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Chapter Text

Tim felt footsteps outside his door and knew it was time to open his eyes. The bed was cold and the room empty, Damian had woken up earlier. 

Tim wondered if these were nightmares, or the anticipation of his first reaping was keeping him from falling asleep, the truth being Tim had heard him tossing and turning in his bed all night, and it hadn't been until the wee hours of the morning that he had been quiet and Tim had finally been able to sleep. 

He propped himself up on one elbow and sat up a little, sitting on Damian's bed is the most annoying cat in the world. Damian named him Alfred because he reminded him of the old butler who was like his grandfather, but Tim could only consider him an annoying cat who scratched him every time he came near him, so he wasn't going to compare that demon with Alfred.

He got out of bed and put on his old leather shoes, they had been Dick's for a while, but they had outgrown them and Tim had inherited them. Even though his family didn't have to think about how to survive every day and could afford certain luxuries, it was hard to find decent shoes. Bruce had had to order them exclusively from the Capitol, so Tim would keep wearing them until they broke or until it was Damian's turn to inherit them. 

In the hallway he meets Cassandra, she was already dressed up and wearing a nice sky blue dress. Cass would normally dress in darker colored clothing, but wearing them during the reaping could be construed as an act of provocation and she could be punished for it, it didn't matter if Cass was one of the people who had to be on stage because she was one of the winners of the games. 

Well, almost everyone in his family was. 

Bruce had started the tradition by being chosen at age thirteen, had won his games without killing anyone and had become the youngest tribute to win. Ten years later he had adopted Dick and only a few years after that Dick became a tribute at his third games. Thanks to all the training he had received from Bruce for so many years, Dick had won the games and like Bruce had not had to kill anyone. When Dick turned eighteen, Bruce had found a little orphan boy who lived in the Hob, the black market in the 12th district, and couldn't help but take him home. Jason had only lived with them for a year when he was called to the games. Jason had won his games when he was 15, but unlike Bruce and Dick he had been forced to kill, his last fight had left him on the verge of death. 

A few years later, when Tim's parents had died, he was adopted by Bruce, an old family friend. Tim had become a member of the Wayne family at the age of 13, a year later, Bruce adopted Cassandra, just a few months before the reaping, when the day came she was chosen as a tribute. 

Tim had hated himself for how relieved he had been not to be the chosen one, by that point he had realized that the Capitol had something against his family and liked to force them to participate in that slaughter. 

Cassandra survived the games and only killed one person, but that had left her practically catatonic for a while. It had taken her months to regain her speech, and even now she was more comfortable speaking in sign language. 

In the kitchen he met up with the rest of his siblings, and just like Cassandra, they were all ready. So Tim quickly ate breakfast and went to the bathroom, where Alfred had already prepared a tub of hot water for him. He took a quick bath, because he had bathed the day before anyway, and dressed in the clothes Alfred had prepared for him. They were new clothes, clean and expensive, they must have cost at least a year's wages for one of the miners in the Seam, one of the sectors of his district. 

Tim was the son of merchants who served the district's officials and peace officers, so he had never gone hungry, going to live with Bruce hadn't changed his lifestyle at all, but that didn't make him oblivious to the needs of the rest of the district's inhabitants. His best example was Jason, who hadn't known what it was like to go to bed with a full stomach until Bruce had adopted him. 

That led him to wonder how many tesserae he would have that year to his name, after all it was his second to last year. You become eligible for the harvest when you turn twelve; that year, your name goes into the lottery once. At thirteen, twice; and so on until you reach eighteen, the last year of eligibility, and your name enters the box seven times. The system includes all citizens of Panem's twelve districts.

However, there is a catch. Let's say you are poor and you are starving. You have the possibility of adding your name more times in exchange for tesserae; each tesserae is worth a meager annual supply of cereal and oil for one person. You can also make that exchange for each member of your family. 

Tim went back down to the kitchen. Alfred was taking care of getting the dinner preparations ready, because after the reaping everyone is supposed to celebrate, and many people do, relieved to know that their children have been spared for another year. However, at least two families will close shutters and doors, and try to figure out how to survive the painful weeks ahead.

He sees Dick talking to Damian in the living room, and Jason and Cassandra are trying to steal some of the cupcakes Alfred had prepared for later, but they don't get to grab one before Alfred's hawk-eye spots them and whacks their hands with his wooden spoon. 

The kitchen door opens, and Bruce and Jean-Paul Valley walk in. Bruce greets his kids and goes to drop off his briefcase to his office, while Jean sits next to Tim and tries to strike up a conversation with Cassandra, although his sign language isn't the best and Cass doesn't make things easy for him. 

Jean-Paul had been Bruce's ward for a year, during which time his father had fallen ill and Bruce as the only healer in the district had been tending to him. Jean's father had not survived, and Bruce could not leave the poor boy alone, but Dicl had not made things easy for him and that had caused Bruce to never dare ask Jean if he wanted to be part of his family. A few months later Jean had been selected as a tribute, and when he had won, following Bruce's example without killing anyone, he had been given a house in the victors' village and Jean had not hesitated to move in. Even so he had never completely distanced himself from the family, he used to visit them recurrently and Bruce almost considered him as another son. 

Tim liked him, and even though he couldn't see him as an older brother, he could consider him a good friend, despite the years between them. 

At one o'clock Tim says goodbye to his family and reluctantly grabs Damian's hand to take him to the square. His family is allowed to arrive a little later, but he and Damian have to be there on time. 

Like every year the square is packed, after all attendance is mandatory unless you are at death's door. Tonight the officials will be going round the houses to check. If anyone has lied, they will put them in jail.

Tim thinks it's a real shame that the reaping ceremony is being held in the square, one of the few nice places in District 12. The square is surrounded by stores and, on market days, especially if the weather is nice, it feels like a party. Today, however, despite the colorful banners hanging from the buildings, there is an atmosphere of sadness. The television cameras, perched like buzzards on the rooftops, only serve to accentuate the feeling.

People enter quietly and file in; the reaping is also the perfect opportunity for the Capitol to keep track of the population. They lead the boys between the ages of twelve and eighteen into the roped-off areas divided by age, with the older ones in front and the young ones, like Damian, in the back. Family members line up around the perimeter, all holding hands tightly. There are others, too, those who have no one to lose or no longer care, who slip into the crowd to bet on who the two chosen ones will be. They bet on how old they will be, whether they will be from the Hob or Merchants, or whether they will collapse and burst into tears. Most refuse to deal with bettors, except very cautiously; those same people are often informants. 

Tim leaves Damian with the twelve-year-olds and heads up to his group's sector. On the way he runs into his friend Stephanie, his sister Cass's best friend and one of the few people outside his family that Tim trusts. The two give each other a tense nod. Stephanie is a year older than Tim, but she's also a Hob girl, so her name will be entered 14 times in the drawing that year. 

Tim turns his attention to the temporary stage they have built in front of the Justice Building. There are seven chairs, a podium and two large round glass urns, one for the boys and one for the girls. Two of the seven chairs are occupied by Mayor Theodore Galavan and Effie Trinket, the District 12 escort, fresh from the Capitol, with her terrifying white smile, pinkish hair and spring green suit. The two mutter to each other and look worriedly at the empty seats. 

Tim knows his family needs some time before each game, they will be a little late, but they will make it. 

Just as the clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same story as every year, telling of the creation of Panem, the country that rose from the ashes of a place once called North America. He lists the list of disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the seas that rose and swallowed up much of the land, and the brutal war to take what few resources were left. The result was Panem, a gleaming Capitol surrounded by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the rebellion of the districts against the Capitol. They defeated twelve of them and destroyed the thirteenth. The Treaty of Treason gave us new laws to ensure peace and, as an annual reminder that the Dark Days must never happen again, it also gave us the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple: in punishment for rebellion, each of the twelve districts must give up one boy and one girl, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes are locked in a huge outdoor arena that can be anything from a scorching desert to a frozen wasteland. Once inside, the competitors have to fight to the death over a period of several weeks; whoever is left alive wins.

Tim grimaces at the thought that this is the way the Capitol has them at their mercy. The lives of two children every year so that the rest can live. 

To make it humiliating as well as torture, the Capitol demands that the Hunger Games be treated as a holiday, a sporting event in which the districts compete against each other. The last tribute alive is rewarded with an easy life, and their district receives prizes, mostly food. The Capitol gives cereal and oil to the winning district throughout the year, and even some delicacies like sugar, while the rest of us struggle not to starve.

Thanks to that very thing, his family could live a quiet life. Each of his brothers had a house in the victors' village and had a monthly stipend enough to support ten families, but they still chose to live in the house that Bruce had won in his first games and live on the proceeds from the apothecary shop that had been owned by Bruce's family. He was now the provider and served as the district's healer. 

"It is time to repent, and also to give thanks" recites the mayor.

He then reads the list of the inhabitants of District 12 who have won in previous editions. In seventy-four years we have had exactly seven, and just then his family makes their grand entrance. Bruce and Dick smile, trying to calm things down, while Jean-Paul and Cass take it upon themselves to help Jason to his seat. You can tell from his face that he had a panic attack before he came, which is not something abnormal in his family, they were everyday situations, and at game time it was much worse. The crowd responds with their protocol applause, Bruce took the opportunity to give Effie a hug, who responds without hesitation. In the Capitol Bruce and the rest of his family were considered big celebrities, every year reporters were sent to interview them and record how is the life of the most famous family in Panem. 

Effie, as cheerful and vivacious as ever, trots up to the podium and greets with her usual greets with her usual greeting:

"Happy Hunger Games! And may luck be always, always on your side!"

The time has come for the drawing of lots. Effie Trinket says her usual, "Ladies first!" and walks over to the glass urn with the girls' names. She reaches all the way in and pulls out a piece of paper. Tim's heart stops for a second, the person chosen is one of his classmates. Tim had rarely spoken to Darla, but still the familiarity was there enough to make it hurt that she was chosen. 

Darla walks up to the stage and stands to the side of Effie, then it's the boys' turn. The crowd holds its breath, you could hear a pin drop, and Tim begins to feel nauseous and desperately wish it wasn't him, not him, not him.

Effie Trinket returns to the podium, smoothes out the piece of paper and reads the name in a clear voice; and it's not him.

It is Damian Wayne.

Chapter Text

Tim remembered clearly the day his parents died. He had just returned home from school when he noticed his front door was unlocked, which was odd because his parents were workaholics who spent all day in their store. Tim opened the door and waiting for him in the kitchen was Bruce, his parents' friend. 

He could barely remember what Bruce had told him, but he did remember how crystal clear the heavy feeling in his chest was, how his lungs didn't seem to get enough air no matter how hard he tried to breathe. He had passed out and when he woke up it was night and Bruce was still by his side. 

That's how he felt now, as if his lungs couldn't get enough air. Tim just couldn't breathe. 

Tim watches through the huge screens on one side of the stage as the cameras point at Damian, who looks frozen and doesn't know how to walk or move. 

It couldn't be true, it just couldn't be true. It was not possible. Damian's name would only appear once. Tim doesn't know what to do, he wants to see Bruce, his family, but he's afraid he can't stand the look on his father's face. 

Damian was the youngest of them all, but he had been one of the first to come into the family. After a passionate summer love affair on the Capitol, Damian's mother had left the newborn in a cradle with a note and sent him off in one of the wagons that brought supplies to the district. Bruce had made sure to take care of Damian as best he could, so Damian, surrounded by older siblings, had grown up as a very spoiled child. His personality was somewhat sullen, but everyone loved him. 

Losing him was going to be a blow that his family could never recover from. 

Somewhere in the distance, he hears the crowd murmur sadly, as they do whenever a twelve-year-old boy is elected; no one thinks it's fair. Damian walks past him and gives him a quick glance, his face so pale it looks like he might faint at any moment. It's that look that brings him back to reality. 

"Damian!" he can't help but shout, pushing people out of his way to try to get to his younger brother. 

After a few pushes the guys around him immediately make way for him and create an aisle straight to the stage. In the crowd Tim can see Stephanie who looks at him with pity. Tim doesn't want her pity, he just wants a way to reach his younger brother and protect him from the horrible world they live in. 

Tim gets to him just in time, before Damian steps on the first step to the stage. With a strong tug, perhaps stronger than he should, he pushes Damian out of the way and away from his fate. 

"I'm a volunteer!" he shouted in a choked voice. "I volunteered as a tribute!" 

There's a bit of a commotion on stage. District 12 hasn't sent volunteers in decades, and the protocol is a little rusty. The rule is that when a tribute's name is pulled from the ball, another boy of eligible age, if it's a boy, or another girl, if it's a girl, can volunteer to take their place. In some districts where winning the reaping is considered a great honor and people are willing to risk their lives, volunteering is complicated. However, in District 12, where the word tribute and the word corpse are practically synonymous, volunteers have all but disappeared.

"Splendid!" exclaimed Effie Trinket. "But I think there remains the small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and, if one shows up, then..." she lets the sentence hang in the air, unsure.

"What difference does it make?" interjects the mayor. "What difference does it make?" he repeats, curtly. "Let him come up."

