Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to BamItsTyler for Hattie and to symphorophilia and ladyqueerfoot for Elseri.


District Three
Pretending to Cooperate


Avery Bentham, 28
Victor of the 41st Hunger Games

She'd never been good at pretending.

Avery shook her head as she stared at the screen. They were still replaying footage from last week's riot at the Justice Building. Vandalization – that was how it had started. And if the Peacekeepers hadn't overreacted, it might have stopped there. But they had charged in, and one of them had gotten killed for his trouble, and then … well, it had only gotten worse from there. They'd arrested the leader of the gang that had started the riot, along with two adults who had been trying to shelter him. The adults had been executed, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why the teenage gang leader hadn't. They had other plans for him.

Avery leaned back, trying not to look. Not to look at the screen. Not to look at Percival and Miriam, who were waiting for her with concerned looks on their faces. "You couldn't have done anything, Avery," Miriam insisted.

She'd meant it to be comforting. But it wasn't true. She could have done something. Not during the riot, perhaps, but before. She could have done what the Victors in the other districts had done – pretended that the unrest that had been brewing for the last few years had all been part of the plan, that she'd been in on the whole thing. She hadn't been, of course, but that hadn't stopped some of the other Victors who hadn't been in on it from going along with the assumption that they had.

But she'd never been good at pretending. She'd cooperated as much as she'd needed to in order to survive, but she'd never pretended to enjoy it, or even pretended not to resent it. She hadn't gone along with the plan, and now here they were. The district had assumed the unrest was real. Maybe it was. There was plenty of cause for it. But this … this wouldn't do anything. Rioting, vandalizing, protesting – it wouldn't change anything. They'd tried that. She had tried to change things in the Games – her and the other rebels. They had tried. And they had failed. And they had paid the price.

And maybe if they had been the only ones who had paid the price, it would have been different. Maybe it would be easier to live with herself if the only people who had died had been the ones who had made the choice to rebel. The tributes. She could live with that. She had killed the others – all eleven of them – but that was part of the Games. Tributes died.

Families usually didn't.

They were all dead. Her family. Anders' family. The family of every other tribute who had joined the rebellion. And a dozen people in Six who'd had nothing to do with the Games at all, but who had been selected at random after the tributes' family took their own lives. All dead. Gone. And Nicodemus. He wasn't dead, but...

That was what happened when people tried to change things.

She wouldn't let it happen again.

"I'll take him," Avery said quietly.

"Who?" Miriam asked.

"The boy. Vex. The one who started the riots. They're going to reap him; everyone knows it. Why else would they have left him alive? They're going to make an example of him in the Games. But if I help him … Maybe it'll just be him, and no one else back here will have to die."

"You think he'll listen to you?" Percival asked, cocking his head.

"I don't know," Avery admitted. "But I know Anders and I didn't listen to you two. He needs someone who understands the choice he's going to have to make … and the consequences of making the wrong choice."

"We don't even know for sure that they'll reap him," Miriam pointed out. "Eldred put an end to the rigged reapings in Six."

Percival shook his head. "Completely different situation. Those were just kids that Vernon thought deserved it – not rebel leaders who had been slated for execution. If he's going to die anyway, I don't think Eldred's going to object to him dying in the Games rather than dying by firing squad."

Miriam winced, but Avery nodded. Percival was right. For all his personable, friendly neighborhood bartender persona, Eldred was more of a strategist than some of the Victors gave him credit for – and certainly more than Thirteen had given him credit for. He was looking at the bigger picture. He had ended the rigged reapings in Six in order to gain Duke's cooperation. That was all. It had been a strategic move. A necessary move. Showing District Three the same compassion wasn't necessary.

She hadn't done anything to earn it.

That would have to change, if she wanted anything else in the district to change. That was the way to make things better – the only way that stood a chance of working. Things were getting better in some of the other districts. Seven, Nine, Twelve. The districts that were cooperating. The districts where the Victors were cooperating. Things were even getting better in Six, despite their reputation. A reputation that Duke and Lana were changing. If she wanted things to change in Three, then she would have to change, too.

"I'll take him," Avery repeated firmly, getting to her feet. This time, neither of the others objected. They didn't have the heart to object. In their eyes, anything that motivated her to keep going was a good thing. And if that 'anything' was refusing to see another tribute throw away the lives of their family and friends because of their ideals … well, there were worse reasons to get up in the morning.

