you miss the ocean?" Jack asks. I don't understand why and something about that makes me uncomfortable.

"I've never been away from it," I counter, "Not long enough for it to make a difference at least." But I think I know the answer to his question anyway. "But I'm sure it would be hard for me. It'd be hard for anyone in Four, really. We're used to the ocean."

"Hmm," he nods, "I see."

"You know," it occurs to me, "I saw a map that showed One borders the ocean too, Jack. …But you've only seen it when you visited Four?"

"Oh." He makes a sort of snorting noise. "That map? Maybe the Capitol technically considers that area part of our district what with the way they like to claim absolutely everything on the continent as theirs, but it's certainly not within the fence. The closest you can get to the western coast of Panem is blocked by a wall. …But even if you went to the westernmost fence and it was just a fence, you're still way too far to see the ocean from there."

Now it's my turn. "Oh." To be poised on the coast but never even see the sea. To my ears, that's a truly despicable thing. The more I learn about District 1, the sadder and sadder a place it seems to me. The more I can look into Jack's eyes and identify that longing within him to go somewhere far away.

He goes to the Capitol, but is that really any better?

There's nothing I can do for him. There's nowhere I can take him away to. Jack has his place and I have mine. We live in worlds that only overlap.

The wind picks up. Though Jack says it's entirely safe up here anyway, I get nervous, so we head back inside.

Jack thinks of an easier game for me to learn. One where you try to build the most towering structure you can out of little square paper cards. It is easy to understand. It's much harder to actually do any good at.

This, it turns out, is a game from 1.

I finally start to get the hang of it when something lights up in the pocket of Jack's outer layer. It takes a second for me to realize it's his phone.

Jack cracks a wry smile at the message on the screen, then turns the phone around so I can read what he's been sent: "This is it so stoked go D2!" It purportedly came from Gerik, but even I think the message was more likely sent by Hector (using Gerik's phone, I suppose). There's no way Gerik sends even a casual message like that.

We leave the kitchen, where we were playing the card stacking game, making use of what Jack considers the best surface to play it on- his kitchen counter- out of a combination of its height and flat surface and forget about our two towers- Jack's medium-sized and steady, mine growing tall, but teetering.

The television is on already, automatically turned to the finale of the Fourteenth Games, inevitable required viewing (almost live- with only a slight tape delay). I have been fortunate enough to miss the deaths of 5's Liam O'Rize and 3's Avi Brown. Neither of them killed the other, apparently. Inro from 2, grimly spattered with blood, finished them both.

Inro is the more skilled fighter, but Reinhold, with the spear that's he's wrapped up with some kind of heavy tape Kayta sent him to reinforce it and give him a better grip, perhaps, has greater reach. Reinhold jabs at Inro with the spear and then pulls back.

"…are they going to want you to comment on this?" I ask Jack.

"Probably. But it's not like I do the live broadcast anyway most of the time."

I squeeze Jack's arm so hard as I watch that he finally has to ask me to stop. My nails have left little red half-moon shapes all between his sleeve and his elbow. "S-sorry," I frown.

"I just wanted to bear it, but…" Jack responds with an awkward smile.

Onscreen, the pain and injury only escalate.

It's a long fight.

We could've left to return to the Games complex when we received the initial message and made it back with time to see the ultimate conclusion. I think Mr. Bronze, adding commentary with Mr. Zimmer as each bloody attack and counterattack plays out, is practically about to give himself an aneurysm out of excitement. This is the sort of finale he likes, but so many of us have denied him.

Reinhold falls to his knees, supporting himself on the spear.

Inro falls forward as well. Face first.

"Pinesteeth!" Reinhold spits out blood.

The call it 'the death by a thousand cuts.' That's how Reinhold Meyer defeats his final opponent to come out of the Fourteenth Hunger Games.

"Thank you," Kayta gushes in his first interview as mentor to a winner, "Thank you! I want to thank everyone who gave us their support this year, not only for myself, but on behalf of my wife and all of District Seven!"

"So, are you never going to ask us for anything again?" the lady reporter laughs.

"No," Kayta is cocky as ever, "I'm going to ask for the exact same thing again next year. …A guy can dream, can't he?"

Reinhold needs a transfusion, antibiotics, a broken bone in his hand set, and time for broken ribs to heal and bruises, particularly on his face, to fade. Yet a photograph Kayta takes and sneaks out to the press himself shows Reinhold looking fairly pleased with himself. He's making a victory sort of gesture from back home, Kayta explains, pointing out Reinhold's less appreciably injured hand.

I go out and have a few drinks with Hector and Gerik. They're both reasonably measured in their disappointments regarding Leda and Inro. "The three of us lost a whole batch of young heroes this year, huh?" Hector puts it.

"I'm sorry we weren't able to get our four tributes to work together," I reply. …Not that the 2s really needed Jerrick and Maria, but it could have changed how things ended at least for all of them.

"I'm sure if you have volunteers and we have volunteers we'll work it out sometime," Gerik rubs his chin, "I don't think you're about to stop being my first choice to work with anytime soon."

"Ours knew, you know," Hector speaks in a low tone, trying not to attract any unnecessary attention as he gives me a bit more information, "They hadn't learned all the things the committees have been saying a tribute should learn. But what they had was still better than what just any kid plucked out of the district would've had. It's a gift, I suppose, to the tributes who will come after."

"…I don't think Jerrick and Maria were thinking anything as involved as that."

"Someone has to teach it to them. Few kids would think that way on their own," Gerik counters. He looks at me and his gray eyes ask, "Do you know what I mean?"

More or less, I think I know. District 2, the land of the stoic, the disciplined, the bold. "Yeah," I say, though my serious expression runs counter to my casual response.

He seems to accept this response. He moves onto another topic. "Hey, I bet you didn't know that Hector's got a girlfriend."

"I didn't say it was okay for you to tell about that!" Hector counters.

"Her name's Lilac. He met her in the local bakery where she likes to admire the fancy cakes she can't afford and then he bought her one. Don't know if I'd call that smooth, but it worked."

"Congratulations, Hector! I hope things work out well for you."

"Erm, yeah," he wrinkles his nose and turns kind of red.

"She's the first real girlfriend he's had the whole time I've known him," Gerik goes on, "She's got these long, blond curls. She's like, eighteen or so? She's a clerk for one of the mining companies."

"Shut up, Gerik. Get your own girlfriend if you wanna blab," Hector rolls his eyes, but the flush won't stop climbing up over his cheeks and onto his ears.

Everyone is just sort of waiting for Reinhold to be in good enough shape to be crowned. I'm looking forward to going home, honestly.

I have a dream about being on a sinking fishing vessel- not one of the really big ones, something like a bizarro version of Papa's- Jerrick and Maria are there with me. For some reason, though they're not trapped, they have no choice but to go down with the ship. They can't seem to swim and though I try to grab them and pull them along with me, neither of them float like people. They're heavy and sink like stones.

Columbine is cleaning on our floor that morning. I offer to help her out, since it's not like I have anything in particular to do, but she shakes her head and turns down my offer.

The day of Reinhold's victory celebrations finally comes. I pin the star-spangled veil over my hair, the same as I wore last year for Silk's party, when it was already old news, but I wear a different dress. Jack picks me up and brings me along with him. He isn't part of the show this year. We sit together in the audience. He leans his arm on the back of my seat, barely touching me, but around my shoulders. Waiting for the event to begin in earnest, people who come by us keep teasing him about it.

"Get a room, Jack!" jokes a woman, who he informs me is the current stylist for District 1. "I mean, my! So romantic this one!"

"…actually," I speak up, "It's not Jack. It's me. …I'm shy."

"Oh!" she seems (pleasantly?) surprised to hear me address her, "Well, isn't that sweet! You know, Jack talks about you almost every time I see him, I think. Try not to let your reservations get in the way of enjoying him while you have him."

Mr. Zimmer comes out and gets the audience focused before introducing Reinhold, who comes out waving. Kayta follows behind. Reinhold and Kayta bicker a bit and I don't know Reinhold, so I can't say, but on Kayta's part, it doesn't seem like playacting. I think Mr. Zimmer just appreciates it as a good act.

Mr. Bronze, on the other hand, just wants to get on to the bloody show. And, boy, is this recap violent, especially compared to last year's. It is the Inro versus Reinhold show as they established at the Cornucopia, but the editing works up to it right from the beginning with the reapings. Inro and Reinhold meet, part, and kill their way back to their final duel.

As Maria and Jerrick don't figure into this narrative at all, they receive only the briefest of mentions (every death is always counted). The same goes for Jack's female tribute. The boy, Charlie, gets just as little backstory, but more screen time since Reinhold killed him.