By that point Bruce has risen from his seat and is waiting for him as he finishes the four steps to the stage. 

Tim turns and crouches down to Damian's level. 

"Get Alfred," he asks him. Damian has tears in his eyes and is making every effort not to cry. Tim feels the same way, he knows that if he cries now he won't be able to stop. "Look for Alfred and don't separate from him, if you don't find him then look for Stephanie and ask her to stay with you until it's all over."

"No! You can't leave me alone" sobs Damian clutching Tim's shirt. 

"Get Alfred" he repeats his voice hard. 

"No! You can't go!"

Someone tugs Damian and pulls him away from Tim, he looks up and finds Jean, low from the stage to pull Damian away and not let the cameras keep recording them. Tim gives him a grateful look and Jean takes Damian to Alfred. 

Tim gets up the courage and goes on stage. Bruce waits for him and puts a hand on his shoulder, Tim doesn't dare see his face. 

"Well, bravo!" exclaims Effie Trinket, full of enthusiasm. "This is the spirit of the Games!" She's delighted to finally see some action in her district. "If it isn't little Tim Wayne. You didn't want your brother to rob you of a chance at glory, did you? Let's give a big round of applause to our latest tribute!" croons Effie Trinket.

The people of District 12 can always be proud of their reaction: no one applauds, not even those who carry the betting slips, who don't give a damn anymore. 
Everyone knew the Wayne family and for all they had been through, many had sought Bruce out when someone in their family was sick. Many of them are his classmates, who although Tim could not consider them his friends if his acquaintances, people with whom he had shared a greeting or knew him by sight.  Many had known his parents, had done business with them or in some cases had begged for food. His mother had never turned away anyone in need, even if they didn't have much she had always shared what she had. 

So, instead of an applause of recognition, Tim stays where he is, without moving, while they express their disagreement in the bravest way they know how: silence. A silence that means we don't agree, that we don't approve, that this is all wrong.

Then something unexpected happens; at least, Tim doesn't expect it, because he doesn't think District 12 is a place that cares about him. However, something has changed since he stepped on stage to take Damian's place, and now he seems to have become someone loved. First one person, then another, and in the end, almost everyone in the crowd holds the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and then points to him with them. It is an ancient (and rarely used) gesture from the district that is sometimes seen at funerals; it is a gesture of giving thanks, of admiration, of farewell to a loved one.

Tim bites his lip to keep from sobbing. 

"What an exciting day!" exclaims Effie,

Then the mayor begins to read the long Treatise on Treason, as he does every year at this time (it's mandatory), but Tim doesn't hear a word, there's static in his brain. 

He gives a glance to Darla next to him who is crying openly, Tim feels sorry for her, when they give the replay of the reaping at night, the rest of the participants will see her crying and point her out as someone weak. For that reason Tim just crosses his arms and stands up straight, Bruce's hand is still firmly on his shoulder, Tim doesn't want to turn around and look at his family. 

The night before, Tim had only thought about the dinner they would have during the night, Alfred took great care so that no one would have to think about the reaping. Tonight his family would have to eat without him, and his father would have to accompany him as his mentor to the Capitol, where he would have to lead him to his death.  

Tim wanted to throw up. 

The mayor finishes reading the grim Treatise on Treason, and directs Darla and Tim to shake hands. Darla's is soft and warm, a little smaller than Tim's. Darla looks him in the eye and squeezes his hand, as if trying to encourage him. 

They both turn to look out at the crowd as the Panem anthem plays. 

Chapter Text

As soon as the hymn ends, they are taken into custody. A group of peace officers escort them to the front door of the Justice Building. Tim remembers the story Bruce once told him, how a tribute had tried to escape, and since then the tributes were put under security to prevent it. Tim was itching to escape too, to run away from everyone, he wanted to be able to run to the forest surrounding the district and get lost in the trees, live off the plants if necessary. Anything was better than going to the games. 

Once inside, they lead him into a room and leave him alone. Although his house is well maintained, always clean and shiny, smelling of home-cooked food and the flowers Alfred likes to take care of, this is the most luxurious place Tim had ever been in his life. They had thick shag carpeting and velvet couches that looked like the ones in his living room at home, only newer. 

The fabric of the couch feels almost like being home, having come in after school and sitting down to wait for dinner. So Tim can't help but stroke the fabric over and over again, it helps him calm down and remember how to breathe. 

He has exactly one hour, that's how much time the tributes are given to say goodbye to their loved ones. Tim refuses to go out crying, none of his brothers cried the day they were chosen as tributes, he won't either. He remembers Cass' calm face, she knew she was going to survive and return home, it had reassured them. Tim is not sure he will go home, but he is sure he won't create a crying fuss, he will be calm and say goodbye to his siblings like this. 

His siblings all enter at once. Dick doesn't hesitate for a second before wrapping his arms around Tim and pulling him into a hug, they are soon joined by Jason, Cassandra and Damian's thin little arms. 

The moment only lasts a few minutes, because they don't have much time. Dick's eyes are red as he looks Tim in the face. 

"You've been on camera before, the Capitol people already know you and love you, you'll do well. You'll have sponsors, that you don't have to worry about."

"And if not we'll spend all our money baby bird, you won't be alone" Jason assures him. 

Tim gives his older brother a quick glance. Jason opens and clenches his fists and breathes fast through his mouth, as if trying to calm himself down. Tim has seen him like this a couple of times, just before an argument broke out between him and Bruce. 

Damian climbs into his lap and hugs him around the neck. Tim doesn't hesitate to pull him to himself and bury his nose in his hair. He smells like chamomile, like the scents Alfred always adds to the water every time they take a bath. Tim is going to miss that smell. 

"Listen," he says to Dick. "You can't let Bruce adopt anyone else, if he brings in another kid it'll be the same story and you' ll go through the same thing again, you can't let it happen again."

"What do you mean?" 

"He means," Jason says. "To this family being cursed and scarred, the Capitol likes to see us compete and it will continue until we are all dead."

"You can't let it happen again" Tim repeats. 

Dick nods. 

"It's going to be okay, Tim," Cassandra says. "You'll come home."

Tim nods, but he knows the truth. 

Of all his siblings he is the thinnest, the one with the least muscle, the weakest, and the slowest. He was always the first one they caught when they played. His siblings had been champions, but because each had a unique talent, Dick was agile, Jason strong and Cassandra tough, she was the only one who could beat her father in a fight. 

And Tim knows that the competition is far beyond their abilities. There are kids from wealthier districts, where winning is a great honor, who have been training their whole lives for this. Guys who are two or three times bigger than Tim; girls who know twenty different ways to kill you with a knife. Tim will be killed before the real competition starts. 

"I'll be fine," Tim tells them, "Don't let Damian's cat get on my bed." 

Damian gives him a little swat but doesn't move from where he is. Minutes later the peace officer shows up to tell them their time is up, they all hug so tight it hurts. 

"Thank you for everything" Tim manages to say, knowing that those will probably be the last words to his family. 

"We love you baby bird" Jason tells him. 

"Come home" Cassandra tells him. 

"You're stronger than you think" Dick reminds him. 

"Thank you" Damian whispers before leaving. 

Tim wants to say that he doesn't have to thank, that family is there to make sacrifices for each other. 

The agent closes the door and Tim hides his head in one of the velvet cushions, as if that can protect him from everything that's going on.

Next to come in is Alfred, he hands him a small package and when he opens it it is his famous chocolate chip cookies, a luxury they can only afford during the Reaping. Tim sniffs them and feels his eyes fill with tears, they smell like home. 

"Thank you," he replies. 

Alfred sits down next to him on the couch and the two hug, words are not needed, Alfred's actions always spoke as well for him as his voice could. Alfred promises him that he will prepare his favorite meal when he returns, and that he will let him repeat himself as many times as he wants. Tim just nods, being able to imagine the moment.  

"Don't let Bruce be sad" that last thing Tim tells him before a peace officer comes and takes him away. 

The next visit doesn't surprise him at all, Tim knew his friend would do anything to get to him. Stephanie runs into his arms and the two melt into a deep hug. Tim isn't a big fan of hugs, so today he's far exceeded his daily quota, but they're all necessary. 

"They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena, something to remind you of home. Would you like to wear this?" she says to him in an urgent voice and offers him a gold circular pin with a bird symbol on it. It looked expensive enough to feed a small family for a while, Tim wonders where she got it from and how she didn't sell it the months her family went hungry so she wouldn't have had to ask for tesserae. 

Well, he hadn't asked for those either and yet it was there. 

"Here, I'll put it on your shirt, okay?" she doesn't wait for his answer, bends down and puts it on. "Tim, promise me you'll wear it to the arena, okay?" 

Tim nods. 

"I promise."

Stephanie gives him a kiss on the cheek and then leaves. 

Finally Bruce appears, as soon as he opens his arms Tim throws himself into them. Everything in him screams home, so Tim sinks his face into his chest and allows himself to sob.  

"Tim, I'm never going to be able to pay you back for what you're doing." 

"It's my family," Tim murmurs. 

"I know, but still. You're being so brave."

Tim just nods, but he really just wants Bruce to keep quiet so they can continue to hold each other like this. Once they get to the Capitol there will be cameras everywhere and they won't be able to have a father and son moment again. 

"Listen to me Tim," Bruce tells him without letting go. "When I'm there you have to get a knife, that will make it easier for you to get the rest. But you have to get hold of a spear, it's similar to a staff Bo, you'll be able to handle it."

Tim frowns. Bruce will have time to explain all that to him more in detail, he doesn't understand why he tries to do it all in a few minutes. 

"You can say it again when we're in the Capitol" Tim replies. 

"No, you don't understand. Tim -I" 

Bruce tries to tell him something else, but just then the peace officers come back too soon and even though Bruce asks them for more time, they try to take him anyway.  

Bruce looks at him with an alarmed face and tries to reach him, but it is impossible for him to fight off two peace officers. The door closes and separates them. Tim sits back down on the couch and tries to control his breathing. He will see him again, and they can finish their talk. 

But then he thinks of the person he didn't get to say goodbye to, the one he needed to talk to before he left. 

He needed to talk to Jean-Paul. 

Tim knew he was going to die, and one he did his family was going to need a shoulder to lean on. His brothers were going to have each other, maybe it was going to take some time, but they were going to make it. Bruce would have no one. Of course they would all try to be there, but Bruce wouldn't accept them, he couldn't live with the idea that he was relieved it was Tim instead of Damian. Tim had seen it in his eyes, Bruce was relieved, and honestly Tim couldn't blame him. Damian was his blood son, and Tim just a child he had adopted out of the memory of an old friendship. So once he died, Bruce was going to hate himself for feeling relief at the thought that Damian was still alive. 

And that's when Jean-Paul would come in. Bruce was going to need a replacement, someone to fill his shoes, to give him advice and play chess every night, someone who would refill his glass of liquor and be there to listen to him. Jean had had all the potential before, and still had it. He would be a good replacement, with his help Bruce could move on. But Tim had to encourage Jean, he had to let him know that he wouldn't be angry if he took his place, on the contrary, he would be grateful that someone could fill the void he left. 

The peace officers arrive for him, and Tim knows it's time to stop thinking. 

The train station is near the Justice Building, Tim had accompanied one of his brothers or Bruce every year to the train that would take them to the Capitol. Every year it was the same, so he knew the station would be overflowing with reporters and their cameras.
 
Tim did well to hold back his crying, he's not going to give a first impression of being someone weak who gets carried away with his feelings. Although he didn't know if it could be considered a first impression being that it wasn't the first time he had appeared on camera, even though he had always been considered Bruce's least interesting son. He had always been the one who was the least interviewed or appeared on television. 

On the other hand, Darla Aquista seems to have cried, but she doesn't try to hide it. Tim instantly wonders if it will be her strategy at the games: look weak and scared so the others would think she's no competition and then spring a surprise by fighting back. A girl from District 7, Cassandra Sandsmark, had worked very well for him a few years ago. She seemed like a sniveling, cowardly idiot that no one cared about until there were only a handful of contestants left. In the end she turned out to be a ruthless killer; a very clever strategy, but strange for Darla, because she is the daughter of the Hob seller. Anyone who saw her could tell that she had been taught from a young age how to get what she wanted. You could tell she was a strong person. 

They have to stand for a few minutes at the door of the train, while the cameras gobble up their images; then they are let into the carriage and the doors close mercifully behind them. The train starts moving immediately.

At first, the speed takes your breath away. Obviously, Tim had never been on a train before, as it is forbidden to travel from one district to another, except for state-approved assignments. That's why they are on one of the Capitol's high-speed models, which averages four hundred miles per hour. Their trip would take them less than a day.

The tribute train is even more elegant than the Justice Building room. Each has their own living quarters, consisting of a bedroom, a dressing room, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. There are drawers full of nice clothes, and Effie Trinket tells him to do what he wants, wear what he wants, that everything is at his disposal. His only obligation is to be ready for dinner in an hour. Tim quickly takes off his reaping clothes and discards them in a corner of the room, for the moment Tim doesn't want to hear from it. He takes a quick shower and puts on a red shirt and black pants. At the last second he remembers Stephanie's little gold pin and takes a good look at it for the first time: it's as if someone had created a little golden bird and then surrounded it with a ring. The bird is only attached to the ring by the tips of the wings. Suddenly, he recognizes it: it's a mockingjay.

