Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to cupofdeathflowertea and lancelotgriffin for Galadriel and Leif, respectively.

District Seven
A Big Thing

Casper Hensley, 44
Victor of the 29th Hunger Games

He wondered if she knew how big a difference she'd made.

Casper glanced over at Sadira as the group of them put the last of their tools back in the shed. And there was quite a group this morning. Sadira and her brother Lyndon, with their parents close behind. Casper and his family – Kurt and Freda. Hazel. Those he expected, but there were also groups he didn't know. Small children picking up fallen branches and helping themselves to the lower-hanging fruit. Couples picking from the higher branches. Teens who had gathered in the garden to try to forget about the reaping, if only for a moment or two.

Casper watched as Sadira chose an apple from a higher branch and handed it to a small boy who had been reaching for it. The garden had started as her idea, but it had … well, blossomed from there. Hazel had quickly agreed to help, and now nearly every spare patch of ground in Victors' Village was covered in plants of some sort. Trees, vines, vegetables, flowers – along with plenty of seeds for the small animals that scampered around. It had taken Casper longer to get involved. He'd never had much of a green thumb, but Kurt and Freda did, and he was learning a lot.

Little by little, the groups began to drift away, making their way out of the garden and towards the square for the reaping, leaving only the Victors and their families. Casper made his way over to Sadira. "They love you, you know."

Sadira shook her head, watching the crowd trickle out. "They love free food."

Casper chuckled. "It's more than that. You gave them somewhere to … relax. Somewhere to forget. Somewhere where, for a moment or two, they don't have to worry about what's going on back in their lives. Most people don't have enough of that."

Sadira shrugged. "I didn't mean for it to be that … symbolic. I was just trying to do something useful. Something good."

Casper nodded. "And you did. There's nothing wrong with acknowledging that – or with them being grateful for it."

For a moment, Sadira said nothing. At last, she nodded. "Maybe. But we could be doing more."

More. There was that word again. No matter what she was doing, Sadira always seemed to want to do more. Of course, it was hard to blame her for that when that attitude, that determination, had kept her alive during the Games. It had kept her moving, kept her from settling down too long, kept the audience interested. Wanting to do more had kept her alive.

But now … even now that she didn't need to keep moving all the time, now that she didn't need to keep working, keep fighting, keep looking for the next thing to do, she still couldn't seem to slow down. Casper shook his head. Maybe she was just young. Maybe he was just getting old. But he couldn't remember ever having that much drive, that much energy.

Casper caught Hazel's eye as they headed for the square. She shrugged. Sadira wasn't hurting anyone, and she was helping people. Maybe she hadn't single-handedly rid District Seven of hunger, but people knew where they could come for a free snack and a moment to rest. That counted for a lot in a district that badly needed both of those things.

Casper gave Kurt and Freda one last hug and joined Hazel and Sadira onstage. A few of the teens in the crowd were still holding pieces of fruit, and either stuffed them in pockets or hastily tried to finish them as their escort, Gerard Swanson, joined them onstage. He'd transferred from District Ten last year, but clearly didn't consider it much of a promotion.

"Hello, District Seven!" he called into the microphone. "Delighted to be here. Aren't you? That's what I thought. Let's get on with it."

Casper held back a chuckle. No laughing at the reaping. Still, he was sure he saw a hint of a smirk on Sadira's face before she quickly covered it up and turned her attention back to Gerard, who was already drawing a name from the first bowl. "Galadriel Brinns!"

A cry rang through the crowd as the eighteen-year-old section parted around a girl in an olive dress and light tan sandals. But the cry hadn't come from the girl, Casper realized. Somewhere in the back section, beyond the reaping pen, a child was screaming. Another voice echoed the cry. The color drained from the girl's face, but she took a hesitant step forward. Slowly, dragging her feet and biting her lip to hold back the tears, she made her way to the stage, glancing briefly at the three Victors as if looking for … what? Casper wasn't sure, but he saw Sadira nod, almost imperceptibly.