Reinhold watches everything patiently.

When I squirm, Jack squeezes my shoulder.

The crown the president places on Reinhold's head- Reinhold has to lower his head a bit to accept it- is a mixture of rose gold and the more ordinary yellowish-kind. It's textured as if it were some gold sort of wood. It's a simple circlet that balances atop his head aside from these color and texture elements. I think it suits Reinhold very well, actually.

Unlike Silk, no one gives Reinhold flowers. Kayta doesn't act protective toward him either. He just folds his arms and watches. I suppose Reinhold seems well equipped to manage whatever might be thrown at him at this point. He's over six feet tall. He broke the previous kill record. I have a feeling he'll hold it for a while.

The party looks to be like all of these parties. It's colorful and crowded and loud. After some talking and congratulations given to Reinhold, the president gravitates back to last year's victor. "I think the president likes Silk more than you these days," I remark to Jack. "I also think he likes her more than Reinhold."

"She's cuter than either me or Reinhold," Jack quips.

"Hey, Jack," a woman speaks up from behind us. Her words are casual, but her Capitol accent gives them a slightly different character than they would have coming from someone like me. It's the president's daughter.

"Hello, Star," he nods to her.

"Can you leave your…friend for a minute to talk privately?" she asks Jack. She pretty much ignores me.

"I'll meet up with you," he promises, "Don't leave without me."

"Yeah, we'll see," I answer, because I don't plan on it, but I can't say I entirely trust him to find his way back to me within a reasonable amount of time. Too many people want a piece of him and he's usually too happy to give it to them.

I find Sunny sitting at a table with Teejay. "You should try this lime pie," Sunny suggests, showing me what's left her own bright green piece.

Teejay looks possibly more down than usual. When I ask about it he tells me that he's had some dreams about his sister lately, but that's all he wants to say about it. I offer to find him a piece of cake or something too, but he's not interested. "Stomach's a knot," he shrugs.

On my way to find the recommended lime pie, I briefly notice or encounter Nar talking with the Victor Affairs liaison to 7 and looking smug as ever, Beto vehemently turning down invitations to join in a drinking contest (which the young Capitol fellows asking think will distract him, if not cheer him up, from the death of his girl in the final four), and Shy dancing up a storm. Then a yell attracts my attention and in the midst of one particular crowd, Luna smacks some bearded man full across the face and I see her fold up a fist to follow it up with, but a tall woman with strands of grain woven into her hair rushes in and hauls Luna away.

"Do you know what that was about?" I ask Gerik, the first person I find in the area that I know.

"No idea, but you know Luna- you or me stepping in is only going to make it worse."

"…Does she like anyone out of all of us?" It's difficult, or maybe just sad, to think that there are fourteen victors now and Luna doesn't consider a single one of us her friend.

"She…tolerates Beto." That's about the best he can come up with? "She and I have never had any major problems. I know you probably see a lot of the worst of it because you're…not one of her favorites and you tend to get pulled into the middle of the stuff between she and Shy, but… Eh." He sighs. "Have you introduced yourself to Reinhold? That's got to be a better use of your time."

"I will, thank you, Gerik. I was just trying to find out if there were any of that lime pie left."

He gives me some directions. I find the lime pie and while I'm eating I'm fussed over by strangers who express their sympathies in how quickly and "pointlessly" I lost my tributes and a young woman who turns out to be the "Actegarde" I autographed one of the caps to. Actegarde's pretty, brownish skin is set off by long turquoise hair. She wears a green gown that glows from underneath, lit by tiny orange bulbs on a string. She explains to me that she's taking a special etiquette program to try and increase her chances as being hired on as an escort the next time a position opens up. And then she brings up something I didn't expect anyone, let alone a Capitol citizen, to mention to me today. "I guess he died and that's the end of that story, but… Is there anything else you can tell me about Salvador?"

Salvador. Yeah, the people in the Capitol got a lot of screen time to learn to like Salvador and there was plenty about him to like.

"Well…" I say slowly, trying to sort out my thoughts, "They made him up very presentably after he died…and I brought his body home and there was a double funeral for him and Shaya in the cemetery."

"And that's how that story ends," Actegarde nods, "If I want to be an escort, I guess I have to know about that part."

"If you're going to be a good escort," I suggest. I'm sure there are lots of escorts who don't give much thought to that part. …It's probably easier on their psyches if they can tune out all the death, honestly. It brings me down. I can see Apple valiantly struggling against letting it bring her down.

"Hey, you wanna meet Reinhold?" I suggest to her, trying to brighten the mood (she seems like a nice enough girl and I should hardly be giving an especially hard time to one of my fans/sponsors).

Her whole face lights up. "You can do that?"

"Yeah, sure, why not? I haven't met him yet. Come with me- just act natural." I hold out my hand and Actegarde accepts. We cut through the crowd and the tables up to the dais where Reinhold is "holding court." The president is still standing by the raised table, but he's talking to Silk while Pal hovers nearby.

Kayta is sitting near Reinhold looking bored, but some liveliness flickers into his dark eyes when he catches sight of me. He gets up and leads me and my guest up into this most elite company at the gathering. "Ah, Fishsticks! My sort of company at last. Who's your friend?"

"This is Actegarde."

"Pleased to meet you." She's the kind of girl who can somehow secure an invitation to this party, but her smile still stretches from ear to ear as she shakes Kayta's hand.

"Reinhold," Kayta punctuates the new victor's name with a magnificent sigh, "This here's Miss Actegarde, and of course you know Mags."

"Heeey," Reinhold greets us with all the casualness a teenage boy can muster, "I hope you'll forgive me, Miss A, if I forget your name quick because I have been meeting so many new people lately, but I'm sure it's my pleasure. I like your dress. And…Mags. Huh. So-"

And he asks me what it's like sleeping with Jack. In different words.

"Reinhold!" Kayta snaps.

Actegarde looks like she's waiting to hear my answer.

"Yeah," Reinhold just carries on as if he keeps on going along these lines like it's no big deal I'll chime in with a response, "Actually, I finally completely lost my virginity this week! See, I'd promised my mom I wouldn't go all the way until I was past my last reaping and while I was in the hospital, one of the nurses-"

"Reinhold!" Kayta repeats, sharper.

"Oh, I don't mind listening," Actegarde smiles sweetly.

"You, uh, you carry on," I say to Reinhold, unable to summon up anything better, "Being so…positive." I leave Actegarde listening to Reinhold's anecdote as I step down from the dais and walk away.

"I'm sorry," Kayta falls in alongside me, "I had no idea he'd do that. He's… Well, he's not the easy fit Silk was, I guess. We have some learning to understand one another to do."

I'm still slightly numb with the previous embarrassment. I shake my head. "It's not your fault."

"I mean," Kayta sucks in a noisy breath, "I'm glad I have him, but…"

With tributes, maybe if there are potential volunteers you can encourage or discourage them, but, basically, you have to work with what you get. Kayta and Raisin asked for a second victor for 7 for their wedding present and that's what they got.

I pull myself together better. "It'll work out." Maybe not as fast or as smoothly as he'd like, but I wouldn't tell him that if I didn't believe it. Kayta can handle the truth.

Jack shakes off his associated liaison from Victor Affairs to approach us. He tugs on the gauzy veil of stars over my hair. "Have you made it your thing to wear this to all of the victory parties?"

"I don't know."

"I kind of like it," he runs his fingers over the fabric, "The way it floats around you."

"If I were you two," Kayta says, "I'd take advantage of things not to have a late night out. …Reinhold's not going to wind down anytime soon, I'm sure."

"Sorry," I reply.

"Good advice," says Jack.

Kayta returns to his new victor with reluctance weighing down every step, though Pal turns and whatever words he addresses toward Kayta then bring a smile back to his face.

"A spin or two on the dance floor and then an early night?" Jack inquires.

I acquiesce to his suggestion or request.

I imagine the party roaring on through the night and into the dawn as I ride back toward Jack's apartment. I don't mean to do it, but I must be more worn out than I realized, the way I drift off, leaning against Jack's arm, the thin fabric of the veil pressed between us, separating him and me.

I had thought myself headed to Jack's place, but I awaken in the Games Center. I call up Jack, intending to let him know I'll be going home (two new ghosts along with me), but he acts really eager about wanting to see me and asks if he can come for breakfast.

"Well," Aulie gives me a hug when I tell him, "I know when I'm not needed. I'll leave the rest to Jack and Apple. You have a good meal and a safe trip home."

"Thank you, Aulie. You were a real help."