They are curious birds, as well as a kind of slap in the face for the Capitol. During the rebellion, the Capitol created a number of genetically modified animals and used them as weapons; the common term for them was mutants, or mutts for short. One of them was a special bird called a jabberjay that had the ability to memorize and repeat entire human conversations. They were messenger birds, all of them male, that were released in the regions where the Capitol's enemies were hiding. The birds would pick up the words and return to their bases to be recorded. It took a while for the districts to figure out what was going on, how they were transmitting their private conversations, but, when they did, naturally, the rebels used it to tell the Capitol thousands of lies, so the trick backfired. For that reason they closed the bases and left the birds to die in the woods.  

Instead, they mated with female mockingbirds and created a new species that could replicate both bird whistles and human melodies. Despite losing the ability to articulate words, they could still mimic a wide range of human vocal sounds, from the high-pitched warble of a child to the low tones of a man. In addition, they could recreate songs; not just a few notes, but entire multi-verse songs, as long as you had the patience to sing them to them and as long as they liked your voice.

Tim's mother had a special fondness for the mockingjay. Their house was close enough to the edge of the fence that the occasional mockingjay would wander up to the tree in their backyard and his mother liked to sing pretty melodies for them to replicate. They would always listen and repeat it, because their mother's voice was so beautiful and soft. After his parents died Tim was never able to sing again, nor did he ever see a mockingjay again. So the pin has something that comforts him, something that connects him to his old life. 

Effie Trinket comes to pick him up for dinner, and Tim follows her down a narrow, hectic hallway until they reach a dining room with polished wooden walls. There is a table on which all the dishes are very fragile, and Darla is sitting waiting for them, with an empty chair beside her.

"Where's Jean-Paul?" asks Effie, in a cheerful tone.

"Excuse me?" asks Tim at once. "You don't mean Bruce, he's this year's mentor."

"There was a change of plans at the last minute" Effie answers him with a smile on her face. "Bruce asked Jean-Paul to take his place."

Tim can't hear more than the blood pounding in his ears, he doesn't know how he gets to the table or how he sits next to Darla. 

Bruce was supposed to guide him, they were going to spend their last moments together. Bruce was going to be there for him, he was going to support him and get him the help he needed so that his last moments of life wouldn't be the worst. 

But Bruce abandoned him.

Bruce left him to his fate and went back to the rest of the family. 

Tim should have seen it coming, always Bruce was always going to prefer his family...but Tim was supposed to be too.  

He can't think, he doesn't want to, so he lets his body go into automatic mode and lets dinner run its course. It's a thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, and a chocolate cake. Effie Trinket spends the entire meal reminding them to leave space, because there's more stuff left, but Tim barely eats. 

"At least you have good manners," Effie says, as they finish the second course. "Last year's couple ate everything with their hands, like a couple of savages. They managed to turn my guts."

Tim barely registers the comment, but he does remember last year's couple because they were two of Stephanie's friends. They were two kids from the Seam who had never in their lives had enough to eat. Tim on the other hand was the son of two merchants, and he knew that Darla's mom had grown up in the merchant district before she decided to give it all up for a Seam man, gossip like that ran rampant in the district.  

As soon as dinner is over, they go to another compartment to see the summary of the reapings of all of Panem. They try to hold them throughout the day, so that someone can see them all live, although only people from the Capitol could do it, since they are the only ones who don't have to go to the reapings. 

They watch the other ceremonies one by one, the names, those who volunteer and those who don't, who are more plentiful. They examine the faces of the kids they'll be competing against, and Tim manages to remember a few for later: a monster boy rushing to volunteer in District 2; a girl with bright red hair and a sly face in District 5; and a lame boy in District 10.
Finally, District 12 appears: the moment of Damian's election and Tim rushing to volunteer. You can perfectly note the desperation in his voice as he grabs Damian, as if he's afraid they won't hear him and take him away. However, it is clear that they do hear him. Tim sees Jean-Paul getting off the stage by pulling him off of him and sees himself getting on stage. The commentators don't quite know what to say about the attitude of the audience, their refusal to applaud and the silent salute. One says that District 12 has always been a bit underdeveloped, but the local customs can be charming. 

Tim doesn't want to hear any more. He rises abruptly, wishes them both good night, and goes back to his compartment. He doubts he can sleep, but he doesn't want to stay there either. 

Bruce was supposed to be with him.  

Chapter Text

The trees rush past in front of his eyes, Tim isn't sure how long he's been looking out the train window, but it seems to be the only thing keeping him from pouring over the horrible thought of how his father abandoned him. 
Tim wishes he could know what the rest of his family was doing. Were they sleeping? Were they still watching the Reaping rerun over and over again? Were they even thinking about him? 

Had Bruce even given a few seconds thought to how he would feel before leaving him alone to his fate?

He shook his head and rolled over on the bed, no longer wanting to stare out the window. 

Just then there was a knock on the door, Tim kept quiet for a few seconds so they would think he was asleep, but the person behind insisted again. 

"Come in," he said. 

The door opened, and Jean's hunched figure was visible. 

Tim had always gotten the idea that Jean-Paul didn't feel confident with his body, as if it had grown too fast and he hadn't been able to adjust. He was as tall and strong as Bruce, but his posture was always hunched and his shoulders slouched. His eyes were always covered by a thick pair of glasses and his hair covered much of his face. For that very reason the Capitol didn't take him seriously, every year he mentored the tributes they never got sponsors, which in a nutshell translated to a quicker and bloodier death.  

So, by Bruce sending him as his replacements he was just making sure to drive the final nails in Tim's coffin. 

"Hi" Jean murmurs in that low, raspy tone that to Tim is by now so familiar. 

"Hey" he replies back. 

"Can we talk?" he asks approaching the bed. Jean hesitates for a few seconds before deciding to sit on the edge. Tim shrugs and that seems to be enough. "I know you must be confused by all this change...well, terrified." 

Tim shrugs again. Terror isn't something he feels or has felt, not since Damian's name was called. 

"Bru-Bruce thought his family would need him...I feel the same way." 

"So you offered to come," Tim says. 

"He asked me, I just accepted." 

"You could have said no." 

"I couldn't leave you alone." 

"I would have had Bruce, he would have had to come."

Jean shakes her head and moves a little closer to Tim. 

"He wasn't at his one hundred percent, he wasn't well. I...no one was Tim." 

"He's my father!" he explodes. "He's my father and he promised to be there for me when I needed him! I need him now!". By that point tears run freely down his cheeks. What he didn't want was happening. 

Jean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and then exhales slowly. He looks directly into Tim's blue eyes.

"No, you don't."

Tim swallows hard, unable to believe it. The words sound strange in his ears. Jean reaches out and puts his hand on Tim's shoulder. "Listen Timmy, I know how hard this can be. Right now you have to think that nothing makes sense, and why are you the one living through this, why did Bruce leave you alone, but listen, I lived through all that too. And guess what? I was able to survive. For as long as I've known you you've proven time and time again how strong you are. You're smart, cunning and amazing."

Tim feels his cheeks flush, because no one had ever said so many compliments to him in just a few minutes. His brothers used to remind him how clumsy he was, and although Cass constantly reminded him how much she loved him, her words were never accompanied by her thoughts about him, so Tim always thought she believed just like Dick and Jason, that Tim could be kind of annoying, embarrassing and boring. 

But here was Jean-Paul, who wasn't his family but made him feel like part of one. 

"I'm sorry I yelled," Tim mumbles in embarrassment after a few minutes.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

Tim leans over to Jean, who smiles sadly and pulls Tim into another hug.

"We'll get through this together. You'll come home Tim, I promise." 

Gray light was streaming in through the curtains when he is awakened by tapping. Tim hears Effie Trinket's voice calling him to get up.
At some point he had fallen asleep on the bed, but now he is covered by a thick comforter. Jean-Paul must have tucked him in before going to his room to rest.  

"Up, up, up, up! It's going to be a very, very, very important day!"

Tim changed his clothes for the first thing he could find, but made a point of changing the Mockingjay pin on his new T-shirt. He wanted a piece of his friend with him. 
Her hair was a mess, because Tim had let it grow long, so every day combing it was hell. But he really didn't care, after all they couldn't be too far from the Capitol and when they got to the city, his stylist would decide what he was going to look like at tonight's opening ceremonies. As long as they didn't think nudity was the latest fashion statement everything would be fine.  

As he enters the dining car, Effie Trinket approaches him with a cup of black coffee, she has an easy smile on her face, as she always does when Tim sees her. Jean-Paul and Darla are already seated eating breakfast. Jean-Paul smiles at the sight of him and motions for him to sit next to him. Tim doesn't hesitate to do so. Jean-Paul is the only familiar thing he had. 

He is served a huge tray of food: eggs, ham and mountains of fried potatoes. There's a fruit bowl set in ice, so the fruit stays fresh, and in front of him is a basket of muffins that would have fed a whole family for a week. There's also a fancy glass of orange juice, but Tim prefers coffee, so he fills a cup and takes a huge, satisfying sip. It's much better than what you can get in the district. 
Darla seems to be eyeing a cup with brown liquid in it, not seeming to dare grab it, as if she's wary of it. 

"It's hot chocolate," Tim tells her, grabbing a muffin. "It's very good."

Darla seems to love it because she doesn't eat anything until she's finished two full cups. Jean-Paul tells her not to rush to drink because she might burn her mouth, but Darla ignores him, ecstatic about the new taste. Tim felt the same way the first time he tasted hot chocolate. His parents used to sell it, but they never made it at home, there wasn't time, it wasn't until he moved in with the Waynes that he was able to enjoy it for the first time. 

Tim has never been good at breakfast, so he only eats a little before he's satisfied. Darla continues to eat, chopping up muffins to dip into the hot chocolate. Jean-Paul was trying to cool his coffee, but every time he blew his glasses fogged up and Tim couldn't help but smile in amusement. 

Although when he thought about it better he could understand a little why people on the Capitol didn't usually take Jean seriously. Compared to any of his siblings he could pass for a somewhat clumsy person, but he really wasn't like that when you got to know him well. Of course people in the Capitol didn't take the time to get to know him, so for them he would always be the tribute who won the games by a stroke of luck and by having Bruce Wayne as a mentor. 

That was another reason why every year that Jean-Paul was a mentor the tributes of '12 found it very difficult to get sponsors. 

His stomach knotted. 

Bruce knew that, and yet....

He shook his head. He wasn't going to think about that, not again. They were about to get to the Capitol and Tim had things to focus on. 

"Do you have any advice for us?" asks Darla. 

Jean-Paul startles, but sets his coffee cup aside and adjusts his glasses, though they're still fogged up. 

"We'll talk about that when we get to the Capitol," is all he replies. "Now, in a few minutes we'll arrive at the station and you'll be in the hands of the stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you, but, whatever it is, don't resist."

"But..." Darla starts to protest.

"No buts, don't resist," says Jean-Paul.

Suddenly the carriage goes dark; although there are still some lights inside, it is as if it is getting dark outside. Tim realizes that they must be in the tunnel through the mountains that leads to the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the city and the eastern districts. It was almost impossible to enter through there, except through the tunnels. That geographical advantage was a decisive factor in the defeat of the districts in the war that started The Hunger Games. Because the rebels had to climb the mountains, they were easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

The train finally begins to slow down and a bright light floods the compartment. Unable to help themselves, Darla and Tim rush to the window to see something they've only seen on television: the Capitol, the city that runs Panem. The cameras don't lie about its grandeur; if anything, they fail to capture the splendor of the gleaming buildings casting a rainbow of colors in the air, of the shiny cars racing down the wide paved streets, of the strangely dressed and coiffed people, with painted faces and looking like they've never missed a meal. All the colors seem artificial: the pinks are too intense, the greens too bright, and the yellows hurt the eyes. 

People start pointing at them excitedly as they recognize the tribute train coming into town. Tim turns away from the window, disgusted by their excitement, knowing they are eager to see them die. Darla stays in place, however, and even starts waving and smiling at the crowd, who stare at her open-mouthed. She only stops when the train pulls into the station and blocks their view.

She notices Tim looking at her and shrugs.

"Who knows? Maybe one of them will be rich."

Tim realizes that she is right, and that if he wants to have the slightest chance of survival he has to work hard to win the hearts of the people of the Capitol.

Chapter Text

Tim gritted his teeth as Venia, a woman with turquoise hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, tore a strip of cloth off his leg, taking the hair underneath with it.

People in the Capitol don't seem to like body hair, and unfortunately Tim had a lot of it, though nothing compared to his brothers or Bruce. He couldn't help but wonder if they had gone through the same thing. 

"This is the last one. Ready?"

Tim grips the edges of the table he's sitting at and nods. She painfully yanks the last patch of hair off his left leg.

