Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thank you to evilpencilbox and WalkingDisaster41 for Anahi and Olly, respectively.

District Eleven
A Reason to be Certain

Tamsin Lane-Whitaker, 44
Victor of the 27th Hunger Games

There were plenty of reasons to be nervous this year.

Tamsin glanced around the house as the relatives scurried to and fro, all doing their best to get ready at the same time. Between Elijahs's siblings and their children, there were at least three dozen people in the house – one, in fact, of several houses that the family had spilled out into over the last few years as children grew up and wanted a place of their own without wanting to go too far. Technically, it probably wasn't allowed, but Victors' Village was large, and there were only four of them who were actually Victors.

But there was plenty of room for all of them. All of the siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews and even more distant relations. She and Marion had welcomed their own additions two years ago – a pair of girls they'd adopted from the orphanage. Today was part of the reason Tamsin had been reluctant to adopt for so long. If their children were ever chosen for the Games…

Pepper and Ramona were nine this year, so they were still safe from the reaping. But so many of the others weren't. Their niece Persephone was eighteen this year, and her little brother Jethro was fifteen. Marius and Zinnia were both thirteen. None of them had ever had to take tesserae to survive, like Tamsin had, but there was still a chance – however small. A chance that one of the teenagers running around the house right now trying to help their younger siblings and cousins get ready would end up in the Games.

Tamsin gave Marion's hand a squeeze. There was a chance. There would always be a chance. But you couldn't let that stop you from living your life. Besides, the four of them – her, Elijah, Ivy, and Violet – were proof that the Games weren't always the end of the story. Even if someone else in the family was chosen, there was a chance that they would make it out alive. The sponsors did often tend to take kindly to Victors' relatives.

Often. But not always. And sponsors wouldn't save a tribute who was otherwise a lost cause, no matter how popular their relatives were. Vernon's son Luke hadn't lasted long enough for the sponsors to make a difference. Vernon had also chosen to adopt after his Games, as a way to try to make up for his actions. And look how that had turned out. Tamsin couldn't help wondering whether she and Marion were setting themselves up for the same thing.

Except there was a difference. Vernon had been searching for family, trying to fill a hole in his life. She and Marion already had a family – sometimes more family than they knew what to do with. If the unthinkable did happen – if someone in the family did die in the Games – the rest of them would still be there for each other.

Tamsin looked up as Marion squeezed her hand back. "So did they win?" Marion asked.

"What?"

"I saw you watching the girls. In whatever scenario you were concocting in your head where they were chosen for the Games, did they win?"

Tamsin could feel her cheeks growing warm. "Was it that obvious?"

"Always. So did they?"

Tamsin smirked. "Of course. How could anyone resist another Victor from the Whitaker family? Not that anyone is going to go out of their way to put themselves in the position to be one, right?" she asked with a pointed look at Persephone.

Persephone rolled her eyes as only a teenager could. "No, Aunt Tamsin."

Marion shook her head. "Don't tease her." A few years ago, Persephone had nearly given her parents a heart attack when she revealed that she'd been practicing out in the fields using a few makeshift weapons. Tamsin had never been sure exactly why her niece had suddenly taken an interest in the Games, but from the bits and pieces she'd gathered, it sounded like a boy had been involved.

It had been a phase. A phase she'd thankfully gotten over before the next reaping. And now it was her last year. Her last year, but there were more close behind her. The sheer number of relatives practically guaranteed there would always be someone to worry about. But if that was the chance they took for having so many people to care for – and who cared for them – then it was a chance worth taking.

Tamsin watched as Ivy began to round up the smaller children and herd them out the door. Even Violet had stopped by to help, which she seemed to be doing more often now that she didn't have to mentor anymore. Technically, Tamsin knew, they could ask her to – pressure her to help out. But mentoring always made her so miserable, it was easier to do it themselves.

Not that she and Elijah liked mentoring. Probably only the Careers actually liked mentoring. For the rest of them, it was a necessity. Some of the older mentors, like Hazel, had retired as soon as they had enough younger mentors to fill their spots. Others, like Lander and Carolina, stuck around even during the years they weren't technically mentoring. Maybe they didn't like mentoring, but it was better than the alternative.

That was it, really. She didn't like doing this, but she could handle it. And having someone who could handle the job was better than having someone who couldn't. It was that simple. In the end, there was never really much discussion about it. She and Elijah were mentoring again this year, and would probably keep mentoring until they brought home another Victor. Maybe even longer.