"I don't want to be the third wheel!" Apple jumps up when she sees him leaving, "If you go, it won't be a group thing- it'll be me sitting in and making poor Mags feel awkward."

"I'm sure we'll manage, Apple," I try and excuse it, but Apple is having none of it.

"I," she declares definitively, "Will collect dear Maria and poor Jerrick and go ahead to the station and wait for you. Just be sure not to miss your train, Mags. That would be embarrassing for both of us." She collects a few final items she's left spread out and stuff them into her purse, then stops to smooth back a stray strand of my hair. "You have my number. Call me if there's a change in plans or you need anything."

"Yes," I am swept away by all this, "Yes, I will."

And then they're both gone and the floor is silent.

Until Jack comes. "Oh, it's even sadder when it's so empty," he murmurs.

"I couldn't start until you showed up since they cook so fast, but I sent out for a few things so I could make you eggs." There isn't any kitchen in our quarters, but I made some quick inquiries and managed to be delivered a pan, a few eggs, a fork, and a hot plate. For the rest of the meal, I decided not to put out the people who intended things to be done a certain way in the complex too much, and allowed the Avoxes in the kitchen to put together some simple cut fruit and toast to go on the side.

"Now there's a surprise!" Jack laughs. "Do you like eggs a lot?"

"Papa and I eat them practically every day." I start to get to work.

Jack comes to stand behind me. It's easy for him to watch over my shoulder (he could watch over my head pretty much if he wanted). "Is there anything you'd like me to do to help?"

"No, it's easy. You can sit down."

I don't look, but I can hear his steps and the slight scrape of the chair legs being pulled across the floor. "Umm, there's something sort of silly about last night I kind of want to tell you," I focus my eyes on the eggs as I stir them around the pan, "But it's…sort of personal? So don't laugh, okay?"

"I won't laugh." He sounds quite sincere. "Tell me."

"Last night… I had a dream we were in a boat."

"A boat?"

"I have lots of dreams about boats." It only occurs to me now that this probably isn't nearly as common a subject of dreams for people from other districts as it is for me. It didn't expect to have him speak up about that part.

But Jack accepts it easily, "Oh, okay," prompting me to go on.

"It was a little boat. A row boat. For some reason, there weren't any oars." Sure, that's how dreams can be, but it's the last part that gets me. That feels so personal, but still I want to tell. "There weren't any oars," I repeat myself a little, "But I wasn't worried at all."

The eggs sizzle. I scrape them onto a plate.

I dream about boats all the time. A lot of those dreams are mundane, although, ever since my Games, a lot of them are also bothersome, even if they're not outright nightmares. But even though this dream was strange, adrift with Jack, I felt all right. I felt safe.

I bring the eggs over to the table and split them between our two plates.

Jack seems thoughtful, mulling over what I've told him. He tastes the eggs and he's smiling again. "These are really good."

Over breakfast, we just make small talk.

We do some perfunctory cleaning up, since, although the Avoxes are still meant to handle that, I just don't feel right leaving everything to them. It's not polite. I want them to know that I appreciate the work that they do.

Jack sits down on the couch. "…about your dream," he begins.

"Yeah?" I sit next to him.

"That sounds nice. The two of us like that. It-" he struggles to find the right words with which to frame his sentiment, "It makes me really happy to hear that."

"Oh, uh-" How do I respond to that? "Thank you."

He leans his head down lower, his eyes poised just above mine. "I'm happy with you too," he replies.

I feel my face growing hot.

And when he kisses me, I respond in kind.

His hand falls to the hem of my shirt, fingers dancing half under, half over the fabric. "May I?" he breathes, a heated whisper.

"Ah," I nod, agreeable, if tentative.

His hand slides up beneath my shirt, warm against my skin.

My fingertips, previously balanced on the edge of his shoulder, hold tight. We should stop, a part of me thinks, while I can still stand to say to stop. Whatever love we have for one another, crossing this line won't solve anything.

"May I?" Jack asks.

"Yes," I say.

I am nineteen years old and unlike my old friends back home who impatiently, passionately, pre-empted all but inevitable marriages or mutually dallied without much thought beyond their momentary youthful indiscretions, it is only for a brief while I can be fully distracted from the fact that I have given myself to a funny, kind, and handsome man who can never completely be mine.

Back home in 4 it doesn't feel like there's anyone I can naturally tell what happened. It seems like it would be mean to inform 'Lito, who carries on mildly as my friend, though I'm fairly certain he'd like trying things out from Jack's side of this equation; awkward to bring up with Faline, who is, understandably, still a ways removed from this at fourteen, and, well, Papa is Papa. So I keep it to myself.

I give the photos of Maria and Jerrick away to their families. We have another double funeral in 4 and I burst into tears as Padre Tino speaks the words.

"No one thinks this is your fault," Jerrick's mother tries to reassure me even though she's bawling too.

I want to arrange for condolences bouquets to be sent to their families, but I can't hold myself together enough to put in the order with Michella. Papa takes over for me.

I'm pretty much miserable for a few days after that.

I can see the moon out my window and it's particularly large and bright tonight. If I adjust my gaze to be focused more "out" really than up, I can see it shimmering across the water, white and yellow and even a tad orange at the corners. The moon isn't round when it's reflected on the ocean- the water would never be still enough for that. It sways and stretches, alive and fickle.

I don't think it's inspired by the moon, but I think about Jack.

Wherever he is, there's no ocean for him to look at. The moon isn't dancing like this for Jack.

...time in the Capitol and District 1 both is a bit behind the time here in 4. So it isn't as late for Jack as it is for me. I consider calling him wherever he is.

The moon on the water isn't going to give me an answer no matter how long I stare at it.

I let myself watch a while longer anyway.

So, if I call Jack, what do I say to him? If I'm going to call him, especially at night, there needs to be a reason.

But I don't have one.

I decide not to call.

Eventually, Faline shows up and I remember that I have something for her. "I bought you a book," I say, "Wait here," and head up into my room to get into the nearly forgotten bag from my book-browsing trip with Aulie. "Here," I hold it out in front of me as I come down the stairs, "Looks kind of scary-exciting?" I suggest.

"'The Collected Tales of Jules Verne,'" Faline reads off the title, "Oh, wow." There's a drawing on the front of a gigantic octopus wrapping its arms around some sort of fantastic underwater vessel. "Thank you so much," she smiles and it makes me smile too.

We sit on the floor of the living room and talk. Faline tells me the dreamcatcher I made her is working well and asks about mine.

I flush as I bring it up and she gives me a funny look, but it seems like the right situation in which to mention that, while, unfortunately, I still have a lot of unpleasant dreams, I did manage to have that one about Jack.

Faline's too nice to really tease though.

I tell her things about Maria and Jerrick- how the parts went that they weren't able to see- with permission, even encouragement, really, for her to tell any of their other acquaintances who want to know. I tell about Silk and her plans to make a set of victor dolls. She thinks I should get caps and shirts for everyone in the club.

Encouraged by Faline, apparently, 'Lito comes to see me on his next day off. We go out in his dinghy, as we tend to.

We don't talk as much as Faline and I do, but we tend to share a companionable silence.

"I met a girl from Up-District toward the end of the Games," he says at length, "She came with her older brother to see how much some work by the boat shop would cost."

"Well, is it true what they say about people Up-District? That they're all a bunch of outlaws hiding out in the bayou?" I make sure that, from my tone and my expression he can tell that I don't think any of that is true.

"Some of it must be true, because she's got such light brown hair and a, I don't know what way, but a different kind of face. She doesn't look like anyone else I know."

I hadn't expected that. "…Do you think it's like Reza? She's got a parent who just ended up here when the fences went up?"

"Maybe." 'Lito shakes his head. "I didn't ask. Too personal, you know? But she's just a year younger than you and me. She could be from somewhere else herself and just not remember it."

It's interesting. And it's also nice to hear about some further happiness in 'Lito's life. "What's her name?"

"Delphine Monwell."

"That's pretty."

Jack mails me a small, brown paper package of photographs of us. "I thought maybe you'd like this," is all the note says. It's signed, "Your friend, Jack," the same as everything else he's ever mailed me. We look so happy in all the pictures. I set them out in my bedroom, but pick one to offer Papa for the family album if he'd like. He ends up putting it up in a small driftwood frame in the living room. I overhear Dan Armain commenting on it when he's visiting the following week, swapping work stories and chatting about his niece, Leelee, and how great things have been for her since they moved into our old house together.

"My 'son-in-law,'" Papa quips.