Tim had been at the Renewal Center for over three hours and still hadn't met his stylist. Apparently, he wasn't interested in seeing him until Venia and the other members of his prep team had taken care of some obvious problems, which included scrubbing his body with a gritty foam that not only removed dirt, but also about three layers of skin, giving his nails uniformity, and, most importantly, getting rid of his body hair. Legs, arms, chest, armpits and part of his eyebrows have been left without a single hair, so Tim looks like a plucked bird, ready to roast. He doesn't like it, his skin was irritated, itchy and feels very vulnerable. 

But Jean-Paul asks them not to protest, and Tim listens. 

"You're doing great," says a man named Flavius. He shakes his orange ringlets and applies a coat of purple lipstick. If there's one thing we can't stand, it's crybabies - get him ready!"

Venia and Octavia, a plump woman whose whole body is dyed light pea green, massage him with a lotion that first stings and then soothes his skin. He is then lifted from the table and stripped of the thin robe he has been allowed to wear from time to time. Tim stands there, completely naked, while the three of them surround him and use the tweezers to remove every last trace of hair. He should be embarrassed, but they look so unhuman to him that it's as if he has a trio of strange colorful birds pecking at the ground around his feet.

The three of them step back and admire their work.

"Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" exclaims Flavius, and they all laugh.

"Thank you," Tim replies, forcing himself to smile to show them how grateful he is. "In District 12 we don't have much reason to get dressed up."

"Of course not, poor creature!" says Octavia, clasping her hands together in dismay.

"But don't worry," adds Venia. "When Cinna's done with you, you're going to look absolutely divine!"

"We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of so much hair you don't look so hideous! You're almost as cute as the rest of your family!" states Flavius, to cheer him up. "Let's call Cinna!"

They bolt out of the room. The members of the prep team are so goofy it's hard for him to hate them. Oddly, though, Tim knows they are sincere in their attempt to help him.

Tim looks at the walls and floor, all so cold and white, and resists the urge to retrieve the robe. He knows Cinna, his stylist, will have him take it off as soon as he arrives, so he brings his hands to his hair, the one area his team was under orders to respect. 

The door opens and in walks a young man who must be Cinna. He is surprised at how normal he looks; almost all the stylists they interview on TV are so dyed, painted and surgically altered as to be grotesque, but Cinna wears his hair short and, in appearance, his natural brown. He wears plain black shirt and pants, and the only concession to appearance modifications seems to be generously applied gold eyeliner. It brings out the golden flecks in his green eyes, and despite his disgust with the Capitol and its hideous fashions, Tim can't help but think it makes him very attractive.

"Hi, Tim. I'm Cinna, your stylist" he says quietly, though almost without the typical Capitol affectation.

"Hi," Tim replies, wary.

"Give me a moment, okay?" he asks him. He walks around him and looks at his naked body, not touching it, but taking note of every inch. "You have nice hair, very wild, an almost perfect balance to your profile.

Tim was expecting someone flamboyant, someone older trying desperately to look young, someone who saw him as a piece of meat to be prepared for a platter. He'd heard enough stories about his brothers' and Bruce's stylists, even once Cass's stylist had visited them to fix her up before she left on her victory tour. 

Cinna was nothing like that.

"You're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you before."

Most of the stylists look familiar, constants in the ever-changing group of tributes. Some have been at it Tim's whole life.

"Yeah, it's my first year at the games."

"So they gave you District 12" he commented, because newcomers usually stay with the least desirable district.

"I specifically asked for it" he replies, without further explanation." Why don't you put on your robe and we'll chat for a while?"

Tim puts on the robe and follows him into a living room in which there are two red couches with a low little table in the middle. Three walls are empty and the fourth is all glass, so you can see the city. By the light, it must be noon, although the sunny sky has been covered with clouds. Cinna invites him to sit on one of the couches and sits down across from Tim; then he pushes a button on the side of the table and the top opens to let out a second board with our food: chicken and orange segments cooked in a cream sauce on a bed of pearly white beans, tiny peas and onions, and flower-shaped rolls; for dessert there's a honey-colored pudding.

He looked up and saw Cinna's eyes locked on his.

"Well, Tim, let's talk about your outfit for the opening ceremony. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for the other tribute from your district, Darla, and we're thinking of dressing you two to match. As you know, it is customary for the costumes to reflect the spirit of each district."

At the opening ceremony they are supposed to wear something pertaining to their district's main industry. District 11, agriculture; District 4, fishing; District 3, factories. That means, coming from District 12, Tim and Darla have to wear some sort of mining attire. Since the wide miners' coveralls aren't particularly attractive, the tributes from the 12th usually end up with skimpy outfits and helmets with spotlights. One year they were brought out completely naked and covered in black dust, like coal dust. 

The costumes are always hideous and don't help curry favor with the audience, so Tim prepared for the worst.

"So, will it be a miner's costume?" he asked, hoping it wouldn't be indecent.

"Not quite. You see, Portia and I think the miner theme is hackneyed. No one will remember you if you wear that, and we both think it's our job to make the District 12 tributes unforgettable.

Clearly, it's my turn to go naked, he thought.

"So, instead of focusing on the mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal." Naked and covered in black dust, he thought again.

"And what do you do with the coal? You burn it," Cinna says. "You're not afraid of fire, are you, Tim?" He sees Tim's expression and smiles.

A few hours later, Tim is dressed in what may be the most sensational or the most deadly costume at the opening ceremony. He's wearing a simple black full-length leotard that covers him from neck to ankles, with shiny leather boots and laces that lace up to his knees. What defines the costume, however, is the cape billowing in the wind, with orange, yellow and red stripes, and the matching headdress. Cinna intends to set them on fire just before his carriage rolls through the streets.

"It's not real fire, of course, just a synthetic fire that Portia and I have invented. You'll be completely safe," he assures him, but it doesn't quite convince Tim; he may end up as a human barbecue when they get to the center of town.

He' s barely wearing any makeup, just a few dabs of highlighter. His hair has been brushed back and left to frame his face, it's Tim's usual style.

"I want the crowd to recognize you when you're in the stadium," Cinna says in a dreamy tone, "Tim, the boy on fire. "

Tim is relieved to see Darla appear dressed in an identical outfit. Her stylist, Portia, and the rest of her team accompany her, and everyone is on edge about the sensation they're about to make. All except Cinna, who accepts the congratulations as if he's a little tired.

They are led to the lower level of the Renovation Center, which is basically a giant barn. The opening ceremony is about to begin and they're loading the tribute couples into carriages pulled by groups of four horses. Theirs are coal black, animals so well trained that they don't even need a rider to guide them. Cinna and Portia lead them to their carriage and carefully arrange their body posture and the drape of their cloaks before turning away to comment something to each other.

"What do you think?" whispers Tim to Darla. "Of the fire, I mean."

"I'll rip off your cape if you rip off mine," she replies, mumbling to him.

"It's a deal. I know I promised Jean-Paul I'd do whatever we were told, but I don't think he took this detail into account."

"By the way, where is he, isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

Tim shrugs. 

"I think he knows some of the mentors, maybe he's talking to them." 

The opening music starts. It's hard for them to hear it, they blare it up and down the avenues of the Capitol. Huge sliding doors open onto the crowded streets. The parade lasts about twenty minutes and ends at City Circle, where they will be greeted, played the anthem and escorted to the Training Center, which will be their home/prison until the games begin.

The District 1 tributes ride in a carriage pulled by snow-white horses. They are looking very handsome, sprayed with silver paint and dressed in elegant robes covered with precious stones; District 1 manufactures luxury items for the Capitol. They hear the roar of the crowd; they are always the favorites.

District 2 is behind them. In a few minutes they find themselves approaching the door and see that, between the cloudy sky and it starting to get dark, the light has turned gray. The District 11 tributes have just left when Cinna appears with a lit torch.

"Here we go," he says, and, before Tim can react, Cinna sets his capes on fire.

Tim stifles a scream, waiting for the heat to come, but only notices a tingle. Cinna steps in front of them, sets the headdresses on fire, and lets out a sigh of relief.

"It works." Then he lifts Tim's chin affectionately. "Remember, head up. Smile - they're going to love you!"

Cinna jumps off the cart and has one last thought.

He yells something at them that Tim doesn't hear because of the music, so he yells and gesticulates again.

"What's he saying?" he asks Darla. Looking at her he notices that, lit by the fake flames, she is glowing. Darla looks completely stunning, Tim wonders if he looks the same.  

"I think he said to hold hands" she replies.

They hold hands and both look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives his approval by giving a thumbs up; it's the last thing Tim sees before they enter the city.

The crowd's initial alarm at seeing them appear quickly turns to cheers and shouts of "District 12!". Everyone turns to look at them, turning their attention away from the other three cars in front of them. At first Tim freezes, but then he sees himself on a huge television screen and the sight of them takes his breath away. In the dim light of twilight, fire illuminates their faces, it's as if their capes leave a trail of flame behind them. Cinna did well to keep the makeup to a minimum: they both look more attractive and, besides, they're perfectly recognizable.

"Remember, head up. Smile - they're going to love you!"

Tim hears the stylist's words in his head, so he lifts his chin higher, sketches his best smile and waves with his free hand. Next to him, Darla is blowing kisses to the onlookers, so Tim follows suit. The Capitol crowd has gone wild, showering them with flowers and shouting their names. Loud music, cheers and admiration are coursing through his veins, and he can't help but get excited. Cinna has given him a great advantage, no one will forget him. No longer would he be Bruce Wayne's forgotten son, the one least recognized and never interviewed. Now he was Tim, the boy on fire. 

For the first time he feels a spark of hope - there must be some sponsor willing to pick him! And with a little extra help, some food, the right weapon? Why would he give the games up for lost?

Someone throws him a red rose and he catches it, smells it delicately and blows a kiss in the direction of whoever threw it. Hundreds of hands try to capture his kiss, as if it were something real and tangible.

"Tim! Tim!" He hears them shouting his name all over the place. They all want his kisses.

Tim hopes that at home they are watching him. He wants to tell them "look at me, I can shine just as bright as you." 

It isn't until they enter the City Circle that he realizes he must have been cutting off the circulation to Darla's hand, so tightly he held it. He looks at their intertwined fingers and loosens his grip a little, but she grips it tightly again.

"No, don't let go," she says, and the firelight reflects in her eyes. "Please, I might fall off this thing."

"Okay."

So they continue to hold hands, though Tim can't help but feel strange about the way Cinna has brought them together. Any companionship or camaraderie they might forge will be shattered once the games begin. 

The twelve carriages fill the City Circle track. All the windows of the buildings surrounding the circle are crowded with the Capitol's most prestigious citizens. Their horses lead them right up to President Al Ghul's mansion, and there they stop. The music ends on dramatic notes.

The president, a tall, stocky man with black hair and paper-white locks, officially welcomes them from the balcony above them. It's traditional to focus on the faces of all the tributes during the speech, but on the screen Tim sees that he and Darla come out more than their fair share. As it gets darker, the harder it is to take your eyes off their sparkling outfits. Although as the national anthem plays they make an effort to focus on each pair of tributes, the camera stays fixed on the District 12 car, which drives around the circle one last time before disappearing into the Training Center.

As soon as the doors close, they are surrounded by the prep teams, who mumble barely intelligible compliments. Tim looks around and sees that many of the other tributes are glaring hatefully at them, confirming his suspicions that they have literally eclipsed them all. Then Cinna and Portia appear, help them off the wagon, and carefully remove their cloaks and flaming headdresses. Portia extinguishes them with some sort of spray bottle.

Suddenly Tim realizes that he is still glued to Darla and forces his fingers open, stiff. The two massage each other's hands.

"Thanks for holding me. I wasn't feeling so good up there," Darla says.

"It didn't feel like it. I swear I didn't even notice."

"I'm sure they didn't pay attention to anyone but you. You should wear flames more often, they suit you."

Then she gives him a smile of such genuine sweetness, with just the right touch of coyness, that it makes Tim wonder how he's going to do it to kill this girl. 

Chapter Text

The Training Center has a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams. This would be their home until the games begin. Each district has an entire floor, just get on an elevator and press the button corresponding to the number of yours. 
Tim has ridden the elevator in the District 12 Justice Building only once, yesterday, to say goodbye to his family and friends for the last time. However, it was a dark, noisy thing that moved like a snail and smelled like sour milk. The walls of the Training Center elevator are made of glass, so you can see the people on the floor below turn into ants as you shoot upward. 

Effie's tasks did not end at the station, but she and Jean-Paul would supervise them until they reached the battlefield itself. In a way, Tim thinks, it's an advantage, because, at least, she can be counted on to get them from one place to another in time, while they haven't seen Jean-Paul since the train. 

It's as if Effie is on cloud nine; it's the first time the team she's accompanying has made a splash at the opening ceremony. She praises not only their costumes, but also their demeanor, and as she tells it, she knows all the important people on the Capitol and has been putting in a good word for them all day, trying to get sponsors.

"But I've been very mysterious," she says, eyes narrowed," because, of course, Jean-Paul hasn't bothered to tell me his strategy. However, I did everything I could with what I had: that Tim had sacrificed himself for his brother, that he wants to be recognized just like his family and that you both have successfully fought to overcome the barbarism of your district."  