As the three of them headed for the square, she could practically taste the tension in the air. What would happen at the reaping if the boy was reaped – when the boy was reaped? He clearly had friends; he hadn't started the riot on his own. If something like that happened at the reaping, what would the Peacekeepers do?

What would she do?

Their new escort, Oberon Oritz, seemed completely oblivious to the mood as he joined the three of them onstage. Maybe he genuinely didn't know. Outside of District Three, how many people would really know about the riots? The Capitol would want to keep that quiet, wouldn't they? But would they really be able to if the boy responsible for them went into the Games? They had to have a plan for how to deal with that, didn't they? Eldred had to have a plan.

So maybe it was an act. Maybe Oberon knew exactly what he was getting into, and was just trying to put on a brave face. Maybe he was pretending.

If so, he was better at it than she was. He was all smiles as he dipped his hand into the first reaping bowl and drew out a slip of paper. "Hattie Hespeler!"

Avery tried not to flinch as the thirteen-year-old section parted around a girl in a grey smock dress with a white blouse, white stockings, and black mary-jane shoes. Younger kids always made the reaping harder. She had been fourteen, of course, but … well, that probably hadn't been an easy reaping to watch either. The girl who finally stepped out of the crowd, however, at least looked a bit older. She was a head taller than the crowd around her, giving her a long stride as she made her way towards the stage, her eyes still wide with shock. She had light brown skin, dark brown hair, and small hazel eyes that darted this way and that as she made her way forward, finally coming to land on one of the Peacekeepers near the stairs. It was very brief, but Avery was sure she saw the Peacekeeper nod slightly as Hattie took the stage, perhaps grateful he hadn't had to drag her there himself.

The shock on Hattie's face had been replaced with a hard, determined look. She quickly climbed the stairs and turned to face the audience, with only the briefest of glances towards Oberon, probably hoping that he would move on quickly and get the rest of the reaping over with.

Oberon soon obliged, reaching into the second reaping bowl and choosing a name with a rather unnecessary dramatic flourish. "Vex Kotlin!"

Avery caught the motion at the edge of the crowd because she'd been expecting it – a Peacekeeper giving a rougher-than-necessary prod to a boy in handcuffs at the edge of the eighteen-year-old section. The boy gave the Peacekeeper a glare, but before he could make it more than a few steps, there was another flurry of motion, this time from the seventeen-year-old section. "I volunteer!" called a voice, and a boy raced forward.

He was short – shorter than Hattie and quite a bit scrawnier, with sepia brown skin, short platinum blonde hair, and dark brown eyes. His brown-and-white checkered button-down shirt and light tan pants were baggy on him, and his shoes looked a size or two too big. He raced through the crowd and up the steps, as if he was worried that someone might try to stop him.

No one did. In fact, Oberon seemed delighted. "Well, well, what have we here? A volunteer in District Three? I don't think Three's had a volunteer since…" He turned to Avery. "Now wasn't it your year, my dear?"

Avery bit her tongue. It had been her year. Anders had been a volunteer. But Oberon certainly wasn't helping the boy's chances by drawing that parallel, so she kept silent until their escort was forced to turn his attention back to their newest tribute. "And what's your name, then?"

"Elseri Lumenova," the boy answered, but his gaze was already back on the crowd – on the distant figure in the back, still flanked by Peacekeepers.

Oberon was clearly hoping for something more – some explanation of why he had volunteered, or maybe some boast about being District Three's next Victor. But Elseri simply held out his hand to Hattie, who shook it.

Slowly, the crowd began to disperse. Now that the cameras were gone, Avery could see tears starting to well in Hattie's eyes. Instantly, Miriam swept in to usher her off the stage, and Elseri quickly followed them. Once they were gone, Percival turned to Avery. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"I can take the boy if you want."

"No."

"Are you sure? Like Oberon said, we haven't had a volunteer since—"

"Since Anders. I know."

"If it'll bring back too many memories…"

Avery shook her head. He was trying to be kind, but everything brought back too many memories. "That's why it has to be me," Avery said softly. "I couldn't help Anders. But maybe I can help him."

"Avery, if he volunteered for that boy, that means he was probably with him. If he was at the riots – if he's a rebel – then you're not going to be able to help him. Not really."

