The Reaping passes as expected. Paul, as most recent Victor, is mentor to the district's children. Pete's name is pulled from the glass bowl, and he barely blinks, hands shaking but gaze steady.
The time comes for the choosing of the second tribute and Zoey makes a show of rummaging around in the girls' selection, her violet butterfly nails flitting between the two slips of paper indecisively.
Alice stands, wiping her eyes, on the stage behind. Pete has been Reaped, is all she can think, and she can barely feel it when an arm wraps around her shoulders.
"Shhh..." Stephanie Lauter shushes the younger girl, curls her free hand into a fist. This whole thing is bullshit; this little girl next to her crying on a stage, her father sat somewhere in their manor house doing Mayor-things instead of being here, Pete sniffling defiantly at the cameras and the Capitol watching them all as Zoey flicks her hair over her shoulder and reads:
"Stephanie Lauter."
Alice lets out a sob as Steph gives her arm a final squeeze and moves away, wobbling across the stage to Peter's side. Its like this whole thing is happening to somebody else, or in a different time - like its all happened already and somehow also hasn't happened yet at all. She's seen it every year of her life, been told by her father that there is some kind of honour in it all, but she has never quite understood any of it - if understanding will make her at all like her father, cold and cruel, then she has never really wanted to.
She studies the boy at standing next to her with vague interest. His eyes are flicking over the other kids in the audience like he is looking for someone. His parents, maybe? Or... a memory tugs at her, dancing just out of reach in the fog of fear that has drifted over her.
"Hey, I see you around all the time, don't I?" She whispers to her fellow tribute distantly whilst the onlookers clap.
"Me?" The boy's jaw drops.
"Yeah." She stares at him, ringing her hands, eyebrows raised but incapable of any further incredulous comment.
"W-we're in the same math class." He stammers.
"I'm Steph."
"Stephanie Lauter; the Mayor's daughter, I know. I'm Pete."
Steph nods at Zoey, still clutching both slips of paper. "I know." She smiles thinly.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your tributes for the 75th Hunger Games!" Zoey rings out.
Steph grabs Pete's hand tightly then - he starts in surprise but returns the grip after only a moment.
Steph catches sight of a tiny girl with metal headgear in the audience, being held by a taller boy with scruffy dark hair. She vaguely recognises them, even more so when she hears what they're shouting over the crowd.
"We love you Pete!" Ruth is calling, over and over, like she'll never see him again.
"Fight, Peter." Ritchie seems to be mouthing too. They clutch at each other like they are all they have. Maybe they are now.
Something burns in Stephanie. With the hand not holding Pete steady, she raises her middle finger high above her head. Then, when she is sure they have all seen, she sweeps down into a low bow, releasing Peter so as not to pull him down with her.
The clapping continues, and Steph and Pete are manhandled off the stage, leaving Alice there alone.
...
Paul has had a long day. He could barely speak to Pete after the Reaping, jaw locked and teeth clenched to keep from doing something silly like crying. He was able to talk to Stephanie Lauter though - her father is a real genuine dickhead, and now he doesn't hold much love for the man's daughter either following her little stunt.
"You have to play their game." He had hissed at her as she pouted. "You start pissing them off, just for the fun of it? They will end you, and Pete."
She looked away, wincing slightly. "It isn't fair, none of this is fair."
"No, its not." He had softened then, but still couldn't look either of them in the eye. "I'm sorry, but it just isn't. There's nothing I can do about that."
Steph had crumpled then, and they had let bygones be bygones - started talking tactics and appearances.
Now he sits in his hallway, barely having made it through the front door before sinking to the floor. He hates this day more than any other. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, and he finds he can usually only get out of bed when Bill comes to get him.
Bill hadn't managed that this year, too terrified of Alice being reaped to leave her side.
Now, he brings his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them. It feels too heavy for his neck, with all the thoughts swirling around in there.
He can't do this. His friends are all he has, and when Pete dies he won't even have that. If, he reminds himself. There is always a chance. The straw that breaks the camels back will be the death of his friend's child, and their makeshift family, cobbled together from nightmares and blood, will never be the same.
There is a knock at the door, and Paul's head flies up so fast he hits the back of it on the wall.
"Paul!" A man's voice calls, hoarse.
Paul pushes himself to his feet, reaching for a weapon as he does. He finds a log, firewood, by the door, and hefts it in one hand as he swings the door open.
Ted stands on his front step, drenched from the rain. His eyes are bloodshot and he smells like booze. "Paul." He says again, ragged.
"Oh Ted, I'm so sorry." Paul steps awkwardly aside and guides his friend into the house.
"Oh god... this isn't right. Petey, he's so sensitive, Paul." Ted mutters as Paul sits him down on the couch and fills the kettle with water. "He's a good kid, but he gets beat up all the time at school - he's not a fighter."
"Neither were you before your Games." Paul points out, but it seems the wrong thing to say.
"But I was a jerk! I am a jerk! Pete... he doesn't deserve this." He runs a hand through his damp hair.
"Nobody deserves this, Ted." Paul sinks down onto the couch beside the older man. "Would it have been any better if it was Alice, or Richie?" Ted doesn't look up. Paul sighs. "Look, you know I'll do everything I can for Pete."
"It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it?"
"He'll die, Paul." Ted grabs him by the shoulders suddenly, swaying slightly. "Please."
Paul pulls back. "Get a grip, Ted." He frowns.
"You have to save Pete." Ted ploughs on without taking any notice. "Promise me you'll save him." His voice has lowered to a vulnerability Paul has never seen in him, even during the Games.
The kettle starts to whistle. Paul moves to stand but Ted grabs his wrist.
"I'm sorry." Paul says again, and pulls away.
...
For the rest of the night, and the following morning when he takes Ted back to his own house and deposits him there with a cup of coffee and two slices of toast, Paul thinks about an ad he shot a year or so ago in the Capitol, and after that a Victory Tour party he attended just a few weeks ago. A girl in a sparkly dress, and: 'I want to tell you how I feel about the Games, and what I do about it.'
He sends Jane Perkins a message that evening, asking to meet with her manager about filming more promos. He prays to a God he doesn't believe in that Dr Perkins' manager is her sister.