Galadriel took a deep breath and wiped away the tears that had been about to spill, then turned to face the crowd, her blue-green eyes fixed on the children in the back section. She was tall and rather muscular, with pale skin and long, dark blonde hair. Finally, the children's wailing screams died down a little as the younger ones were shushed by the older ones.

Gerard glared out towards the back of the crowd, annoyed by what he probably considered an interruption, and turned his attention to the second reaping bowl. He quickly plucked a slip of paper from the top of the bowl and unfolded it. "Leif Rosewood!"

This time, there was silence as the fifteen-year-old section parted around a boy in a dark green button-down shirt, khaki pants, and dark brown shoes. His eyes were wide with shock as he glanced around in front of him, towards the section of older boys. Casper followed the boy's gaze, but no one in the older section moved. But Leif didn't move, either – not even when the Peacekeepers began to make their way towards him. He stood there, wide-eyed and frozen in place, as two of them took him by the arms and led him towards the stage.

Only as they made it past the last section of older boys did he start to struggle. "Wait!" he called. "Wait, please! Just a moment!" He glanced frantically back at a boy on the edge of the section. "Please!"

For a moment, their eyes met, and Capser held his breath, knowing the boy was asking for the impossible. He was pretty sure District Seven had never had a volunteer. He'd hoped for the same thing at his own reaping, breaking down in tears and begging for someone – anyone – to take his place. No one had, of course, but there had been no one in particular he had been hoping would volunteer. Now…

Now nothing. The silent exchange lasted only a second or two before the older boy looked away, and the Peacekeepers dragged Leif the rest of the way to the stage and gave him a shove towards Galadriel. He was shorter and lankier than she was, with pale skin and dark brown hair. His bright blue eyes were filled with tears, but at last, he held out a shaking hand to Galadriel, who tore her gaze away from the crowd long enough to shake it.

"Well, that's it for this year!" Gerard called. "Galadriel Brinns and Leif Rosewood, everybody! Give 'em a round of applause!"

No one did. No one ever did. The cameras were switched off, and the tributes were led away. Casper glanced over at Sadira. "You know her – Galadriel?"

Sadira shook her head. "Not well. I used to see her at work sometimes, before my Games. We weren't on the same shift very often. I think she mostly used to work after school – back then, at least. But I've seen her siblings and cousins around the garden. I'll take her, if that's all right with you."

Casper nodded. "Of course." It was easy to forget, really, just how young Sadira was – only a year older than Galadriel.

"Do you know the boy Leif was begging to die in his place?"

Casper raised an eyebrow. That wasn't quite how he would have put it. "No. Why?"

"Just looked like you were hoping he would volunteer."

Casper shook his head. "I was just … remembering. I did the same thing when I was reaped, you know." Actually, she probably didn't know, he realized. She hadn't even been born, and it wasn't exactly something he made a habit of discussing.

"Really?"

Casper shrugged. "Yeah, before begging the escort to pick someone else. Anyone else. I mean, didn't you wish someone would volunteer for you?"

Sadira thought that one over for a moment. "I guess it just … never occurred to me that anyone might. Why would they?"

"It's happened before," Casper pointed out, sounding a little more defensive than he'd meant to. Volunteering wasn't a common thing in non-Career districts, but it wasn't unheard of for someone to volunteer for a sibling or even a friend. It didn't happen often, but it wasn't impossible.

Sadira shook her head. "Not here."

Casper glanced at Hazel, who nodded. "She's right. We've never had any. Not sure why anyone would expect that to change now."

Casper hesitated. She hadn't used the word by accident. He'd hoped, of course, at his own reaping, that someone would come forward and volunteer. But Leif hadn't just been hoping. He'd expected someone to volunteer. But no one had saved him. No one was going to save him. Sooner or later, he would have to snap out of it and focus on figuring out how to survive.

Casper shook his head. It had taken the death of his only ally to jolt him out of his despair and self-pity and give him the resolve he needed to fight. Sometimes it took tributes a little longer to find the right motivation, the right drive. Not everyone started off ready to fight, but everyone ended up there. Well, everyone who survived ended up there. It took some of them a little longer, but they got there.