Mr. Armain takes this in stride and complains that Jack is almost certainly a preferable in-law to his "nephew-in-law" Tomas (not that he's ever done anything so terrible, but Tomas, who adopted the Armain name upon his marriage, does have a reputation about town as a layabout).

"Not too high a bar to leap seeing as I don't have to feed and clothe and house mine," Papa replies. "…But I would. I would be happy to."

A few days later I sort of take this topic up with Papa, not with any expectations, but just for a lark. "Papa, if Jack lived here, would you take him out on your boat and teach him the ropes?"

His face takes on a bemused cast. "Well, if he wanted to learn, I would, but I think he prefers his career as an entertainer. Also, we don't know if he gets seasick."

"I never thought of that!" I burst out laughing. "I don't even know if he can swim, Papa! He's never been in the ocean. Did you know you can't even go walk on the beach in District One even though the maps show it coming up right to the coast? Mostly you can't even see the ocean- there's a huge wall."

"Huh, well, there's that," he scratches his chin (it might be bothering him- he's gone a while longer than usual without shaving- I'm not sure I should say anything about it in case he's thinking of trying out a beard and I'm going to embarrass him).

"If they'd really wanted to punish us after the war, they could've gone with relocation and shipped the lot of us off to other districts. Taken us apart, some left here, others to Ten, to Nine…and maybe the worst of all to One, since an ocean you could never reach sounds so much worse than none at all…"

"Geez, Papa, promise me you'll never go work for the president or the Gamemakers," I shudder, "You have a dangerous imagination."

"Now, see, I think they didn't do it though because it would've inconvenienced them too much. If they put me down in Ten or Nine or wherever, I'm basically useless- if I'm not catching fire or maintaining a boat, I have to fall back on my studies with Padre and most of that was not, strictly speaking, legal. So then there's not enough, um, steak? Or bread? Or whatever the Capitol wants from these districts because there aren't enough folks who can produce it properly. The punishment can't take way from their satisfaction, you know?"

"You're really smart, Papa." It's one of the surprising, amusing things about these conversations with him. I never know when the talk will go down this sort of path.

"I have too much time for thinking," he admits. "Oh, okay," he steers back toward what I started with, "He'll be a house husband. I'll teach him how to make you breakfast. The two of us'll just hang around the house while you run everything all over District Four."

"Well, now I know your retirement plans," I tease him.

"I won't retire all at once. I'll just gradually slow down more and more, one bit at a time 'til suddenly you realize I've handed my boat down to somebody else."

"Hey, with the money we invested in fixing it up you know I consider that partially my boat too! You better at least tell me what you're going to do with it!"

We laugh about it.

When I consider the sort of family I have, I am content. I have friends in my district and see them as long term; I have friends among my fellow victors and don't doubt we will also remain as such. When it comes to family, Papa is enough. (Jack straddles these lines uneasily, someone so dear to me, the problem and not the solution).

"You look better with a little time between you and them," Padre Tino notes the next time he sees me in town.

"Time heals most wounds," I suggest.

"I wouldn't want your job," he admits, "It's harder than mine." Peterzeno hurries to catch up to him, carrying an overloaded basket of oranges on one arm and a large piece of fish wrapped in newspaper in the other. "This one wants both jobs," Padre sighs sadly.

"Hola," Zeno greets me.

"Hey, Zeno," I nod. "You help out Mr. Neska real well, huh?"

"I try," he shrugs. "You know, we've still been meeting up for the club without you- we just go to the Southtown Beach instead of coming over to the Victors' Village and making noise. …I've got two new brothers now, you know," he perks up.

"Two new brothers?"

"Ryn and Luke!"

"You can afford to take in more kids, Mr. Neska?" I ask Padre.

"Well, you know Remir has his job, and now Danio's moved out on his own too, so…"

"I like being an older brother," Zeno declares.

"They're good boys…" Padre Tino sighs, "Happy to be out of the home, I suppose."

"I'll bring them to meet you," Zeno goes on, "Maybe next time you meet up with the club?"

"No, not next time," I decide, "The time after that or so. The first time we get back together, it'll be too sad. We're all going to be remembering Jerrick and Maria."

I transition back to a life much like the one I lived following Silk's victory. The club meets and mourns. I have two new ghosts and they fall into easy company with the four that came before them.

Reinhold gets all sorts of inane media coverage, just like every other new victor. He seems to enjoy suggesting that girls are falling all over him now back home. His pretty young mother and Kayta are always shaking their heads over this.

The Capitol reporters are interested in Reinhold's love life, even if all they're really getting are his own possibly exaggerated stories about it. They're also interested in Kayta and Raisin's love life, which Reinhold is happy to try and interpret for them, though he does allow the caveat here that he doesn't know what's actually going on.

I stay up late watching some of these dumb shows because I sort of enjoy seeing Raisin and the weird semi-normalcy of Kayta's life…I think. It's also nice to see the focus of the cameras shift either farther from Silk. Having her sixteenth birthday pass during the Games provided a pretty good smokescreen for that milestone too.

In the morning I wake up around my ordinary time, but I don't feel very rested. I sluggishly head downstairs.

"Good morning," Papa greets me, "Hungry? How's this look?" he holds up the pan.

"Uh, I don't want it," I frown. The smell of eggs fills the kitchen and nothing about the way Papa is cooking them seems any different than usual. …But somehow I don't like it this morning. I like eggs. I love Papa's eggs. I'm always in the mood for Papa's eggs. There was a week or so after my Games where I was so glad for them I was eating them twice a day.

"Oh." The slightest twinge of disappointment- or is it surprise?- crosses his brow. "Okay. I guess I will put this in a sandwich for my lunch." He rolls with my waves. "Is there something else you'd like me to make you?"

"No, it's okay." I don't want to bother him. Even with the laidback way he works these days, he's still going to want to get the boat out there. It's not like I'm ill or anything and need him home. "I'm not very hungry. I think I'll just have some tea and crackers."

"Easy on the stomach," Papa agrees.

He boxes up a lunch for himself and goes about the remaining parts of his morning routine, kissing my forehead and wishing me a good day before he leaves.

I take things slowly for a while, but I don't have any trouble with my bland meal. I'm not sick.

I go into town and buy some groceries. No one will let me overpay them, but no one complains if it seems like I'm buying more than Papa and I need. I'm not anything special as a cook, but the bread I make is all right. I bake little rolls shaped like turtles to give out to my 'club' this afternoon.

They go over well.

After what happened to Maria and Jerrick, I think I'm pretty confident in considering each boy and girl present a real diehard. 'Lito can't come as much as he'd like to anymore (too much work), but it's not as if he really needs it, not being in any danger of being reaped. Che has also aged out of the odds, and, so far, hasn't been able to come at all since the Fourteenth Games, except to get together and remember our fallen friends. He was signed on to work on one of the big boats and he's out at sea for hours and sometimes days at a time. I see him sometimes on Sunday with 'Lito since they seem to have become pretty good friends. Che's not exactly thrilled with his job and has been wondering if it's not too late to be hired on by 'Lito's father for the boat shop instead.

Rodrigo Shoal has one last year to go. Throughout everything, I think he's been the most dedicated to the training process. More dedicated than I have possibly. If he hadn't come to see me after I came back without Shaya or Salvador the whole thing might've dropped off for a while at least. He's a strong swimmer, he's got a great throwing arm, and his attitude is even better. I'm not exactly sure what kind of job prospects he's looking at post-graduation, but if they're the sort that will keep him from being part of the club, I may have to try and see if there's some way I can keep his schedule open by hiring him to work for me. Rodrigo, I think, understands what I'm aiming for the best of all of them, and that, along with advantages in continuity of members/leaders of the club, makes me desire some way that this won't be the final year he sticks around. (The one thing that sticks with me here though is that Rodrigo may volunteer. Rodrigo is now the likeliest to volunteer. And if he does, I have no illusions that I can save him. Maybe he could save himself. Maybe not.)

Peterzeno continues to be another morale raiser. He's not exactly the most, uh, coordinated club member (he has an amazingly unlucky tendency to hit his head on…virtually everything it's possible to hit one's head on), but he's among the spunkiest people I've known.

Sometimes he brings his adopted brothers (Padre Tino's other students) with him, but none of them stand as committed members of the club on their own. The oldest one, Remir, is older than me; very pale and bookish. He works as a clerk and librarian at the town school. He's close to being a padre himself and tells little religious stories when we take a lunch break if he's there. I get the impression he feels kind of sorry for me having stumbled into a line of work that's so focused on death.

Danio, the same age as me, comes only once. He's moved far Down-District to work and…do his other work in the southwest.

The next oldest one, Canbri, is eighteen and shy.