Tim wants to protest, because he feels Effie is believing that he volunteered to gain fame like the rest of his family. The last thing he thought of was fame. 

"Of course, you all have your reservations, because you're from the mining district. So I've told them, and it was very astute of me, 'Well, if you put enough pressure on the coal, it turns into a pearl!"

Effie flashes a smile so resplendent that Tim has no choice but to praise her cunning enthusiastically, even if she is wrong.

Coal does not become pearl, for pearls grow inside mollusks. Surely he meant to say that coal turns into diamond, though that's not true either. Tim had heard from Bruce that in District 1 there is a machine that can turn graphite into diamond, but District 12 doesn't mine graphite, that was part of District 13's job, until they destroyed it.

"Unfortunately, I can't close deals with sponsors. Only Jean-Paul can do it," she continues, in a mournful tone. "But don't worry, I'll bring him to the negotiations at gunpoint, if necessary."

Tim thinks that although she has many flaws, you have to admire this woman's determination.

Their accommodation is almost bigger than his house in the victors' village; it is luxurious, like the train carriage, and has so many automatic gadgets that he surely does not have time to to press all the buttons. In the shower alone there is a box with over a hundred options to control water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, oils and massage sponges. When you step out, you step on a mat that activates to dry your body with air. Instead of struggling with tangles of wet hair, Tim placed his hand on a box that sends an electric current to your scalp, so you have detangled, styled and dry hair almost instantly.

He programmed the closet to choose an outfit to his liking. The windows zoom in and out parts of the city, following your commands. If you whisper the kind of food you want from a gigantic menu into a sort of microphone, the food appears warm in less than a minute. So Tim paced around the room eating fluffy bread until there was a knock on the door. It was Effie, to tell him it's time for dinner.

When they enter the dining room, Darla, Cinna and Portia are standing next to a balcony overlooking the Capitol. Tim is happy to see the stylists, but especially happy to hear that Jean-Paul has returned and will be joining them for dinner. After all, the purpose of the dinner is not to eat, but to plan their strategies, and Cinna and Portia have already proven how valuable they are.

A silent man in a white robe offers them glasses of wine. Tim has never been a fan of wine, but at home it was something that was consumed every day. His brothers and Bruce seemed to enjoy it very much, and even Jean-Paul joined them from time to time. Tim never stayed long enough to see what happened after they drank too much, Alfred would always tell him to go to sleep in his room and leave the adults alone. Tim can't help but wonder if he wins the games and goes home he will be allowed to stay.

He accepts the wine and takes a sip. The liquid is dry like the one at home, but much sweeter. Tim drinks his entire glass until his tongue goes numb, he is tempted to ask for a second glass, so he does so.  

Jean-Paul shows up just as dinner is being served. It looks like he's been through a stylist too, because his hair is a little shorter and slicked back giving him an air of sophistication he didn't think he possessed, plus he replaced his thick glasses with contact lenses. Now with his blond hair, glowing blue eyes and the modern suit he wears, Jean could very well pass for a citizen of the Capitol. Tim is amazed, he even feels his mouth go dry. It has to be because of the wine.  

Jean gladly accepts the wine and sits at the head of the table without noticing that all eyes are on him. 

Between Jean-Paul and Effie the compliments come non-stop about their stylists' opening act. As they chatter, Tim concentrates on the food: mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, roast veal sliced as thin as paper, noodles in green sauce, and cheese that melts on the tongue with sweet black grapes. The servants, young people dressed in white robes move wordlessly from one side to the other, seeing to it that the plates and glasses are always full.

When he finishes his second glass of wine, his head starts to spin, so he switches to water. The feeling is weird, it's like he's numb, he can't even think straight about what's going on. 

He tried to concentrate on the conversation, which is about interview outfits, when a girl places an amazing looking cake on the table and expertly lights it. The cake lights up and the flames flicker around the edges for a while until it finally goes out. Tim frowns, the girl's face looks familiar. 

But before he can open his mouth to ask a question, Darla speaks first. 

"What's making it burn? Is it alcohol?" she asks, looking at the girl "It's the last thing that... Oh, I know you!"

The girl shakes her head repeatedly in denial and hurries away from the table.

"Don't be ridiculous, Darla - how are you going to meet an avox?" blurts out Effie. "It's absurd."

Tim takes a sip of his water, because he feels his mouth is drier than before. He'd heard about the Avox a couple of times, his family had described them in broad strokes. He thought he'd see them later, that these guys hanging around the penthouse were common servants. 

"What's an avox?" asked Darla.

"Someone who has committed a crime; they cut out their tongue so they can't speak" Jean-Paul replies. "Surely she would be a traitor. You're not likely to
you know her."

"And, even if you did know her, you're not supposed to talk to them unless you wish to give them an order," says Effie. "Of course you don't know her."

Tim's mind clears for a few moments, however, when Jean-Paul says the word traitor. Of course he knows her, but he can't let Darla stay on the subject without looking suspicious. After all, the Avox are traitors, and it's frowned upon to be related to traitors, whether you're about to die or not. 

"No, I guess not, it's just..." stammered Darla.

"Greta Hayes," Tim says snapping his fingers. "That's right, she looked familiar to me too and I didn't know why. Then I realized she looks just like Greta."

Greta Hayes is a skinny girl with ash blonde hair, moss green eyes who always has dirt smudges on her face and dirty fingernails, she looks as much like the maid as a beetle looks like a butterfly. 

"Sure, that was it. Must be the hair," Darla says.

"And something about the eyes too" adds Tim.

"Oh, well, if that's all it is" says Cinna, and the table relaxes again "And yes, the cake has alcohol in it, even though it's all burnt. I ordered it especially in honor of your fiery debut."

They eat the cake and move to a lounge to watch a replay of the opening ceremony on TV. There are other couples who make a good impression, but none of them measure up. Even his team lets out an exclamation when they see us leaving the Renewal Center.

"Whose idea was it to hold hands?" asks Jean-Paul.

"Cinna" replies Portia.

"Just the right touch of rebelliousness. Very nice."

Rebelliousness? Tim thinks, and understands when he remembers the other couples, distant and tense, neither touching nor paying attention to each other, as if their partner did not exist, as if the games had already begun. By presenting themselves not as adversaries, but as friends, they have stood out as much as with their costumes on fire.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you how I want you to behave," Jean-Paul tells them. "Now go get some sleep while the adults talk." 

Tim realizes one thing, he has never seen this side of Jean-Paul, so mature and focused. Tim is used to the introverted man who liked to spend time with Cass and he because he said they were the only ones who understood him, maybe because Cass was a good listener and Tim was good at filling the quiet moments. This Jean-Paul who plans and is confident is a complete stranger to him. 

He shakes his head because he doesn't want to think about it and because he still feels heavy after the wine. He and Darla walk together down the hallway to their rooms. When they reach her door, Tim leans against the frame, not to stop her from entering, but to get her attention.

"So Greta Hayes. Fancy meeting your twin here." Tim was blatantly asking her for an explanation. 

"Have you been on the roof yet?" says Darla finally, Tim shakes his head. "Cinna showed it to me. You can see most of the city from there, although the wind makes quite a bit of noise."

Tim translates her comment as, "No one will hear us talking there." Why if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that they must be watching them. 

"Can we just go up?"

"Sure, let's go," Tim replies.

He follows her up the stairs to the roof. There is a small vaulted ceilinged room with a door leading outside. When they step out into the cold night air, the sight takes his breath away: the Capitol glows like a huge field full of fireflies. District 12's electricity comes and goes; they usually only have a few hours a day. It is normal for them to light up with candles at night, and they can only count on it when they televise the games or some important government message, which they have to watch out of obligation. Here, however, they never have a shortage.

Darla and Tim walk to the edge of the roof, and Tim bends his head to watch the street, which is full of people. Cars can be heard, some shouting now and then, and an odd metallic clink. 

"I asked Cinna why they were letting us up, if they weren't worried about some tributes deciding to jump over the edge," Darla tells him.

"And what did he reply?"

"That you can't." He reaches out his hand toward the edge, which seems empty; there's a snapping sound and he pulls it away very quickly. "It's some kind of electrical field pushing you toward the roof."

"Always worried about our safety," Tim says. Even though Cinna has shown Darla the roof, he wonders if they can be here at this hour, alone.

Tim has never seen the tributes on the roof of the Training Center, but that doesn't mean they aren't recording them. 

"Do you think they're watching us?"

"Maybe. Come see the garden."

On the other side of the dome they've built a garden with flower beds and potted trees. Hundreds of chimes hang from the branches, which are the culprits of the tinkling. Here, in the garden, on this windy night, they are enough to drown out the conversation of two people who don't want to be heard. Tim looks at Darla expectantly and she pretends to examine a flower.

"We had heard that some people cross the electric fence to pick apples, we wanted to give it a try, but once we were on the other side we couldn't help but let curiosity get the better of us. We ended up walking through the woods, far away from the apple trees." she whispered.

"We?"

"My friend Bernard and I." explained Darla "Suddenly, all the birds stopped singing at once, all except one, which seemed to be singing a warning. Then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her, and they were both wearing tattered clothes. They had dark circles under their eyes from lack of sleep and were running as if their lives depended on it. The hovercraft came out of nowhere. That is, the sky was empty and, an instant later, it was no longer empty. It made no noise, but they saw it. They dropped a net over the girl and rushed her up, as fast as the elevator. The boy was pierced with a kind of spear attached to a cable and they pulled him up as well. I'm sure he was dead. We heard the girl scream once, I think the boy's name. Then the hovercraft disappeared, vanished into thin air, and the birds sang again, as if nothing had happened."

"Did they see you?"

"I don't know, we were under a rocky ledge," she replied. Tim nods. 

"I saw her once" Tim says after a few minutes. "At school. I think she was a year older than us."

"Hmn." 

"You're shaking."  

Darla nods in acknowledgement and hugs herself. 

"Where do you think they were going?"

"That I don't know" Darla replies. 

District 12 is the end of the line, beyond it is only wilderness territory. Not counting the ruins of District 13, still smoldering from the toxic bombs. Every once in a while they put them on TV so they don't forget . 

Jean-Paul said the Avox are traitors, but traitors to what? Tim knew that crossing the fence was forbidden, but he never thought it would be more than a few lashes. Apparently the Capitol was serious about trying to escape. 

"I'd go," Darla blurts out. Then she looks around, nervous, because she had said it loud enough to be heard, despite the chimes. "I'd go home right now, if they'd let me, although admittedly the food is great."

Tim realizes that if anyone heard her, it would be nothing more than the words of a frightened tribute, not someone spinning the unquestionable goodness of the Capitol.

"It's cold, we'd better get going," she says. 

"Your friend Bernard, is he that blond guy? I think I've seen him a couple of times."

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"How long have you known Jean-Paul?" she asks him. 

"Since I was adopted, he's like an unofficial member of my family." 

"You can tell he cares about you."

Tim nods. 

"It was nice of him to come down from the stage and take your brother...Your family seemed paralyzed."

"It's hard to see another member of your family get picked for the games. I don't think anyone expected it."
 

They arrive at Tim's door in an awkward silence. 

"See you in the morning."

"See you tomorrow" Darla replies and walks away down the hall.

Tim takes off his shoes and gets under the covers, but even though his head is spinning and his eyes feel heavy, he knows he won't be able to sleep alone that night. So he sneaks out of his room to Jean-Paul's room across the hall. It's empty, so he must continue planning his strategy. 

He gets under the covers to wait for him. Maybe if Jean is not too tired he can tell him one of his stories. 

There weren't many occasions when Jean stayed over at his house, after all, his house was only a house away, but there were stormy nights when Alfred would force him to stay so he wouldn't have to go back to a cold, empty place. So he would sleep over in Tim's room, in a bed they had set up for him in one of the corners of the room. Those nights, if Tim and Damian were lucky and Jean hadn't had too much to drink with Bruce, he would tell them one of the stories his father had taught him. Well, the stories had indeed been passed down from generation to generation, Jean said they came from before Panem was created. 

Tim didn't believe him, but he liked the stories.  

Sometime during the night he returned, and stands frozen when he sees the lump in the middle of his bed. 

Jean sighs resignedly, unable to ask Tim to go back to his room. He quickly changes into something more comfortable and lies down next to Tim, pushing him back a little so as not to be on the edge of the bed. The bed is huge, but Tim insists on keeping it all to himself. 

"Trouble sleeping?" 

"My head is spinning," Tim replied in a mumble. 

"I saw you drinking wine, you should be more careful." he tells him stroking his hair. 

"I wanted to know why everyone likes it so much."

"When you win the games and go home you'll understand."

Tim nods and rests his head on his chest. It reminds him of Damian's cat napping on whatever family member was sitting on one of the couches in the living room. 

"Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

Tim nods again. Even though there isn't much light, Jean can see and feel how flushed Tim's cheeks are. 

"Which one do you want?" he asks quietly. 

"The one about the slave who becomes a prince and then frees his people."