Avery nodded. He was right. She hated that he was right. But she, more than anyone, knew what happened to rebels in the Games. But that wasn't what she'd meant. "I can help him make sure no one else dies because of him."

"Avery—"

"If he dies, he dies. That's how the Games work. It happens. But no one else. No executions. No repercussions. Not this time."

"You think you can get him to cooperate?"

Avery looked away. She wasn't sure. Anders hadn't cooperated. She hadn't cooperated – not until it was too late. And even that decision had been made out of desperation, not real cooperation. But it had been enough. Enough for Anders to use his last breath to spit at her, to curse her for giving in and playing the Capital's game. She was alive because she had cooperated – or at least pretended to cooperate long enough.

Maybe she could help him do that.


Hattie Hespeler, 13

They couldn't help her now.

Hattie clenched her fists as the others talked. She caught a snippet here and there – Sara insisting she would be all right, Abram complaining about how unfair it was, Mateo trying to calm him down, Maya struggling to hold back tears. They'd always been there for each other, always had each other's backs. They'd had it all figured out. Once they aged out of the community home, they would rent a place together. It didn't have to be big – just somewhere to eat and sleep. Enough to get by. Maybe it wasn't much of a dream, but it had seemed … achievable. Just a few years away, when they were old enough. Now…

"Maybe District Six had the right idea," Abram grumbled. "Rig the reapings to get rid of people who deserve it. People who have done something. Not people who are just trying to live their lives."

Hattie said nothing. It wasn't a bad idea, maybe. She certainly wouldn't mind being replaced in the Games with … well, anyone, really, right now. But maybe someone who was stirring up trouble, or planning something rebellious. People whose lives weren't going anywhere anyway.

That was what she had reasoned, the first time she had told a Peacekeeper that some of the workers at the factory were up to something. If they were going to be caught anyway – and that seemed inevitable – then she might as well help herself in the process. The Peacekeeper had rewarded her for the information, and the workers … well, what had happened was going to happen eventually. What had they really expected?

Finally, after a few more hugs and a few more tears, her friends drifted out, leaving her holding her half of a heart-shaped necklace that Sara had pilfered about a year ago. Two halves of one heart. Hattie turned the necklace over, biting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm the anger that was rolling around in her stomach. Just when everything had been going so well…

The door opened again, and Hattie looked up to see Lynch. Hattie froze. "Is it time already?"

The Peacekeeper shook his head. "No, you've got a little while yet. But I figured I'd stop in and say hello."

"Don't you mean goodbye?" Hattie asked, a little more bitterly than she'd intended. It wasn't as if he could really have done anything about the reaping. Sure, he was a Peacekeeper, but at the end of the day, he was just one person. He couldn't have done anything to save her.

"How about see you later?" Lynch suggested.

Hattie cocked her head. "You think so?"

"Why not?"

Why not? There were quite a few reasons why not. She was thirteen. She wasn't a Career. She was from District Three. District Three, which only had three Victors in fifty-four years. But she didn't say any of that, because she wanted to believe that Lynch was right – that she had a chance.

"Certainly got a better chance than that district partner of yours," Lynch added casually when she said nothing.

Hattie nodded. "So he was with the other boy?" Everyone knew what had happened at the Justice Building. She'd meant to ask Lynch if the Peacekeeper who had been killed had been a friend of his, but had never quite worked up the courage.

"Yeah. The Capitol will see to him, and we'll see to the other one, if I have any say in it. You stay out of it."

Hattie nodded. She hadn't exactly been planning on getting into it. That would mean having to kill him – her district partner – and the thought of killing someone was…

Was … what? After all, some of those people who had been planning the strike at the factory were dead now. She had done that – or had a hand in it, at least. Sure, the Peacekeepers would have found out eventually. Sure, they would have died anyway. But because she had spoken to Lynch, it had happened a bit sooner. A bit more quietly. They were dead, and she had helped. She hadn't personally killed them, but … well, maybe it wasn't all that different. Maybe it wouldn't be that hard, when it came down to it.

"Stay out of it," Lynch repeated. "These aren't a few disgruntled factory workers planning a walk-out. This kid's a rebel. He and his friends killed a man. A good man." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Fritz was a good man. A good friend. Maybe this boy didn't personally kill him, but he and his friends started the riot that did. Don't forget that. They're dangerous. Stay away."