The littler brothers, the new ones, Ryn and Luke, are the first tagalongs the club has had below reaping age at eleven and ten. It makes me think about this a bit. You don't learn anything when you're older the way you learn it when you're a kid. With things the way they are, too many young kids would only slow practice down, but a couple about that age could benefit without having to be babysit overmuch.

Estelle is staying with the club through her last year of eligibility because she likes it, but she admits to me she's now sure she doesn't have any intention of volunteering, "…Though I wouldn't want anyone to say, 'oh poor Estelle' and rush up in my place if I got called…" Her apprenticeship with Dr. Haddock is coming along very well and by the time she graduates from school he'll be ready to certify her as a fully-fledged nurse. Honestly, the district needs her in that capacity, so I wouldn't push her to volunteer.

Faline is fractionally taller than me now (though it just looks like we're about the same height to the casual observer) and I wonder how much taller she'll end up growing. Reza Surfjan is in my pocket as long as Faline sticks around. I think it's pretty clear they're mutually enamored, but there's no "official" relationship there. I saw them hold hands once when I don't think they thought anyone was watching.

The unlucky fate of Maria and Jerrick has curtailed the interest in some friends of members that I pictured as potential new recruits. There are just two new ones, girls Estelle knows from Down-District, with large families and growling stomaches- Safia and Viorica. They like it that I get them a free meal. And on days like today when I've baked, there are inevitably more rolls than there are club members (even more so with Che and 'Lito no-shows), so I'm able to reasonably pass on the leftovers for them to take home.

Viorica, it turns out, lives on the same stretch of low-lying town as Maria Atwater, the girl about my age who credited the flush of goods my victory brought with her managing to keep her baby. I barely remember this, but Viori tells me this Maria is a very devoted follower of all my publicity as a result. "See, she was always talking about how good you are? But it wasn't like she knew you personally. So when Estelle came by saying the same thing, I got sort of wondering," she laughs as she explains it to me.

I ask her to tell Maria Atwater hello from me and I hope her son is doing well.

This ends up delighting the young woman in question, according to Viori. Although she's generally far too busy to come see me and respond in person, via Viori she sends a wreath she made of dried flowers. I hang it on the inside of my bedroom door.

The club carries on as the summer progresses. Zeno's younger brothers come more often and I wonder if we might have them hooked, but I'm not going to ask and risk scaring them off. It's not like there's anything official about our group. If it were official, I'd probably risk getting in trouble.

I've called up my counterparts in 2 and we've chatted a few times, but both Hector and Gerik have been cagey about whatever potential tributes are getting up to in there, aside from some smilingly sighed over comments about the sister of the girl from the Thirteenth Games who still hasn't given up hassling Hector and ambushing Hector and doing chin-ups on the gutters of Hector's house (Gerik's usual calm breaks to guffaw over this).

So. Well, there has to be something.

I see Jack a few times and Aulie as well.

I don't find the right time to visit Apple, but we do keep in touch. She calls occasionally (and I even get her to talk to Papa once, though he hardly seems to know what to say). Mainly we start up a habit of mailing each other things. I pack up interesting shells I find or selections from my further attempts at making woven jewelry.

Apple sends lots of clippings.

"Thought you would like this," reads Apple's note in loopy, purple cursive. It's clipped to several pages carefully cut from a magazine. "Art Imitates Life," reads the title of the very sparse article. It's mainly just big photo spreads of Silk and her victor dolls projects. Silk holding the one like her and Pal holding the one of him. Silk with her supplies laid out around her. Silk peering into the dollhouse at a little arrangement of the Teejay and Sunny dolls with extra doll clothes and fabric pieces around them like they're folding laundry. The doll of me is sitting in the kitchen. I like how lively 'my' hair looks, made out of, apparently, wool felt.

Silk has completed six dolls thus far in her set. The sixth is Jack. He is the only one whose face is painted show a toothy grin rather than a smaller, more modest type of smile. The Jack doll is also in the dollhouse kitchen, a tiny pie, not sized quite properly for these dolls, balanced across his hands.

I show Papa, who laughs, and Faline, who sighs rather nostalgically. "I would've wanted dolls like these so much when I was littler. …Heh heh, is Jack baking you a pie?"

"It kind of looks like it."

Faline tells me a bit about the book I brought back for her. She's been enjoying it, though she does have one caveat regarding the picture on the cover as compared to the story it's illustrating. "The text said it was a giant squid," she says with an indignant laugh, "But you saw it! That picture is obviously of a giant octopus!"

"Oh, that's right!"

"I don't think the person who drew the picture knew the difference!"

There are more storms this Autumn than there were last year. Some boats are damaged and this brings in work for the Ortizes and their boat shop. The work 'Lito and his brother and the other employees did for Delphine Monwell's family holds up though. He admits to me he's disappointed that he hasn't seen her since.

As usual, talk about customs and fashions in District 7 picks up as the Victory Tour nears. Reinhold has this way of dressing where he wears a sort of stereotypical plaid lumberjack shirt in an unusual way, over-sized and hanging off one shoulder, that gets copied in the Capitol. His more prominent than average sideburns get attention too.

At a club gathering, where we all study one of the books I brought home and try to learn some special style of self-defense, Che shows up in an oversized t-shirt, knotted on one bottom corner, and pretends to be Reinhold. Everyone laughs as long as it's just about the way Reinhold dresses. He was good at killing. There isn't anything funny about that.

Because, in the Capitol more than anywhere else, there's always a desire to be moving on to the next great thing, Reinhold's Victory Tour goes over very well from the get-go. He's different than Silk. Kayta's relationship with him almost couldn't be further from Pal's with Silk. Reinhold is an older victor, a better fighter, more outspoken, pushy and pleased to take whatever attention is offered him.

He gets a bit drunk in 12 and then he eats so much beautiful-looking fruit in 11 while still hungover from the stop in 12 that he throws up on the side of a dirt road near the orchard. He's a gift to every comedian the Capitol has and they rib him mercilessly. Jack even gets in on it during his regular morning segment, playing out a little skit of being "jealous" over all the attention Reinhold is getting and, therefore, copying all the things he does, wearing his layer shirts like Reinhold, drawing on bigger sideburns, and calling in an order on-air for some local alcohol from 12.

In 10, Reinhold goes horseback riding, which he picks up very quickly, but he also makes some seemingly innocuous comment to Emmy which sends her into a hurricane of tears, leading to her early exit from the proceedings. There's an element in the crowd in 9 that tries to show their distaste for him with stony silence, but they're overpowered by the politely welcoming element the Capitol makes sure is present. If Luna makes any comments, they aren't aired. She looks annoyed onscreen and I think about her getting carried away at the party in the Capitol, but nothing I see is very telling.

He's received better in 8, possibly because they've had their turn so recently and know what he and 7 must be feeling like having theirs. He wants to get driving lessons in 6 when he sees some of the racing-stripe-painted cars, but the people in charge won't let him.

I'm not as nervous this time when a reminder of the rules for the the District 4 stop arrives. No one sends me any clothes either. I'll get to pick my own.

Reinhold gets on well in District 5. None of his rowdy jokes shock Shy; she laughs at all of them, even ones that make Mac and Kayta blush. Jack calls me up and we laugh about it. "Looks like Reinhold'll have at least one friend right off the bat, huh? I think he might've met his match with her!"

"I can't stay up late," I insist, though it's a lot of fun talking to him like this, "He'll be here tomorrow and I've gotta be together for it."

"Fine, fine," Jack lets me go, "Good night."

In the morning, I wake up early feeling sick to my stomach. It's the kind of thing I would attribute to nerves, but I wasn't feeling concerned about this event before. Maybe I was more concerned than I actually realized.

I'm relieved this time not to ride out to the train station to meet Kayta and Reinhold there. Traversing the bumpy road would hardly be what my insides need. I sit on the waiting stage wearing my District 4 booster cap and a green sundress while various Capitol camera and lighting individuals work away alongside me. Tosca arrives ahead of Reinhold, how is having some such 'triumphant entry into town' filmed.

Everything seems even more perfectly planned and set up than it was last year. Even when Reinhold gets there, the cameras stick tight to him, taking in his reactions and remarks.

When we finally meet, it's while Tosca looks over the footage so far to digitally choose what to send on ahead to the editing room- they'll put together the almost live broadcast one bit at a time- and the uninvolved cameramen shoot filler of the district environs.

Kayta hugs me with one arm around my shoulders. "I see you're still in love with that hat."

"Good to see you too, Kayta," I hug him back.

"Raisin, as always, says hello."