"That's Damian's favorite. Very good. Long ago there was a village of slaves who lived in a great and powerful kingdom. One day their king, fearing that the people would rise up in rebellion, ordered every male baby to be killed. But one woman refused to let her son die, so she wove a wicker basket and left her baby in it, went to the river and let him go. The waters of the river carried the baby to the shore near the palace, there was the eldest daughter of the king taking a bath, when she saw the baby she gave him the name of Moses and adopted him as her son...".

Chapter Text

At some point in Jean-Paul's story, Tim fell asleep. Thanks to the wine, his night was filled with strange dreams. Mysterious faces mixed with voices that sounded familiar. So Tim wakes up with an incredible headache, well, maybe that was due more to the wine he drank than to his dreams. 

Dawn begins to break through the windows, and the Capitol has a hazy, haunted air. Jean-Paul was still sleeping next to him, and Tim tried not to wake him up by getting out of bed and going back to his room, making sure no one saw him leave someone else's room, and he immediately got into the shower, where he pressed random buttons on the control panel and ended up hopping around to endure the alternating jets of icy water and scorching water that assaulted him. He then gets hit with an avalanche of lemon-scented suds that he eventually has to scrape off his body with a stiff-bristled brush.

After drying off and moisturizing with cream, he finds an outfit that has been left for him in front of the closet: tight black pants, a burgundy long-sleeved T-shirt and leather shoes. It's the first time since the morning of the reaping that Tim feels like himself: no fancy hairstyles and clothes, no flaming layers, just him, looking like he would if he were going to train or spend the day with his brothers. 

That calms him down.

Jean-Paul hadn't given them an exact time for breakfast and no one had called him, but Tim was so hungry he headed to the dining room expecting to find food. What he finds does not disappoint: although the main table is empty, a long table on one side has at least twenty plates. A young man, an avox, waits for instructions next to the banquette. When Tim asks if he can serve himself, the avox nods. So he prepares a plate of eggs, sausage, pastries covered in orange marmalade and slices of light purple melon. As he gorges himself, he watches the sun rise over the Capitol.

He helped himself to a second plate of hot cereal topped with beef stew. Finally, he filled one of the plates with rolls and sits down at the table, where he busies himself chopping them into small pieces and dipping them in hot chocolate.

Although he feels somewhat hurt for his father, he can't help but think of him and his brothers. By this time they would be up, Alfred would be preparing breakfast with eggs from the chickens Damian takes care of, and he would be getting ready for school. Just two mornings ago, Tim was home. 

Two? Yes, only two. Now the house seemed empty to him, even from so far away. What did they say last night about their fiery debut at the games? Did it give them hope, or were they more frightened by the reality of those twenty-four tributes together, knowing that only one could survive? Had they been proud?

Jean-Paul and Darla enter the dining room and say good morning to him (although Jean-Paul winks at him), then move on to filling their plates. 
Training makes him nervous. There are three days for all the tributes to practice together. On the last afternoon, they will have the opportunity to perform privately in front of the Gamemakers

The thought of coming face to face with the other tributes churns his guts; he starts to turn over the roll he just took from the basket, but his appetite is gone.

After eating several plates of stew, Jean-Paul sighs, satisfied, and rests his elbows on the table.

"Well, let's get down to business: training. First of all, if you want, you can train separately. Decide now. This year's games will be harder than you think, so it's a decision you shouldn't take lightly."

"Why would we want to do it separately?" asked Tim.

"Suppose you have a secret ability that you don't want others to know about."

"I don't have one," said Darla. "And you're one of Bruce Wayne's sons, you have to have some secret ability. Everyone knows you're always training like you're District One careers."  

Tim blinks in surprise a couple of times. He didn't think his family's activities were public knowledge. But it couldn't be that weird, could it? Families liked to spend time together in different ways, and his liked to spend time beating each other up with different weapons. 

"You can train us together," he finally says to Jean-Paul. Darla nods. 

"Good. Darla, give me some idea of what you know how to do, I already know Tim well."

"I don't know how to do anything" Darla replies. 

"We'll see what we can do." says Jean-Paul looking at her and gives her a small smile, Darla blushes and Tim stifles a laugh. "Tim, I know you're good at the Bo staff."

"I'm not bad at it" I reply Tim. 

"You are excellent" Jean-Paul says back. "I've watched you train for years, you've long since beat Bruce or any of your brothers." 

That assessment of his abilities caught him completely off guard. Firstly, the fact that he had noticed, and, secondly, that he was complimenting him like that.

"But that won't do me any good for killing anyone."

"You don't know what a little wit and knowledge will do." 

"Darla's good at climbing," Tim decides to say to divert attention away from himself. "I've seen her climb rope in seconds at school." 

"Do you think that will help me at all?" 

"You'll be able to get away quicker, hide at height"

"And what happens when they come at me? I don't know how to fight. I just can't compare to you Tim" Darla said regretfully. "You know what my mother said to me when she came to say goodbye, like she wanted to encourage me? She told me that maybe District 12 would have a winner this year. Then I realized she didn't mean me-she meant you!"

Tim blinked in a daze, not knowing what to think. Did her mother really tell her that about him? Did she value him more than her daughter? Tim saw the pain in Darla's eyes and knew she wasn't lying to him.

"We can do this together, we'll help each other" he decides to say. 

"Even if that's the way it is we both can't get out of there Tim, there's only one winner." says Darla in a whisper. "And I know it won't be me."

"Well, all right. Fine, fine, fine. Tim, we can't guarantee you'll find a Bo staff in the stadium, but, during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them what you can do." Jean-Paul says. "Until then, stay away from staffs or spears. I've seen you throw knives and you're good, do you think you can use that?"

Tim shrugs, the conversation has become awkward and heavy. 

"Knowing how to use a knife can be important in getting food. And don't underestimate the value of strength, agility or speed on the battlefield. Often physical strength gives the ultimate advantage to a tribute. At the Training Center you will have weights, ropes and obstacle courses but don't show the other tributes what you are capable of. The plan will be the same for both of you: go to group training; spend some time learning something you don't know; shoot arrows, use maces or learn how to tie good knots. However, save what you're best at for the private sessions - is that clear?" Darla and Tim nod. "Now, get out of here. Meet Effie at the elevator at 10 o'clock for training." 

It was almost 10, so Tim brushed his teeth and gave himself a quick look in the mirror. When he meets Effie and Darla at the elevator, he notices that he is biting his nails and stops immediately.

The training rooms are below the ground level of the building. The elevator ride is less than a minute, and then the doors open to reveal a gym full of weapons and obstacle courses. It's not yet 10 o'clock, but they are the
last to arrive. The other tributes are gathered in a tight circle, with a piece of cloth pinned to their shirts on which can read the number of their district. 

As someone pinned the number twelve on his back, Tim makes a quick assessment: he and Darla are the only pair dressed alike.

As soon as they join the circle, the head trainer, a tall, athletic woman named Atala, steps forward and begins to explain the training schedule. At each station there will be an expert in the skill in question, and they can move from one area to another as they wish, as instructed by their mentors.

Some posts teach survival tactics and some teach fighting techniques. It is forbidden to engage in combat exercises with another tribute. They have helpers on hand if they want to practice with a partner.

As Atala starts reading the list of skills, Tim can't help but notice the other guys. It's the first time they've been together on dry land and in normal clothes. His heart sinks: almost all of the boys are bigger than he is, although many of them have been hungry. You can see it in their bones, in their skin, in their vacant stare. Tim may be shorter by birth, but, in general, his family's ingenuity gives him an advantage in the stadium. 

The exceptions are the kids from the wealthier districts, the volunteers, whom they feed and train all their lives for this moment. The tributes from 1, 2 and 4 usually look like that. In theory, it's against the rules to train tributes before they get to the Capitol, which happens every year. In District 12 they call them Career Tributes or just careers, and they are almost always the ones who win.

The slight advantage Tim had going into the Training Center, his fiery debut last night, seems to fade in the face of his competitors. The other tributes were jealous of them, but not because they were amazing, but because their stylists were. Tim could see nothing but contempt on the faces of the career tributes. Any one of them weighs forty to eighty pounds more than he does, and they project arrogance and brutality. When Atala lets them go, they go straight to the deadliest looking weapons in the gym and wield them with ease.

Tim is thinking it's lucky he's good at running, when Darla elbows him and he leaps. Darla is still at his side, as Jean-Paul has told them.

"Where would you like to start?" she asks him.

Tim takes a look at the career tributes, who boast of their skill in a clear attempt to intimidate the others. Then to the others, the malnourished and incompetent, who receive their first knife or axe lessons without stopping shaking.

"How about tying a few knots?"

"Good idea," Darla replies.

They approach an empty stall. The trainer seems pleased to have students; he gives the impression that the knot tying class isn't having much success. Tim had heard Jason talk a couple of times about the traps he had learned to make when he was younger, the traps his biological father had taught him, Jason had never shown them how to make one, but he had explained the basics. When Tim tells the trainer about it, he shows them a simple and magnificent one that would leave a human competitor hanging from a tree by the leg. They concentrate on it for an hour until they both master the technique and move on to the camouflage station. 

Neither is particularly good at it, although Darla has managed to make her makeup look more like moss green than the vomit Tim has created on his arm. She looks proud of herself, so Tim encourages her to continue. 

"Look to your right slyly," Darla tells him in a whisper. 

"Huh?"

"You have a shadow," she explains to him. 

Of course, having a adoptive father like Bruce, Tim learned from day one how to be stealthy, out of his siblings he can only consider himself second only to Cassandra, but Cass can meld with the darkness if she wanted to. So Tim can be as stealthy as he wants, but he doesn't want it, so he looks over his shoulder not caring if the other person notices. 

There's a boy looking at him. He's black-haired and burly, his eyes are a bright blue and his face looks slightly familiar. He knows he must have heard his name on the replay of the reaping, but at that moment he was so disoriented by everything that was going on that trying to put a name to his face is difficult for him. 

"Do you know who that is?" he asks Darla. 

"Don't you?" 

Tim shrugs. 

"His face looks familiar."

"It's Conner Kent," Darla whispers to him. "Like you, he's the son of an victor." 

Tim nods. Recognizing the last name right away. 

Clark Kent had been a victor of the games only a year after Bruce, since then they had both mentored and gotten to know each other over the years. Their friendship had been a fast one, as evidenced by the only one photo Bruce had in his office. Tim could recognize some of Clark's features in Conner, those abnormally blue eyes. 

"Go on without me," he says to Darla walking away from the makeup booth. 

Conner is a little startled when Tim greets him, but from there it's easy to strike up a conversation with him. The two shared a similar life, and though they had come to the games in different ways - Tim as Damian's replacement and Conner by bad luck - it was easy for them to see themselves reflected in each other. 

Jean-Paul had told him the games would be tough this year, Tim now understood. With two sons of victors, people were going to expect the two to face each other. But Tim couldn't see himself fighting Conner to the death, just as he couldn't see himself hurting Darla. 

Maybe they had just met, but he had always heard that the bonds created in complicated situations were stronger than normal bonds. Didn't the saying go that "The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb"?

That day's training ended a few hours before dinner, to give them time to freshen up and relax before eating. 

"Have you seen the rooftop garden?" asked Tim to Conner as they headed for the elevators. They had both earned a few stares from the other tributes throughout the day, perhaps they too expected them to become natural enemies. 

"My floor is kind of far from the roof" Conner's voice is loud, and heard over the murmur of the others. Darla walks near them, and gives Tim a questioning look as she hears Conner speak. 

"I could show you." 

Conner raises an eyebrow, looking confused, but nods. 

The truth is, Tim just wanted to talk to Conner alone, and the roof seemed like the best option. After his night with Darla, Tim knew that was the best place to have some privacy, although if there were cameras that might be watching them, they could chalk it up to the two of them looking to form an alliance. In the games it was not uncommon at the beginning for several tributes to ally in order to survive longer. Of course, as the end draws near everyone fights everyone. 

Tim shows Conner some of the flowers, and while they look nothing like the ones Alfred takes such great care of at home, in the Capitol everything looks artificial and too grotesque, even the flowers. Conner for his part tells him that at home his grandmother (Or Ma, as she prefers to be called) also has a small garden that she enjoys tending, but that her real hobby is caring for the animals they raise. 

"We are lucky that Victors Village is somewhat removed from the city, it would be rare to see pigs and chickens among the buildings." 

"Does District 9 have buildings like the Capitol?" asks Tim with some astonishment. 

"Of course not" laughs Conner. "The buildings are much smaller, but that way it takes up less of the land that's available for planting and industries." 

"Mmm, you guys take care of the grain don't you?" 

"You bet I do. I'm sure I've at least taken care of planting some of the cereals you eat." 

"You work in the fields even though your dad is an victor?" 

In his family none of his siblings have to work because they all have their own monthly pay for being victors, but Tim knows - or knew - that once he finished school there would be no need for him to work in the mines like most of the population in the district. Tim had the option of living the rest of his life as a kept man, or he could work in the old Drake family business, or whatever he wanted really, Tim would always have the support of Bruce and his brothers. 

Though after he was sent with Jean-Paul to the games, that didn't seem so true to him anymore. 