Tamsin watched Pepper and Ramona as the group headed for the square. It had taken a while for them to warm up to their new family, but they'd finally settled in. Pepper was carrying one of her younger cousins on her shoulders. Ramona twirled a little in the hand-me-down dress she'd inherited from one of the older girls. They were part of the family now – just like Ivy and Violet had been gradually adopted over the years. There were a lot of them now. But sometimes she wished–

Tamsin almost chuckled at the thought. She was starting to sound like Marion. Sometimes she wished the rest of the district could be like this – one large family, caring for each other, helping each other, being there for each other. Their family had something good, but the rest of the district–

The rest of the district could worry about itself. That was what she would have said once. Who in the rest of the district had ever cared for her – just another street kid with no family? No one had stepped in to save her. Quite the reverse, in fact. She had saved Marion from the Games, knowing she would have a better chance. She had been right, but the district was chock full of others who would have had an even better chance than her. No one else had done a damn thing.

Tamsin shook the thought from her head as the group of them reached the square. That was true, but it wasn't a reason not to care about the rest of the district now. And it wasn't that she didn't care, but … well, it was a big district. So many people. And ever since the 41st Games, the Peacekeepers had cracked down on … well, everything. There were rumors that things had gotten better in some of the other districts since Thirteen's fall, but not Eleven.

Because they hadn't helped. She hadn't been asked, of course. Hadn't been invited into Eldred's little conspiracy. But the truth was, she couldn't fault him for that, because she knew how that would have gone even if he had asked. What he had planned would have meant involving everyone. The Whitaker family was many things, but 'good with secrets' wasn't one of them. It was too big. Too interconnected. Too complex. It wasn't an accident that most of the people he'd recruited tended to keep most people at arm's length. But you couldn't keep a family this big at arm's length. It wouldn't have worked.

It would never have worked.

Tamsin pulled her daughters into a hug as the other Victors took their places onstage. "I'll see you in a few weeks," she promised, then wrapped her arms around Marion. "I love you."

Marion placed a hand on Tamsin's cheek, and for a moment, their lips met. "I love you, too," Marion said softly, then went to join the other Whitaker adults and the children too young for the reaping.

Tamsin took her place onstage beside Elijah, who had been watching them with a smile. "What?"

"What?"

"You were smiling."

Elijah crossed his arms playfully. "I need a reason to smile at my sister-in-law?" He chuckled as Tamsin took a seat beside him. "You're good with the kids – both of you. You make good moms."

Tamsin gave his shoulder a punch. "And you make a good uncle."

"I've had lots of practice."

"Fair enough."

The crowd settled down as Mayor Hamish joined the Victors onstage, followed by their escort, Davina Blair. "Hello, District Eleven!" she called. "It's good to be back! I've got a good feeling about this year. How about you?"

The crowd was silent, but that didn't seem to bother Davina. She quickly turned her attention to the first reaping bowl and drew a name. "Anahi Cassidy!"

The thirteen-year-old section slowly parted around a girl in a light pink, floral-patterned, ankle-length dress with puffy sleeves and light brown shoes. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in shock. For a moment, she stood there, staring at the stage in terror. Once the Peacekeepers started moving towards her, however, she headed for the stage, her hands clenched into fists at her side to keep them from shaking, her eyes still wide with terror and confusion.

Slowly, carefully, she climbed the steps and took her place onstage. She was unusually tall for her age and thin, with medium brown skin and curly dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her dark brown eyes scanned the crowd as if looking for something. Someone. Her family, probably, but it would be almost impossible to pick them out in the large sea of people.

Davina, meanwhile, had moved on to the second reaping bowl. She quickly reached in and drew a slip of paper. "Oleander Campos!"

This time, it was the sixteen-year-old section that parted around a faded black shirt and a pair of corduroys. His eyes widened, but he took a few steps towards the stage before the Peacekeepers, who had apparently gotten impatient anyway, reached him. One of the other boys nearby lunged towards the Peacekeepers, fists raised, but Oleander stepped between them, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Tamsin couldn't hear what was said, but the other boy backed down as Oleander headed for the stage, his expression carefully blank as someone in the adult section started crying.

He took the steps two at a time and flashed a smile at his district partner. He was a few inches taller than her and lean, with dark skin, brown eyes, and curly black hair. He took a few steps past her and towards Davina, who picked up the cue and passed him the microphone. "Just Olly, if you please." Then he turned and held out his hand to Anahi, who hesitated for a moment before shaking it.