That was the important thing.

Leif Rosewood, 15

It had been too big a thing to expect.

Leif clenched his fists as he and his family sat in awkward silence. He was trying not to look at Barke, who was also avoiding his gaze. It would have been different, maybe, if he hadn't had any reason to expect it. District Seven had never had a volunteer, as far as he could remember. How many younger siblings had gone into the Games while their older siblings had stood by and done nothing? Most of them would never have expected anyone to volunteer for them. It just wasn't done. That wasn't how reapings went – not in District Seven.

But three years ago, right before his first reaping, Barke had promised him that he would be safe. He'd never taken tesserae, so his name had only been in the bowl once that year, but he had still been terrified – until Barke had assured him that, even if his name was called, he wouldn't be going into the Games. Barke had promised that he would volunteer in his place. The next year, he'd repeated the promise. And the next. And again this year, less than an hour ago. Leif had never had any reason to doubt that he would keep his promise.

Until now. Until his brother had looked away, silent, unmoving, as Leif had been dragged towards the stage. Leif clenched his fists tighter, holding back tears. Why make a promise like that if he wasn't going to follow through?

Leif swallowed hard. He didn't want to be angry. If this was the last time he was going to see his family – and if this was the last time they were going to see him – this wasn't how he wanted it to go. He looked up at Barke, who looked away hurriedly. "I understand," Leif said quietly, fighting hard against the lump in his throat. "I understand why you didn't volunteer."

And that was true, at least. Maybe he didn't understand why Barke had always promised to, but he did understand why he hadn't volunteered. He had been scared. Plain and simple. Maybe just as scared as Leif was now. The Games weren't something he would ever have volunteered for. Certainly he wouldn't have volunteered in Barke's place if their places had been reversed.

But he would never have promised to, either.

"I'm sorry." Barke's voice was thick with tears. "I'm sorry they called your name. I never … I never really thought you'd be picked."

Leif nodded, trying not to show how deeply the words had cut. So it had been a lie. All along, it had been a lie. Barke had never really meant that he would volunteer; he'd just wanted to calm Leif down, to reassure him with a comforting thought, because he never really expected to have to do what he'd promised.

But he didn't say that. Couldn't say that. Barke probably felt guilty already. He didn't want to use their last conversation to add to that guilt. So he settled for something else that was true. "Neither did I." His name had been in the bowl four times. That was it. Four slips among thousands. Tens of thousands. Just four.

And it had still been him.

Leif held back his tears as his family wrapped him in a hug and reluctantly left the room when the Peacekeeper told them their time was up. He waited until they'd closed the door, waited until they were probably far enough down the hall not to hear. Then he sank to the floor, wrapped his arms around his knees, and wept. Tears streamed down his face as deep, aching sobs shook his body.

It wasn't fair. He'd never done anything to deserve this. He'd never done anything to anyone. He'd done everything right. He kept out of trouble. He followed the rules. He was a good student, a hard worker, a helpful son. He didn't deserve–

Leif tried to catch his breath. That wasn't how the Games worked, he knew. No one in the Capitol really cared whether he deserved to be here. If they did, the reaping wouldn't be random. It shouldn't be him, but … well, that didn't mean it should have been Barke, either. It wasn't as if he'd wanted Barke to be in the Games. Not as if he'd wanted Barke to actually die in his place.

But at least Barke would have had a better chance of winning.

Winning. That was his only chance now. Winning. And maybe … well, maybe it wasn't completely hopeless. Sadira had only been a year older than him when she'd won, after all. Of course, she'd been a lumberjack for more than a month or two. She'd had at least some experience. She'd been tall and strong and … well, everything he wasn't. But Casper hadn't been, and Hazel had been twelve. That was a long time ago, yes, but that proved that just about anything was possible in the Games.