"Hey," Reinhold leans toward me and I lean slightly back in response to his proximity, "Are you pregnant?"

I sputter in confusion.

"Reinhold!" Kayta snaps.

"I didn't want to spoil your thunder if you wanted to say so on camera," Reinhold continues, "I mean, I only know how Seven owes everyone else for this year with the sponsors, but my mom's a midwife; I'm around knocked up girls all the time."

Kayta is giving his new victor a 'could you be any more rude?' sort of look, but my mind is reeling at the actual possibility of this. I've felt strange. I've put on some more weight, but that's been a constant since my victory. I haven't had my period. But that part wasn't strange either- maybe it's come more frequently since about the time of my Tour with my diet improved and my stress leveling off, but it's never panned out to anything I'd consider regular. And that's normal around here. …but where it once had no significance, now. Now. Now that I've.

My horror must show on my face. "Mags?" Kayta drops the "Fishsticks" bit, "Are you feeling all right?"

Reinhold seems quite cheerful as opposed to Kayta's worries. "Is it someone local's? …Or is it Jack's?" He smiles brighter, cheekier, at that supposition. "Loam and leaves, what a thing!" He shakes my hand, "Congratulations. I love babies."

"I." I feel like I am observing all these things from outside myself. "I don't know that I am," I manage to inform Reinhold, though his eyes continue to levitate toward my midsection with a pleasant air.

"I really, really apologize about him," Kayta insists.

"Let's just," I stumble, "Let's not mention it in front of the cameras."

"Yeah, sure," Reinhold agrees. I think "knowing" for himself is entertaining enough to him. "I guess you don't plant a tree when a new baby's born here?" he muses.

I am freed to think more freely as Tosca and 7's escort pull Reinhold away for more filming. Kayta stays beside me. "It could be someone here…right?" he eyes me nervously, "It's not necessarily Jack…?"

I need to sit down. …I end up settling for the ground as there doesn't seem to be a chair near enough for me to reach it. Kayta kneels down in front of me, brow furrowed, and intent on receiving an answer. "No," I take a deep breath, "No. There's only Jack."

Kayta runs a hand through his hair. "Well, if he's right, I guess this is going to be a learning experience for all of us."

Aside from we victors, there are no district citizens able to intermingle legally. …But can even victors from different districts be allowed to have a child? Where would they live? What kind of family would they be?

…What kind of father would Jack be?

…what kind of mother would I be?

The rest of Reinhold's visit passes in something of a blur. Aeka Brill gives him a ride on a sailboat, he manage to be polite as he makes his requisite speeches, Papa finagles his way into getting the seat on the other side of Kayta during the banquet and they proceed to have a rather involved discussion about the freshwater fish up in 7.

And then I'm saying goodbye to the men from 7. Goodbye for now. See you in the Capitol. "If it's his," Kayta gives me one last piece of advice, "Well, they can figure that out, but lie anyway. When they reinforced the fences and counted all the people there were some rail workers who lied. But no one contradicted them and they got to stay in Seven. You might swing the same deal."

"Say 'hi' back to Raisin for me," I murmur weakly.

Reinhold rubs my shoulder in what I think is meant to be a nice gesture and gives a more standard parting. He waves out the window as the train pulls away.

"Well, that was stimulating," Mayor Current declares as the two of us stand on the platform, surrounded by a single circle of light in the middle of the darkness once the film crew's lights have gone. Shaya's ghost stands between us, stiff and prim. The people below the platform begin to disperse.

"You look pale tonight," the mayor continues. "Would you like a ride home?"

"Yeah, if it's not too much trouble, thank you."

He takes me out to where the road goes closest to our Victors' Village and when we get there he even stops the car and accompanies me to the pier. The tide is in, so I can't walk over to the island. I have to row the coracle over.

"Miss Gaudet," the mayor says, giving me a hand down into the boat, "I'm still sorry about this year too. And whatever it is you do with those kids to prepare them, you keep at it. I'm not going to interrupt. As far as I'm concerned, it is entirely authorized. If, at any time, you need someone in a position of authority to speak to that, you just come to me."

"Thank you, sir. Thank you for the ride."

If Jerrick hadn't volunteered this year, both his children would probably be dead. If some girl had been up for volunteering last year, both would be alive. Mayor Current watches me row the boat for a while before turning back and climbing into his vehicle.

I reach the other side without incident. Out of all the houses on the island, only one has a light on- in the living room of my house. Papa's returned ahead of me. I walk a little closer, but not all the way to the house. I just stay still there in the dark, observing what I can see lit up inside. Papa is sitting on the couch, probably watching recap footage of this very stop on Reinhold's Victory Tour now that they're kept up with making the programming nearly live. Papa always seems pleased to see himself on television. It's sort of funny since Papa is so quiet.

One hour on our Victors' Island is a home. Is it like there's a light on now inside of me?

I press my hand to my stomach and hope I am alone inside myself. I am afraid of the idea. How could I be pregnant? Not "how" the process, but, but- How could it happen to me? I was in the Games because I volunteered. It was crazy, but I knew it was. This is- this is so stupid. I can only hope it isn't. That Reinhold was wrong.

Now I have to figure out what's the least embarrassing way to find out for sure. No old wives' tales. A real, medically proven answer. Dr. Haddock, I suppose. I will go while Papa's working. If this is just a scare, I don't want him to know.

I take a deep breath.

I head into my house.

As I expected, Papa is watching Tour footage. "Welcome back," he greets me. "Oh, Kayta is so handsome. …But I don't look too bad, right? Not for my age?"

"Yeah, you look great," I assure him.

"You, though," he turns to face me, "You look tired. Even more now. It's because you were feeling sick earlier, huh? You should go upstairs right now and get some good sleep."

"Yes," I fold immediately, "That was my plan. Good night, Papa."

"Good night, Mags."

He doesn't wake me up the following morning even though I oversleep. That means he thinks I could use the sleep. I move about slowly at first before my important business comes rushing back to me. Then the house is filled with the patter of my bare feet on the wooden floors as I hurry to get ready and answer my question as discreetly as possible.

The tide is headed. I wade across the way, pulling the coracle along behind me through about eight inches of water to make sure at least one is back on the townward side. With Reinhold moved on to 3, it's an ordinary day in 4 again. Kids are in school, people are busy with work, the boats are out. I see a couple of people I know as I pass through town, but no one distracts me from my goal.

Miss Nasika, the doctor's wife and chief nurse, greets me as I come inside. "Good morning, Mags, what brings you? How's your father?"

"He's fine. Did you catch him at the Victory Banquet? He feels just how he looked."

This makes her laugh. I approach the counter and speak again in a considerably smaller voice. "I'm here for a pregnancy test."

"Oh, I see." She jots a note down on the schedule. "Eleck," she calls her husband as she jostles through the cabinet in search of my file.

"Oh, Mags," the doctor pops out of his office. "I haven't seen you for a while. Not since…before," he calls it.

"Umm, yeah." I accept my file (like my records back at school, it's just a few sheets of paper in an off-white envelope) and follow him into the exam room, where he unlocks a cabinet to retrieve the proper testing supplies.

Each step becomes heavier than the last, weighted by trepidation.

My official test.

My official answer.

For all the rarity of telephones in the district, Dr. Haddock has one for emergencies. "Is there someone I should call for you?" he wonders from my look upon receiving the results. "You can lie down if you need to."

I don't know. I don't know.

I accept a paper cup filled with water. My hand shakes, like Papa's tremor. I take a tiny sip.

I don't know what to say to Dr. Haddock and Miss Nasika, but I must seem composed and coherent since they let me leave. I walk back to the sandbar. The tide is even lower. I slosh one slow step at a time through the ankle deep water.

I don't go into my house. Instead, I head straight over and down to our island's secluded beach. Some say the ocean heals all things. Salt water, sweat, tears. I sit down in the surf and get all soaked, just like that, in my clothes.

I'm pregnant. So, how do I tell? Who do I tell first? I'm concerned that calling Jack isn't all that secure as far as secrecy, but, of course, he has to know. Papa? I'm not sure Faline or 'Lito are any more equipped to deal with this information than I am. Pal or Sunny would probably be reassuring, but, again, I'm concerned about the inter-district phone lines. I"m not all that close to anyone who's ever had a baby. My medical condition alone scares me even without figuring in how things may be complicated by my identity and that of my child's father. Living it is not the same as the boring 'biology of life' section of science class.

…Will Jack be happy to hear this? I can picture Jack beaming, but I can also see him shocked. At least I'm sure he won't be angry. That's not what he's like.