As the pair of them were led away, Tamsin saw Mayor Hamish scribbling furiously out of the corner of her eye. She rolled her eyes and turned to Elijah. "I believe it's your turn to pick first."

But Mayor Hamish was already passing her a piece of paper, and tossing a second one to Elijah. "Can't even wait for us to pick this year?" Elijah teased, opening his. "Seven. How about you, Tamsin?"

Tamsin opened hers, scanned the paper, then put on her best poker face. "Fifteen," she lied. "I'll take the girl."

Elijah nodded. "You got it." As he headed for the train, Tamsin's eyes drifted back to the piece of paper, which in fact contained no numbers. Instead, it read "Ask her why she believes she was chosen."

Tamsin glanced over at Mycr, who nodded almost imperceptibly. This wasn't a guess – not even an educated one. If pressed hard enough, he would probably admit that his habit of predicting their tribute placements ultimately came down to guesses. No one could tell enough from a single reaping to actually know where a tribute would place, especially without seeing the other tributes. You could take a guess, but that was all – and that was what he did. It was harmless enough if you didn't take him seriously.

But this … this he was certain about. And he wouldn't be certain unless there was a reason for him to be certain. Mycr knew something. Something important enough to warn her about. "Thank you," she whispered as she headed offstage. Myrc nodded.

"Don't mention it."

Anahi Cassidy, 13

She had to be certain everything was taken care of.

Anahi took a deep breath, trying to focus on what Anastasia was writing. Think. What else was there? "Mr. Turner at the market will give you a good deal on eggs if you're polite." That wouldn't be any trouble for Anastasia, who was always polite. "Once you turn twelve in a few months, you'll be able to take tesserae. I know it's scary, but–"

And now some of the little ones were crying, and Anahi couldn't really blame them for that. Because now they'd seen where taking tesserae had gotten her. She was only thirteen, and her name had been in the bowl twenty-eight times – twice because of her age, and then two years of taking tesserae for herself, her parents, and her ten younger siblings. Twenty-eight. That was more slips than some eighteen-year-olds had. It didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair.

But it was what she'd had to do. What Andreas, who was twelve this year, had to do. Because where else were they going to get food for that many children? Their parents certainly weren't going to do it; that wasn't their responsibility. Their job was to bring children into the world and teach them the Right Way. As the eldest daughter, it was her job to see that the younger ones were taken care of.

And now it would be Anastasia's job. Andreas was older, but he was a boy. Feeding the children, cleaning the house, washing clothes, cooking food – that wasn't work for a boy, and he wasted no time telling her so whenever she dared to hint that things might go faster with his help. Eventually, she'd stopped asking. She could manage by herself.

But Anastasia…

Anastasia was sweet, and she was kind, but she wasn't practical. She would have no trouble remembering to take care of the little ones, but where would she get the money for it? She would never do what Anahi had done.

Anahi shook the thought from her head as the list continued. She couldn't tell Anahi that with the rest of the family here. Well, almost all of the rest of the family. Their parents had come and gone, stopping long enough to give Anahi a necklace for her district token and then leaving again. Anahi clenched her fists. She loved her parents, as was well and proper and required, but she did sometimes wish they were a bit more … well, parental.

But even that thought filled her with guilt. Thinking like that was wrong. It was disrespectful. And you had to respect your parents; that was an important part of the Way. "And make sure you read to them every night," she finished. That was important, too. It was only one book, and she knew most of it by heart now, but repetition was important. Repetition nourished belief.

Anastasia nodded and gave her older sister a hug as the Peacekeepers knocked on the door. As the rest of the youngsters filed out obediently, Anahi grabbed Anastasia's hand. "Wait. There's one more thing." The door closed behind the others, and Anahi's voice fell to a hurried whisper. "There's something I haven't told you about where I've been getting the money for food and clothes and things. I have a job – an early morning shift out in the orchards. If you talk to Mr. Brassica, he'll probably let you take over my shift. He might pay you a bit less at first because you're two years younger and he'll have to teach you everything, but it should be enough."

Anastasia's eyes were wide. "What? But that's forbidden! If mother and father found out–"

"They won't. They're never up that early. Besides, you never knew."

Anastasia's mouth closed, then opened again, then closed. Finally, she whispered, "But He'll know. Anahi … what if that's why you were chosen? What if He's angry with you for disobeying mother and father? I don't want the same thing to happen to me."