Leif closed his eyes. He was probably telling himself a load of nonsense. Hell, it was probably another lie. But at least this lie might be useful, might help keep him alive rather than keep him calm.

And that was the important thing.

Galadriel Brinns, 18

The important thing now was making sure they would be safe.

Galadriel held the four children close, trying to fight back tears, running her trembling fingers through Hazella's hair, trying to calm them down. But it was hard when she couldn't even calm herself down. She had been close – so close. She was eighteen. This was her last year. She wouldn't have had to worry about the reapings for another four years, when her cousin Moby would be old enough. Now…

Now she had to think. "Okay," she said quietly. "It'll be okay. There's still some food in the pantry. Not much, but some. Go to the garden whenever you can, and it should be enough to last you through the Games. Then I'll be back. It'll be okay."

But if she didn't come back…

Galadriel closed her eyes. She couldn't worry them with that. Not now. But someone had to think about what would happen if she didn't come back from the Games. Twenty-four tributes – no, she corrected herself, twenty-six this year – and if she wasn't the one to come home, what were they supposed to do then?

The obvious answer was the orphanage, but she couldn't bear the thought. And they weren't orphans – not really. Well, her cousins were. But her twin sisters, Maple and Hazella – they weren't orphans. And she wasn't an orphan. Her father was dead, but the twins' father was still alive and well – just completely uninterested in being a father. And their mother…

She was alive. Alive, but never home. Always at the pub. She'd moved in with the owner about a year ago, leaving Galadirel to care for the children on her own.

She tried to tell herself that she didn't mind. After all, she loved her sisters, and her cousins were so close now that they might as well be her brothers. By the time it was just her, she had been old enough to care for them, and she was eighteen now. She could manage. She had to manage. And Moby and Jaime were old enough now to help out a little with the five-year-old twins. They could help, yes, but they weren't old enough to do it on their own.

The door opened, revealing a Peacekeeper who had come to tell them their time was up. Galadriel fought back a feeling of relief, her stomach churning with guilt. This might be the last time she saw the kids, and she was relieved that it was over, that she wouldn't have to try to hold it together for them, try to shield them from what was coming. As the last of the children was led out the door, Galadriel leaned back, finally letting her tears go.

"Galadriel?" came a voice from the doorway, and for a split second – for just a heartbeat – Galadriel hoped that maybe it was her mother. That maybe she'd at least come to say goodbye, and maybe even offer to take care of the kids like she was supposed to. But the voice had come from her friend Brianna, who took a seat beside Galadriel. "Look, I just want you to know, I talked to my dad, and we can keep an eye on the kids during the Games. Make sure they're doing okay, spare a little food for them. They'll be okay until you get back."

Galadriel heaved a sigh of relief. That was one less thing on her mind. They would be okay until she got back. If she got back. If she didn't…

Galadriel couldn't meet her friend's gaze. "Look, Brianna, if I don't come back–"

"Galadriel, I … Look, the kids are great, but I've got my own siblings to look after. It's just me and my dad and the younger ones now, and we just can't afford to take them in permanently. I'm sorry, but…"

Galadriel shook her head. "That's not what I was going to ask." She'd wanted to, but she couldn't. That was too big a thing to ask. Too much of a burden to put on a friend who was … well, just that. A friend. Brianna wasn't family. She and her father had no reason to take in four more small children. She would never have asked for that.

She hated to ask what she was going to ask, but someone had to be sensible. Someone had to think about the worst that could happen, because it so often did. "If I don't make it back, can you make sure they go to the orphanage? Don't let them try to tough it out on their own. They're too young. Too young to work, too young to take tesserae, too young to look after themselves. If I don't make it, take them to the orphanage. It's not much of a home, but at least they won't starve." She looked up at her friend. "Please."

Brianna nodded. "I can do that. Just … do your best to come back. Please. I'd hate to see that happen to them."

Galadriel nodded. Of course she would do her best. She always did her best. And up until now, her best had always been good enough to get her through.

But would her best be enough for something this big?

"People who avoid commitment are people who know what a big thing it is."