If the baby is like Jack, they might have his pretty eyes, his friendly smile. They might grow up tall. I don't know what sort of child Jack was.

If the baby is like Papa, they might have dimples. They might be gentle and kind and short and studious. Or if they baby is like Mama, they might have beautiful hair and never be afraid of anything (so they say, so they say- I didn't know Mama long enough to judge her brave).

It's not comforting to think of the baby being like me. They would grow up to the kind of careless person who volunteered for danger with a big, goofy smile. That is where and how I see my future child- not a baby in my arms, but a gangly young teen on a summer day. Jack's grin and shouting just like me: "I volunteer!" The nightmare not of the ordinary parent- of seeing their child reaped- but of the person who encourages other people's children to volunteer- to do too good a job of creating volunteers. And if I were to have a healthy child, a talented child, a strong child, and someday to say, "It's not your place to even consider going into the arena," would I be a hypocrite?

Or maybe none of that matters, because my child will be called from the first, and no one will volunteer and I (or Jack?) will mentor them, and no amount of sponsor gifts will save them.

Oh, in this country, who would ever chose to have a child?

I am a mess. I go home and shower and change. I call Pal. "Will you be in the Capitol anytime soon?"

"Ah, Silk accepted an invitation to go to Reinhold's big party, so I'm coming with her." He laughs a little. "You know, designated chaperone."

"Oh, okay. I don't think I was invited, but can you and I try to meet up out there around then?"

"I always love to see you," Pal agrees.

Somewhat encouraged by these results (although nothing particularly difficult was actually said), I call Jack next, choosing right when I pick his number back in 1 (I figure he will be there for Victory Tour-related events). I move quickly through the preliminaries. "I need to talk to you- in person," I append before he can joke about how we're already talking.

"Sounds serious." In my mind's eye, I can see him furrowing his brown.

"Kind of. It's important."

With that hanging uncompleted between us, it's hard to have much more conversation. When I hang up, I go upstairs and lay down on my bed.

Papa comes home in time to watch the almost-live Tour in 3 broadcast while eating a small dinner I managed to whip up (just about the only task I've completed all day).

"That Beto is like a piece of cold toast, huh?" he quips as the camera tracks Beto's amazingly bored expression as Reinhold eats cookies frosted to look like microchips and once again flirts with girls. "I think he hates it a little more each year."

"That's entirely possible," I allow, biting into my fish-fry sandwich.

"But this Reinhold, on the other hand, if they let him, he'd be taking a roll under the pier with a girl in every district."

"Papa!" I laugh, still surprised when he says something like that.

"Well, you can see how much he wants to," he gestures with the orange slice in his hand. "Good thing he didn't look at you like that or I wouldn't have managed to remain such a polite dinner guest."

"I don't care how anyone looks at me. If they're just looking, don't say anything. I don't want you getting in trouble," I caution him. There may be perks here and there because of his relationship with me, but they're hardly about to extend so far. There are boundaries that none of us should push against if we're not prepared to be pushed back against in return.

"Yes, I know. But you always inspire a bit of boldness in me, dear. I want to watch out for you where I can."

"One way," I start. My eyes fall to my plate. "Well, I mean, I'll need your help, Papa. Probably a lot of it. I'm going to. To have a baby."

"Ohhh," he stares at me, "Ohh my. Mags, dear."

"Yeah, I didn't know exactly what to think either." I have a feeling his reaction, to some degree, mirrored my own. I smile, because I love him. Because I know he will be a help with the baby. Who knows what I will do or be or think, but Papa will be a wonderful grandfather.

"When?" he puts down the orange peel and takes my hand.

"In the spring."

He squeezes my hand. "Are you happy, dear?"

"Umm," I feel myself growing emotional, "I'm not sure. Papa, I guess I wasn't trying as hard as I should've not to, but it just kind of happened by accident."

"Well, it's like that for a lot of people."

"And I'm really scared."

"Oh, Mags," he scoots closer and hugs me. I lean my head on his shoulder and the image of Reinhold speaking before the crowd in 3 reflects meaninglessly onto my eyes. "I'll do anything for you I can," Papa promises, "Whatever you need to do."

"W-well, I have to." I'm just about to cry and I'd really rather not. "I'm able, so- And you know." I breathe and hope to push the tears back down inside, "You know how I feel about him."

Papa rubs my back and the niceness is too much so the tears start to run down my face. "Have you told Jack yet?"

"No, I wanted to tell him in person." There's a wet patch growing on Papa's shoulder. "N-need to call Victor Affairs. I thought I could get in on Reinhold's day in the Capitol since Jack and some of the others will be there already."

"That seems logical."

"P-Papa," I pull back and wipe my eyes on my sleeve, "Don't start making up a baby room while I'm gone."

"In the Capitol they could already tell you if it's a girl or a boy, I bet."

"The Capitol's part of what I'm worried about."

"Oh, Mags. Oh, I'm so sorry that it has to be so scary…"

The following day I call up Victor Affairs and ask if, even if, yes, I know it's short notice, but can I come up in two days for the day or so? I get the okay. I even get okayed to go to the party for Reinhold because that's what they think I'm calling in regard to. I have no intention of currently disabusing them of this notion.

Reinhold Meyer is caught in a broom closet in District 2 making good on his promise from the arena. I wonder if this is some kind of victor first. …at least being caught on camera doing so is.

The following morning the girl is sheepishly interviewed by local District 2 television. "For, um, not a Two guy, he was pretty good," she admits. I am horribly embarrassed to be seeing this over breakfast with Papa. "Not so, uh, endowed, but great with his hands," she continues when prompted. She has oddly charming accent.

I am astounded at the odds that a tribute would say such a thing, survive, and go on to accomplish it with apparently the complete consent of the second party. Reinhold did not initially strike me as that handsome or charming, but he does have gumption. I will have to try and conquer my task as efficiently as that.

Instead of staying with Aulie, I make plans to stay with Jack.

Papa fusses over me extra before I leave. I don't tell anyone else back home about the baby, although I do give Papa permission to tell Mrs. Mirande, provided he swears her to secrecy for the time being.

I meet Jack at the train station on the day of Reinhold's party. I can't tell him until we're back at his apartment. I pretty much just blurt it out: "Jack, I'm pregnant."

"You are? Really?!" his eyes go wide, "Oh, geez. Oh, wow. That is important. Wow."

He's so sweet. But. "We have to talk."

"Y-you," his face clouds quickly, "We're going to do this, right? I- I would really love to have this baby with you."

"Yes, well, I am. I will. But I've barely known for three days now and a million things have come to mind and nearly all of them are worries."

"You," he seems to finally breathe again, "You should sit down." He puts his arm around my shoulders, "We should sit down and talk about this."

At first I feel like I don't even know where to begin. There's just so much flotsam and jetsam clogging up my mind. But I decide to start with Reinhold, because that part is kind of funny in retrospect, and I work out from there through every type of worry that I can think of from the major ones right on down the line to one I only thought of just now: "And we're not even married."

And, at this, Jack, who had taken everything else very seriously, begins laughing. "That would help? Would you like to be married?"

"I- I mean. Well, I just thought about it," I bluster, caught off guard. "It's not like I haven't already been a bit, err, in the wrong with you, but I guess it feels like actually having a baby when we're not married is a whole other thing if we- If-" I feel my face reddening, "If we do love each other."

"I do," Jack answers, hugging me tight, "I do love you, Mags. I wouldn't have anyone else. Let's get married."

Things are moving so fast I think my head is spinning.

"Tell me how you do it in Four," he leans back and looks at me intently.

"What about in One?"

"Nah," he dismisses it without a second thought, "I'd rather be married the Four way. The only thing I want you to have from a One-style wedding is the ring- and that's assuming they don't give rings like it in Four, which might be completely erroneous because I just don't know."

"Oh, okay." I think it over. "There are lots of, uh, frills, I guess, you can add, but for a proper wedding, I suppose what you need is salt water and the grass net and at least two witnesses. You stand under the net together and put saltwater on each other's lips and say the words." I nod to myself. We obviously can't have Padre Tino here to do it, but, as Padre says, "in dangerous times, everyone who believes is deputized." "…Then the boat song."

Jack seems to like the sound of this part. "There's a special wedding song? Neat. How will I learn?"

"I guess I teach it to you." It seems a little embarrassing to teach it to someone so it can be part of our wedding, but I appreciate Jack's enthusiasm, and I do like it how he enjoys singing. …I always have, even before we'd met.

"Okay, that'll do it for the words and the song," Jack ticks through the list he's created in his head. "How about the saltwater? I'm sure it comes from the ocean back in Four, but if I make some, will that be good enough?"