Anahi could feel the tears brimming in her eyes. Anastasia wasn't saying anything she hadn't already thought of. And maybe she was right. Maybe the Great One had abandoned her because of her disobedience. But if she hadn't done something, the children would have been hungry. Wasn't that worse than disobedience?

Was it?

Anahi took her sister's hands in hers. "Look, you don't have to decide right now. And if I make it back, you won't have to worry. None of us will – ever again. But if I don't … you'll have to decide whether you think it's worth it or not. That's up to you."

That seemed to satisfy Anastasia, and Anahi relaxed a little. She couldn't force her sister to make the right choice. She wasn't even certain she knew what the right choice was. If she died in the Games, she would undoubtedly be punished for her disobedience. Punished forever. That was what happened if you disobeyed. If you strayed from the Way. But if she lived…

If she lived, maybe things could be different.

Olly Campos, 16

This game wouldn't be any different.

Olly grinned at his little sister Tilly as he shuffled his old, battered deck of playing cards. He'd brought them to the reaping so that he could get a hand or two in with Cobb before the ceremony. He hadn't meant for them to be his district token, but now … well, they were as good a choice as any, and at least he would have something to do while he was waiting.

"I'll be fine, Tilly," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "Just a couple weeks at the outside, and then I'll be right back here, and we'll all be a lot richer." He looked up at his brother. "Hopper, we'll be able to afford for you to finish school so you won't have to drop out like me. That sounds good, right?"

Hopper looked away, trying to hide his tears. Olly gave the cards another shuffle. They all knew that dropping out of school hadn't exactly been a sacrifice for him. He'd never liked it much, anyway. Not that working in the fields was all that exciting, but it was there that he'd met the men who had introduced him to the real money-making game: gambling.

A lot of the field workers did it, and most of them didn't take it seriously. It was simply something to occupy what little time they had after work, or a way to pass time during a lunch break after they'd finished their meager lunch. But a few of them – a few of them were serious, and they'd introduced Olly to other people who were serious. Before long, he'd started making real money.

Of course, that meant being willing to risk losing real money. Or at least, that was what it meant for most people. But it was money his family needed, so he took … precautions to make sure that he didn't lose. Nothing fancy, of course, and nothing that would involve the need for a partner. Card counting, deck stacking, dice loading – none of those meant he needed to rely on anyone else for success.

And the Games … well, there wasn't much of a difference, really. You couldn't rely on anyone but yourself, because everyone else was eventually an opponent. Of course, just because you couldn't rely on them didn't mean you couldn't use them. But you couldn't get attached. You couldn't make it personal.

That was a mistake a lot of people made when they were gambling – a mistake he'd learned to exploit. As soon as someone else made it personal – as soon as they were focused on beating you rather than winning the game – then you had essentially won. If things got personal, then people got angry. And angry people made mistakes.

Mistakes like trying to punch a Peacekeeper when your friend got reaped.

Olly finished shuffling and gave the deck a final tap. Cobb meant well, and he was a good friend, but he had a temper. Olly didn't have a temper; he had focus. He had confidence. And he already knew that sometimes you had to be willing to play dirty in order to win. Once you knew that … well, how hard could the Games really be?

Olly tapped the top of the deck again. "Tell you what, Tilly. If that's an ace of hearts on top, you start packing up your things once you get home, because we're moving to Victor's Village when I get back. Any other card, you can keep on crying. Deal?"

Wordlessly, Tilly turned over the card, then broke out into a grin. "How'd you know that?"

"He cheated, that's how," Hopper got out before their mother shushed him.

Olly shrugged. "Who cares? There's no such thing as cheating in the Games. There aren't any rules." Well, technically, there was one rule. Kill or be killed. But someone had even gotten around that one once and won without killing, so … yeah, no rules. He could work with that.

Tilly threw her arms around him. "I'll start packing, then," she whispered, holding him close.

Olly held her close for a moment, then tucked the cards back in his pocket as the Peacekeepers knocked on the door. "I'll see you soon," he promised, hugging his mother, then Hopper, and then Tilly one more time. "You take care of each other 'til I get back, you hear?"

Tilly nodded. So did his mother. Hopper finally looked up at him and managed a shaky nod. "I hope you're right," he managed before the three of them left.

Olly leaned back in his seat. He didn't hope he was right. He was certain of it. Just as certain as when he started a game with a perfectly-stacked deck. The Games weren't any different. All he had to do was figure out how to stack the cards in his favor, and he would be coming home with a bigger jackpot than he could have imagined.

This was going to be a good game.

"You're confident, arrogant, but you're never certain unless there's a reason to be certain."