"Although with Clark's money I could live a leisurely life, I don't feel calm if I'm sitting around all day not doing something, so I help out where I can. I save what I earn working in the field to become independent in the future."

Conner's countenance darkened. 

"Or well, I used to." 

"I can imagine how they must be talking about us right now," Tim said to change the subject. "I mean our talk at the training center."

"I can already see what they're saying 'sons following the path of their fathers'" said Conner with a chuckle. 

"They must think we want to kill ourselves" continues Tim with a smile on his face, deep down he finds the whole thing hilarious. 

"Better for us, more publicity means more sponsors".

"More chance of survival" Tim finishes. 

They are both silent for a few seconds. 

And then an idea comes into Tim's head. 

"We both want the same thing," he says looking directly at Conner. "We both need sponsors if we want to survive, because we have to accept that we are at a disadvantage against the other tributes. The careers must already hate us for the simple fact that our dads are victors." 

"And especially you after that flaming entrance," Conner interrupts him. 

Tim grimaces. 

"If we want sponsors we have to give them something to talk about, something to keep them thinking about us until the end." 

"And how do we do that? We may have their attention now, but once the games start they'll focus on who kills the most people. And being honest I don't see myself being able to kill anyone."

"We don't need to kill anyone to get their attention, what do the people in the Capitol like the most?"

"Plastic surgeries?" 

"Besides that," Tim says with a laugh. Seeing that Conner is silent, Tim knows that convincing him to go along with their plan is a piece of cake. "They love stories. You and I will give them a story to talk about even after the games are over." 

Conner stares at him for several minutes, weighing his options, but finally nods and shakes Tim's hand. It is then that he proceeds to tell him his plan. 

The next three days Tim and Darla dedicate themselves to visiting the stalls at their leisure. Always, after an hour or two, Conner joins them and Tim takes advantage of the opportunity to spend as much time as possible with him. The three of them learn a few useful things, from making fires to making shelters. Despite Jean-Paul's command to look mediocre, Tim excels in hand-to-hand combat and Darla sweeps the edible plant test without batting an eyelid. Of course, they stay well away from the spears and knives, because they want to save it for private sessions.

The Gamemakers show up as soon as the first day begins. They are about twenty men and women dressed in deep purple robes. They sit on the bleachers surrounding the gymnasium, sometimes walking around to watch them and take notes, and sometimes eating from the endless banquet they have prepared for them. However, they don't seem to take their eyes off the District 12 tributes and consequently Conner who doesn't turn away from them. Sometimes Tim raises his head and sees one of them looking at him. They also talk to the coaches during meals and see them all gathered together when they return.

They eat breakfast and dinner on their floor, but at noon they eat all twenty-four of them in the gym dining room. They place the food on carts around the room and everyone helps themselves to what they want. The career tributes tend to gather around a table, making a lot of noise, as if they want to show their superiority, that they are not afraid of anyone and that they consider others insignificant. Almost all the other tributes sit alone, like lost sheep. Of course, Darla, Tim and Conner sit together and have a friendly conversation during meals. It is not easy to find a topic: talking about home is painful; talking about the present is unbearable. But they try not to stay silent for too many minutes; after all, Tim's plan involves him and Conner looking as close as possible. 

Back on the District 12 floor, Jean-Paul and Effie pepper them with questions over breakfast and dinner about everything that's happened throughout the day: what they've done, who's been watching them, what the other tributes are like. Jean-Paul doesn't seem very happy with the tentative friendship Tim and Conner have developed, he makes it clear every time Tim or Darla brings it up during a talk. Tim can't understand why, and since Jean doesn't bother to explain, it gets very confusing and awkward between the two of them, so Tim avoids the subject and keeps his plan to himself. The fewer people who know about it the better. 

Since Cinna and Portia are not around there is no one to bring some sanity to the meals, so Tim and Darla have to endure the endless instructions on what they should and should not do during training. Tim has more patience, as Darla has had enough and becomes rude.

On the third day of training they start calling them in at lunchtime for their private sessions with the Gamemakers. District to district, first the boy and then the girl. As usual, District 12 is left for last, so they wait in the dining room, not sure what to do. No one returns after the session. 

They both remain seated in silence until Tim is called. Darla shakes his hand and wishes him good luck. Tim feels like he's going to throw up, but manages to smile at her. 

As soon as he sets foot in the gym, Tim knows he's in trouble, because the Gamemakers have been in there too long and have already seen twenty-two other demonstrations. Plus, almost all of them have had too much wine and want to go home at once.

Tim can do nothing but go along with the plan: he knows there won't be a Bo staff waiting for him, but he heads to the spear area to use one instead. It's not the same, but Tim can adapt and use it to demonstrate his moves. 

Ah, the weapons! He's been itching to get his hands on them for days! Spears made of wood, plastic, metal and materials he can't even name. 

He chooses one of the metal spears, because they are the most similar to the Bo staffs in his home. He walks to the center of the gym and swings the spear in his hands to familiarize himself with it. However, as soon as he spins it on his wrist he realizes that something is wrong. Despite being made of metal, the spear is lighter than Tim thinks, so when he tries to show off one of his moves, he ends up falling to the floor due to the imbalance. This is how he loses the little attention he had earned. 

For a moment he feels humiliated, but then he gets up and swings the spear again, this time using more of his hands and arms before taking up his whole body. He practices for a moment until he has become accustomed to the new weapon. 

Back in the center of the gym, he gets into the starting position and begins his now familiar routine, the one he always practices when he wants to impress Bruce and be a cocky jerk to his brothers. But it doesn't end there, he knows he has a couple of minutes left, so when he finishes his routine he goes for some knives and throws them straight at the practice dummies. He doesn't miss any of them, he hits the heart. 

It's been an excellent display. He turns to the Gamemakers and sees that some are giving him a thumbs up, but that most are still focused on a roast pig that has just arrived at the table.

Suddenly, he is furious, it burns his blood that, with his life at stake, they don't even have the decency to pay attention to him, to be overshadowed by a dead pig. His heart begins to beat very fast, his face burns and, without thinking, he grabs one of the knives and throws it straight at the Gamemaker's table. He hears shouts of alarm and sees the people backing away, stunned; the knife hits the apple in the pig's mouth and sticks it in the wall behind. Everyone looks at him, incredulous.

"Thank you for your time" he says, then takes a brief bow and heads for the exit without waiting for permission.

Chapter Text

Tim reached the elevator and pushed aside the gawking avox guarding it. He hit the bottom number twelve with his fist and leaned against one of the walls, hands on his head pulling on strands of his hair. The doors close and he shoots upwards. He manages to reach his floor before the air starts to go out of him. He hears the others calling him from the living room, but he runs out through the hallway until he reaches his room, bolts it shut and throws himself on the bed. That's when he starts to really panic.

I've done it! I've ruined everything! he thinks. Any shred of chance he had vanished when he threw that knife at the Gamemakers. What will they do to me now? Arrest me? Execute me? Cut out my tongue and turn me into an avox so I can serve the future tributes of Panem? What was he thinking? 

Of course, Tim wasn't thinking, he shot the apple out of anger at being ignored. At home he was used to not being taken seriously and ignored much of the time, but here the Gamemakers were bound to pay attention to him and even then they hadn't. Was he that easy to ignore? 

Tim knew he was not going to win the games, it was clear to him, his whole strategy, his whole plan was based on being able to survive a few more days, to stretch his life as long as possible. So he didn't care what they could do to him, there was nothing worse than going to the games. But what about his family? 

Tim began to hyperventilate, would they take away their privileges or would they send Bruce and his brothers to jail and Damien to the orphanage? Would they kill them? They wouldn't kill them, they couldn't because their family was known and loved in the Capitol, but they could always say it was an accident, that they caught an unknown disease, that someone tried to rob them and ended their lives. There were plenty of excuses.

He should have stayed to apologize, or to laugh, as if it had been a joke, perhaps that would have made them more forgiving. However, instead, he preferred to run away in the most disrespectful way possible.

Jean-Paul and Effie are knocking on the door; Tim yells at them to go away and, after a while, he hears someone leave. But then their door opens and Tim doesn't need to lift his head to know who it is. Jean-Paul doesn't say anything to him, nor does he dare ask what has happened. He just stays by his side for the hour it takes for Tim to cry as long as he can. After that he crawls closer to Jean and curls up next to him, needing something familiar to hold on to. 

At first he thinks they will come to stop him at a moment's notice, but, as time goes on and the thing seems less likely, so Tim calms down. They still need the two tributes from District 12, don't they? If the Gamemakers want to punish him, they can do it in public, wait until Tim is in the stadium, and then throw hungry wild animals at him. Without any weapons to defend himself.

However, they'll give me such a low score first that no one in their right mind will want to sponsor me. Tim thinks.

He's sure that's what will happen tonight. Since viewers can't watch the training, the Gamemakers announce each player's rating, giving the audience a starting point for the betting that will continue throughout the games. The number, a figure between one and twelve, where one is remorselessly bad and twelve is unattainably good, represents how promising the tribute is. The score does not guarantee who will win, it is merely an indication of the potential the tribute has shown in training. Due to the variables of the actual battlefield, tributes with higher scores usually drop almost immediately and, a few years ago, the guy who won the games only received a three. In any case, ranking can help or hurt a tribute in the search for sponsors. 

Tim was hoping his skills would get him a six or a seven, but now he's sure he'll get the lowest score of the twenty-four. If no one sponsors him, his chances of staying alive will be reduced to almost zero, regardless of the strategy he had prepared with Conner. 

When Effie knocks on the door for dinner, Tim decides he'd better go. Tonight they will televise the results of the scores and he can't hide forever.

Jean-Paul realizes his intentions, so he leaves him alone so Tim can freshen up and hopefully hide his red, puffy eyes. But no matter how much Tim washes his face with cold water, he can't get rid of the redness and mottling. 

Everyone waits for him at the table, even Cinna and Portia. Tim wishes that he wished the stylists hadn't shown up because, for some reason, he doesn't like the idea of disappointing them. It's as if he had thoughtlessly thrown away the great job they did at the opening ceremony. So he avoids looking the others in the eye as he spoons down his chowder; it's salty, like his tears.

The adults start gossiping about the weather and Tim lets Darla look him in the eyes. She arches her eyebrows, as if to ask, "What happened?" Tim merely shake his head quickly. Then, when the second plate arrives, he hears Effie say:

"How did you guys do today?"

"I guess whatever," Darla replies. "When I showed up, no one bothered to look at me; they were talking about something. So I spent my time climbing the ropes until they told me I could go.

"What about you, Tim?" asks Effie.

Tim swallows. He thinks about keeping quiet and waiting for them to find out for themselves how bad it went for him, but the truth is going to come out one way or another, better sooner rather than later. 

"I threw a knife at them."

"You what?" exclaims Effie, and the horror in her voice confirms his worst fears. Everyone stops eating.

"I threw a knife at them. Well, not at them, actually, but to them. They wouldn't listen to me while I was there and.... I lost my head, so I aimed for the apple in their stupid roast pig's mouth!" he exclaimed. 

"And what did they say?" asks Cinna, cautiously.

"Nothing. Well, I don't know, I left after that."

"Without being given permission?" asks Effie, flabbergasted.

"I gave it to myself." 

Everyone falls silent in disbelief. The only one who doesn't seem surprised is Jean-Paul, who looks at Tim with a smile on his face. 

"Anyway, it's done" Jean concludes. 

"Do you think they'll stop me?" asked Tim.

"I doubt it. At this point it would be a problem to replace you."

"What about my family, will they punish them?"

"I don't think so. It wouldn't make much sense. They would have to unveil what happened at the Training Center for it to have any effect on the population, people would have to know what you did; but they can't, because it's secret, so it would be a futile effort. Besides, the Capitol loves your family, they wouldn't let them do anything to them. They'd most likely make your life miserable at the stadium."

"Well, we've already been promised that anyway" says Darla.

"Right" corroborates Jean-Paul, and realizes that the impossible has happened: they're trying to cheer him up. "What did they look like?"

"Stunned" replies Tim, starting to smile. "Terrified. Eeeh..., ridiculous, at least some of them." an image pops into his head. "A man tripped while backpedaling backwards and fell into a punch bowl."

Everyone starts to burst out laughing, all except Effie, though she's stifling a smile.

"Well, serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you guys, and just because you're from District 12 is no excuse for ignoring you!" she states. Then she looks around, as if she's said something outrageous. "I'm sorry, but that's what I think" she repeats, not addressing anyone in particular.

"I'll get a bad score" Tim comments.

"The score only matters if it's very good. No one pays much attention to bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your skills to get a bad score on purpose. Some people use that strategy," explains Portia.

"I hope that's how they'll interpret the four they're going to give me" says Darla "At best. Really, is there anything less impressive than watching someone climb a rope? I almost let go just to see what would happen.

Tim smiles and realizes how hungry he is. He cuts off a piece of pork, dips it in the mashed potatoes and starts eating. It's okay, his family is safe, and if they are safe, there is no problem.