"It's the meaning that counts," I allow it.

"And this grass net."

"If- if I have some time, I can make one. I mean, it's not exactly weaving, but that's my talent, remember? I'm good at handling plant fibers. …You just have to be okay with my picking some of your grass."

"My lawn is your lawn, wife-to-be," Jack gestures grandiosely.

"And you'll handle whatever stuff about rings you need?"

"But of course. …How much time are you going to need for that net?"

"I, uh, I don't know precisely. I've never made one by myself before." Though I've helped… "Also, it depends on how big we want it to be."

"Well," Jack turns the problem around in his head, "Do you think you could do it all today?"

"Today?"

"I don't want to waste any more time. Let's get married today. After Reinhold's party. We can ask- who'll be there? -Pal. Pal and Silk can be our witnesses."

"So this…" I'm still concerned. "This and the baby."

"I promise," Jack takes my hands and looks me in the eye, mesmerizing me with the green of his gaze, "With Victor Affairs, with the Capitol- I will take care of everything."

I am counting on Jack. I wouldn't even know where to begin.

The actual wedding preparations are another matter. I pick a whole basket of grass from his rooftop lawn and come inside to sit and work it while Jack darts about the apartment tending to this and that. It's tedious work, but the pleasant end goal helps me going. We use a longer sort of grass back home, which is easier to knot. I don't know how or where Jack and this baby and I will live, but, soon and sooner, I will be a mother and a wife, things I'm not sure I ever imagined I would be.

When Jack and I arrive at Reinhold's part together, people tease us. "Do you kiss at all parties for new victors?" and "Getting a bit inseparable?" and such. The president's daughter shows up like last time and pries Jack away from me for the time being. I don't mind. There are people I can speak with separately anyway.

When I give Reinhold further congratulations, I also manage to tell him he was right in a discrete manner. He understands immediately and grins: "I've still got it!" Raisin is there with Kayta and I wonder if they also realize the meaning of this exchange.

I eat two slices of cake (different types) and hobnob with potential sponsor types. The president is giving Silk that skeevy leer I've only ever seen him break out for her. "Getting a bit pudgy, Miss Gaudet," he chides me when I approach. "Not the best look for you."

"Pudgy?" Pal shakes his head. "Shallo, Mags." He looks at Silk, "We were looking forward to seeing Mags, huh? Well, we'll move on and free you up, Mr. President."

The president doesn't seem exactly happy for Silk to go, but he doesn't stop any of us. "It's okay to say here?" Pal queries me.

"Ah, one thing here and I'll tell you another later?" It makes me feel sort of cheeky, but since I want them to come along, I might as well take advantage of the more private environment later.

"What is it, Mags?" Silk hooks her arms through mine and leans against me. She smells nice. Like violets.

"I'd really love it if the two of you would come back to Jack's with me later if you can. For a, uh, private event."

"It's a mystery, hmm?" Silk is hooked, "Can we, Pal?"

"Of course." He seems curious, but even if he weren't and even if I weren't asking, I've never seen him deny Silk anything. The relationship between Hector and Gerik is one thing and the one between Teejay and Sunny is another and Kayta and Reinhold have yet another dynamic still, but with Pal and Silk I really see the capacity for an intense degree of mentor-victor love. Salvador will always remain in my memory specially I think, no matter how long I continue to mentor, since I can't help but feel he could've been that for me. Maybe someday, I hope some other tribute will be.

"You'll keep track of us, right?" Pal confirms, "I don't want to be left behind and we'll need you for the ride."

"I wouldn't dream of forgetting either of you," I insist.

"Hey, cousin," Silk winks at me, "Before we spend any time apart, won't you dance with me?"

I can't turn that offer down. We go about for two songs on the dance floor, though neither of us know officially what either of these songs are supposed to be answered with and just come up with something on our own. Pal claps for us anyway.

The only other victors I find present are Hector and Gerik. Hector's getting more flak from Gerik over his girlfriend, who's apparently a pretty serious girlfriend by now. The talk about Reinhold's impromptu hook-up is also ongoing. As far as is reported, that girl in 2 was Reinhold's only sexual encounter in another district, but in both 7 and the Capitol his libido is…impressive. A clip of Kayta instructing him, on the steps of the Capitol party in his honor, to, "Please keep it in your pants," has easily become the most popular footage of 7's two victors together.

Gerik is still kind of stunned about it, having spoken to the girl himself. Hector says he doesn't think Gerik believes in one-night stands: "Not even that they exist."

The party concludes with a massive fireworks show. Jack shows back up while I'm watching with Pal and Silk and puts his arm around me.

It's not until we are riding the quiet elevator up to his place at the top of that silent building that he springs our intent on our friends from 8. "We'd like the two of you to be our witnesses. We're getting married tonight, District Four style."

"Mags, is this what you called me about?" Pal gapes.

"No." The elevator reaches its destination was a small ding. "This is more impromptu than that."

"I would've made you a dress…" Pal reaches over and begins fussing with my clothes.

"This is so exciting!" Silk squeezes her hands into two tiny fists, "Congratulations! I'm honored you picked me! Ha ha, I almost wish I were the one getting married…!"

"I'm sure someday you'll meet someone wonderful," Pal tells her.

Jack agrees. "You would be one heck of a catch for anyone, Silk."

"Says the man who's about to marry someone else," she giggles.

"They're just those kind of people," Pal shrugs. He looks around the apartment. I think the lack of a specially decorated atmosphere is something of a disappointment to him. I idly wonder what's needed for a wedding in District 8 and if there's some part of it that Pal and Silk could haphazardly add. "In here?"

"I thought of the roof, but it's got to be getting awfully cold at this hour and this time of year."

"Brr," Silk shivers thinking about it and runs her hands over her arms. She's the most lightly clad one of all of us. "Inside, I think."

"…I…I suppose it's different for everyone, but I think if they're going to do it, most women prefer to get pregnant after the wedding," I try to cushion the impact of the last surprise of the night with some joking.

"…That's what you wanted to tell," Pal concludes correctly this time.

"Oh, a baby…!" Silk gasps, "Is it okay if I hope it's a girl?"

Both of them fuss over the idea and promise to sew lots of baby clothes. Although they're certainly aware of the presence of many hurdles regarding our situation, they are our friends and they understand how in the midst of this- all of this- we are making a moment of happiness, maybe one of not very many, so they don't mention those things. Once they've settled down again from all this additional excitement, Pal prompts us, "Are we ready? Now? Just like this?"

"Uh, I wanna fix the bride's hair," Silk drags me off to the bathroom.

"I'm your bridesmaid," Silk laughs to herself as she pulls my hair down from its ordinary buns and gets to rearranging it. "And you have to look special."

"'Step on a glass?'" I can hear Jack repeating to Pal, "Why would you do that?"

"I know you'll do a great job," I tell Silk as I submit to her handling. For all that Silk wears her hair shorter than I do, she's impressively deft and creative when it comes to arranging mine. She braids and twists and pins until it's something beautiful and different, though still within the realm of what seems like me.

"…You need flowers…" is her final regret.

"This is more than good enough as is," I assure her.

"Wear my scarf," she decides at the last moment, pulling off a flimsy piece of- well, she probably knows the fabric, but I don't- and cinching it around my waist.

"You'll come to my wedding too, won't you? Someday?"

"Of course, Silk. …And hopefully it won't be decided in one day and happen just like that with no new dress and no nice food and just two guests."

Silk hugs me tight, "That would be good enough. More than good enough."

We re-enter the men's line of sight. "Oh," Jack says, "Even prettier!"

And he's only straightened his clothes a bit, but he's always handsome to me.

Jack bows his head down a ways to help Pal put the net over him. Getting the other end flipped over me is considerably easier.

Repeating after me, Jack says the words. We dip our fingers into the saltwater solution and touch it to one another's lips. He leans down and kisses me. I taste the salt.

I start to sing the boat song, but find myself choking up. It's all too much. It's all too- I don't know.

But Jack joins in and his voice is stronger even if he doesn't know the song as well, having just learned it today.

And Pal picks it up, humming, and Silk claps her hands.

Jack starts dancing and spins me slowly. It's as strange as a dream, but my dreams are rarely this good.

When he stops, we're tangled in the net. Jack takes out a tiny envelope and pulls out a golden ring, smooth and simple. "I hope it fits. I know your hand is really small."

It fits well enough. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

"I chose the same for me." He lets me put the bigger version on his hand, and, indeed, they are a match.

I am married. If I want, I am Margaret Umber now. I have a husband. A child is in the works. …And my "cousins" are here. A whole other family. My own kind?