Stay away. Then why was he telling her this, unless—

Oh. Hattie couldn't help a little smile as she realized what he was doing – what she had always done for him. He couldn't help her directly, but he could give her information.

And she knew what to do with information.


Elseri Lumenova, 17

They hadn't known what to do without Vex.

Elseri paced up and down the room, wondering whether of the other Fireflies would be coming – and whether the Peacekeepers would even let them in to see him if they did. They'd been lying low since the riot, trying not to draw attention to themselves. Well, trying not to draw more attention than they already had.

They'd never wanted that – not really. It had almost been like a game at first. The late-night heists, the narrow escapes, the clever plans to outwit the Peacekeepers. And they were good at it. They'd caused trouble, but never enough to really draw attention – not until two years ago, when one of their heists had gone wrong, culminating in a fight at Valdin's bar that Elseri had barely escaped. Six people hadn't. Six people had been killed.

His father had been one of them. His father, who hadn't been involved at all, who had been minding his own business. But that was what minding your own business could get you. It didn't keep you safe. It didn't protect you from becoming an unintended casualty.

And if following the rules didn't protect you, then what was the point in following them?

Things had escalated from there. Theft and vandalism turned into propaganda and rioting. Vex had wanted to fight, and the rest of the Fireflies had followed him. They always followed him. Vex was that sort of person – the sort you would follow to hell and back because he would always be in the front, leading the charge. He had led the riot at the Justice Building, and he'd been ready to take responsibility for it, but Valdin and Baz had tried to protect him. They'd been executed, and there had been rumors that Vex would be next. Apparently, they'd thought making an example of him in the Games was a better idea.

Elseri clenched his fists. He wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let them do that to Vex. He knew what happened to rebels in the Games, and he wouldn't let that happen. Couldn't let that happen. The Fireflies needed Vex.

More than they needed him.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and Dox pushed her way in, ignoring the Peacekeeper in her way and slamming the door behind her. "You – you – you –" she sputtered for a moment before deciding on "What were you thinking?"

Elseri blinked. That wasn't the response he'd been expecting. Dox was Vex's sister, after all. Wouldn't she, of all people, be grateful that it would be him in the Games instead of her brother? "I was thinking about Vex," he answered defensively. "I know there's no guarantee they'll let him live, but—"

"But what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

"What?"

"You're really going to make me say it, aren't you."

"I don't know what–"

"I like you, you idiot!"

What? "Like me?" Elseri repeated blankly.

"Like you. Have feelings for you. Romantically."

Oh.

Elseri stared. He'd had feelings for Dox, once, before all … this. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Before his father had died. Before his mother had thrown him out. Before the riots, the Peacekeepers, the deaths. Recently … well, recently there just hadn't been any time for those sort of feelings. It hadn't seemed as important as … everything else.

After a moment of silence, Elseri realized Dox was shuffling uncomfortably. "Look, I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I just…"

Elseri shook his head. "No, it's all right. It's just … it still feels good, you know, to be seen as one of the boys. I…" He trailed off. One of the boys. That's all he'd ever wanted to be. The Fireflies had scrimped and saved to get him the black market drugs and the surgery. Maybe they were thieves and rascals, but they took care of their own. To know that Dox saw him the same way … It felt good.

"One of the boys," Dox repeated. "Elseri, you're so much more than that. Would one of the boys have rushed up there at the reaping like some knight in shining armor? Would any of the others have done that?"

"I…" He trailed off, unsure. None of the others had. A few of the others were too old, but most of them weren't. And none of them had volunteered to take Vex's place. It had just been him. "I guess not."

Dox plunged on. "You're the only one who's treated me like I belong in the gang, like I actually earned my place there instead of just being … well, just being Vex's little sister. I thought … well, I thought maybe we could have something together."

Elseri nodded. "If I make it back, I … I'd like to give it a try."

Dox laid a hand on his shoulder. "Then come back. And just remember that whatever you have to do to survive … we'll understand. Just come back."

Whatever you have to do. He hadn't really thought that far, if he was being honest. But he did know what he would have to do. He would have to play the Games. He would have to cooperate – or at least pretend to. And Dox was … what? Giving him permission? We'll understand. Just come back. Elseri nodded.

"I'll try."


"What exactly is the difference between pretending to cooperate and actually cooperating?"