After dinner they sit in the living room to watch the scores being announced on TV. First they show a picture of the tribute, and then they put their score underneath. The career tributes, naturally, fall in the eight to ten range. Most of the other players earn a five. Conner gets an eight, which makes Tim wonder what his secret skill is. 

District 12 comes out last, as usual. Darla rolls a seven, so at least a couple of Gamemakers were watching her. Tim digs his nails into his palms when his face appears, expecting the worst. Then the number eleven comes up on the screen.

Eleven!

Effie Trinket lets out a squeal, and everyone slaps Tim on the back, shouts and congratulates him, even though it doesn't seem real to him.

"There's got to be a mistake. How..., how could this have happened?" he asks Jean.

"I guess they liked your genius. They have to put on a show, and they need some players with character."

"Tim, the boy on fire," Cinna says, and hugs him. "Oh, you'll see the suit for your interview."

"More flames?"

"Pretty much," he replies, mischievous.

Tim and Darla congratulate each other with a big hug. They've both done well, but what does that mean for the other? 

Tim escapes to his room as quickly as possible and buries himself under the covers. The stress of the day, especially the crying, has shattered him. He falls asleep, as if he has been pardoned, relieved and with the number eleven still etched in his head.

At dawn he lies in bed for a while watching the sun rise; it's a beautiful day. Effie knocks on the door to remind him that he has another "very, very, very important day!" ahead of him. Tomorrow night they'll be interviewed on TV, so Tim figured the whole team will be busy getting them ready for the event.

He got up, took a quick shower paying more attention to the buttons he touched and went down to the dining room. Effie and Jean-Paul are leaning over the table, talking quietly, which strikes him as odd, but hunger overcomes curiosity and he fills his plate before joining them. Darla appears minutes later, still looking somewhat sleepy and it takes her several seconds to fully open her eyes as if to help herself to breakfast. She sits down across from Tim and tosses him a muffin somewhat awkwardly, Tim catches it laughing and sets it down on his plate. 

"Well, what's going on? You'll be prepping us for interviews today, won't you?" says Tim to break the silence.

"Yes," Jean.Paul replied.

"You guys don't have to wait for us to finish. We can listen and eat at the same time."

"Well, there's been a change of plans regarding the approach."

"What?"

Tim frowns. Their last approach was to look mediocre in front of the other tributes. Of course, Tim had a separate approach along with Conner, but they wouldn't be able to implement it until the interviews, and no one else knew their plan anyway. 

"I've decided to train them separately," Jean-Paul replies.

Chapter Text

Tim and Darla stare at each other dumbfounded, not understanding what has led Jean-Paul to this decision. But after a few minutes of consideration, Tim understands. 

The games start in two days, and then they'll both be on their own. Tim wishes he could stay close to Darla, but the first day is always a bloodbath and it's always best to run as far away from the other tributes as possible. He knows that the two of them will be separated and may not meet again until the time of their death. 

Therefore they can't continue to be trained as a team when they won't be.  

"Well," Tim finally says, "what's the schedule?"

Darla looks at him with pain in her eyes. 

"You'll each have four hours with Effie for presentation, and four with me for content" Jean-Paul replies. "You start with Effie, Tim."

Although at first Tim can't imagine why Effie needs four hours to show him something, he ends up making the most of every last minute. They go to his room, and Effie puts him in a suit that will help him get ready for his interview for the night. Even though Tim had been on interviews before thanks to his family, he had never worn anything dressier than a shirt and sweater over it. This suit is really tight, restricting movement and the urge to breathe normally, but undoubtedly the worst part are the shoes. They're his size, but they're tighter than he's used to and have a small heel because even men in the Capitol usually wear them. Tim had seen Jean wear similar ones, but she looked comfortable in them, so he thought it wouldn't be a big deal. Of course, it isn't. 

Effie chides his gait, but Tim can't help but do little hops to try to accommodate his feet. In truth the shoes are killing him, and the pants are so tight that he can't even bend his knees to sit down. 

After a couple of hours Tim has mastered the art of not feeling his feet, so he can walk without a problem, and Effie teaches him a technique for sitting where his knees don't need to be completely bent. 

When they've finally mastered that, he's still left with posture (apparently Tim has a tendency to duck his head), eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. 

Smiling is no longer about just smiling. Effie forces him to rehearse a hundred banal phrases that begin with a smile, are said with a smile, or end with a smile. By lunchtime Tim has a nervous twitch in his cheek muscles from stretching them so much.

"Well, I've done my best," Effie says, sighing. "Remember one thing, Tim: you've got to get the audience to like you."

"You think they won't like me?"

"I've seen your previous interviews and your brothers are the charismatic ones in the family. You always look like you want to be somewhere else. Why don't you save it for the stadium? You might as well imagine you're among friends."

The truth is that in every interview he had to give for the Capitol Tim wanted to be somewhere else, so Effie wasn't so wrong. 

"I can't pretend those people are my friends being that they're going to bet on how long I'll last alive."

"Then fake it!" exclaims Effie. Then she regains her composure and flashes an ear-to-ear grin "See? Like this. I'm smiling at you even though you're exasperating me."

Tim just snorts and goes to change his clothes. He doesn't think he can stand the Capitol suits for more than a couple of hours, let alone shoes. 

Darla and Jean-Paul seem to be in good spirits, so Tim figures the content session will be better than the morning's sufferings. He couldn't be more wrong. After lunch, Jean-Paul takes him into the living room, asks him to sit on the couch, and scowls at him for a while.

"What?" he finally asks.

"I'm trying to figure out what to do with you, how we're going to introduce you. Are you going to be charming? Haughty? Fierce? For now you're shining like a star: you volunteered to save your brother, Cinna made you unforgettable, and you got top marks. People are curious, but no one knows what you look like. The impression you make tomorrow will decide what I can get you with sponsors."

Since Tim has been watching interviews with the tributes all his life, he knows there's some truth to what he's saying. If the audience likes you, whether it's because they find you funny, brutal or eccentric, you win their favor. His whole family had won over their audience at the games, and that made them winners. 

But Jean had been different. He didn't have the audience on his side, Tim doesn't even know if his father went out of his way to get sponsors or just gave up when he realized no one would give a dime for a kid he didn't want to kill. 

"What was your approach?" he can't help but ask. Jean grimaces. 

"Bruce tried to make me out to be someone I wasn't. I didn't show my skills and during the interviews I was very outgoing. I think he gave up on me after that, I didn't get any help and I had to do what I had to do to survive." 

"Then why do I have to be someone I'm not?" 

"Because without help the games become very complicated, even more so when you have all eyes on you. They'll make things harder for you, and you're going to need all the help you can get." Jean leaned over so she could take Tim's hand in his own. "I don't want you to go through what I did, I'm going to give my all to make sure you win these games."

Tim feels his eyes water, but he doesn't want to cry. He gently removes his hand from Jean's to rub his eyes. Jean-Paul returns to his position and pretends not to watch as small tears escape from the corners of Tim's eyes. 

"What's Darla's approach?" he asks to change the subject.  

"She'll try to be nice. She knows how to laugh at herself, it comes naturally to her. On the other hand, when you open your mouth you seem moody and indifferent."

Tim folds his arms.

"And how are we going to improve on that?"

"Pretend I'm your audience, charm me."

Jean-Paul adopts the role of the interviewer and Tim tries to answer his questions adorably, but he can't, because even though Jean is his friend, he knows that during the interviews he will be alone. Everything would be different if Jean could be by his side supporting him. 

After an hour Jean makes him stop.

"Okay, that's enough," he tells him. "We have to find another approach. Not only are you indifferent, but even though I've heard you ask about fifty questions, I don't feel like it's you. I've known you for years, Tim, but this person you're projecting is not you. People on Capitol want to know you, rather than as Bruce Wayne's son. 

"You said I have to be someone else! Besides, I don't want them to know me! They're already taking away my future! They can't take away what mattered to me in the past too!

"Then lie! Make something up!" 

This is the first time Tim hears Jean raise his voice. Not even Dick's comments managed to upset him. 

"I'm not good at lying."

"I've seen you lie to Bruce's face." 

"It's different lying to your family than to strangers."

"Okay, then try acting humble."

"Humility."

"That you can't believe that a boy from District 12 could have done so well, that all of this is more than you could have ever imagined. Talk about Cinna's clothes, how nice the people are, how you're in awe of this city. If you don't want to talk about you, at least compliment them. Keep saying it over and over again, talk enthusiastically."

The next few hours are torture. It's instantly clear that Tim can't talk enthusiastically. Apparently, Tim is too "vulnerable" to bet on ferocity. They try to project a witty image, because Tim is, but he's too nervous for it to work. He also can't be sexy or mysterious. 

By the time they finish the session, Tim is nobody. Tim even got Jean-Paul to go get a glass of wine, which ended up turning into a bottle. 

"Tim, I love you very much, but I give up on the interview, I'll give my all to get sponsors even if it goes badly for you. Just stick to answering the questions and try not to let the audience see how much you hate being there." .

Tim eats dinner in his room. He orders an outrageous amount of delicacies and eats until he gets sick; he ends up vomiting on the floor for that very reason. Well, maybe it's nerves too.  

The avox that Darla claimed to know comes to open the bed for him, and seeing the mess makes her open her eyes wide. 

"I'm...I'm sorry. Leave it like that, I'll clean it up."

The girl, instead of heeding him and leaving, closes the door and goes into the washroom, from where she emerges with a damp cloth; she then wipes his face and continues with the floor.

Tim can't help but wonder if being in Darla's place he would have tried to save her. It doesn't take him long to realize that he wouldn't, because even if he would have felt terrible doing nothing, he couldn't dare put his family in danger. 

He can't stand by and do nothing, so he spends the next half hour helping her clean the room. Once the floor is clean, she opens the bed for him, Tim climbs in like he's five years old and lets her tuck him in. He falls asleep almost instantly, as if everything that had happened during the day was nothing more than a dream.

In the morning she doesn't show up, but the prep team does. His classes with Effie and Jean-Paul are over, this day belongs to Cinna, his last hope. Tim thinks maybe he can make him look so wonderful that no one will pay attention to what comes out of his mouth.

The team works on him well into the afternoon, turning his skin into shimmering satin, painting flames on his twenty perfect nails. Then Venia starts working on his hair; she cuts the ends a little on the sides, but leaves the center long. They erase his face with a coat of pale make-up and redraw his features: huge blue eyes, bright red lips, eyelashes that give off streaks of light when he blinks. Finally, they cover his entire body with a golden powder that makes him sparkle.

Then Cinna enters carrying what, Tim assumes, is his suit, but he doesn't see it, because it's covered.

"Close your eyes," he orders him.

First he notices the silky lining and then the weight. It must weigh about twenty pounds. He grabs Octavia's hand to keep from falling as he blindly puts on his shoes. They adjust a couple of things and fiddle with the suit; everyone is silent.

"Can I open my eyes?" asks Tim.

"Yes," replies Cinna, "open them."

The creature in front of him, in the full-length mirror, has come from another world, a world where the skin glows, the eyes dazzle and, apparently, they make the clothes with precious stones, because his suit, oh, his suit is completely covered with gems that reflect the light, red, yellow and white stones with little blue bits that accentuate the tips of the flame pattern. The slightest movement makes tongues of flame seem to engulf him. But even so, the suit is not as heavy as it should be, nor is it uncomfortable. Tim feels as if he's wearing a rose petal, because it's not normal for the fabric to be so soft and fragile. 

Tim is not handsome, not beautiful. Tim shines like the sun.

Everyone just stares at him for a while.

"Oh, Cinna," he manages to whisper at last. "Thank you."

"Do a full lap," he tells him, and Tim holds out his arms and does it.

The prep team shouts, excited.

Cinna tells the team to leave and has Tim move around the room in the suit and shoes, which are a hell of a lot more manageable than the ones from the day before. 

"Well, everything ready for the interview?" asks Cinna.

Judging by his expression, Tim knows he's been talking to Jean-Paul, who knows what a mess he is.

"I'm pitiful. We tried everything, but I wasn't able to do it, I can't be one of those people he wants."

"And why aren't you yourself?" he asks him, after a moment's thought.

"Myself? That won't do either. We try, but Jean says I'm too indifferent and moody."

"Well, that's true...when you're with Effie." replies Cinna, smiling. "You don't seem that way to me, the prep team loves you and I know Jean-Paul loves you ; you even won over the Gamemakers. As for the citizens of the Capitol, well, they can't stop talking about you. No one can help but admire your spirit."

His spirit; that's new. Tim doesn't quite know what it means, though he suggests that he's a fighter, that he's brave or something. It's not like Tim doesn't know how to be nice, either. Maybe he doesn't go around spreading love to people, maybe he's too nervous to smile, but there are people he cares about.

"What if, when you're answering questions, you imagine you're talking to a friend from home?" he says, grabbing her hands, which are ice cold; his aren't. "Who's your best friend?"

"Stephanie," he replies instantly. "It doesn't make sense though, Cinna, because I would never tell Steph those personal things. She already knows it."

"What about me, could you consider me a friend?"

"I think so, but..."

Of all the people Tim has met since he left home, Cinna ranks at the top. He liked him from the beginning and hasn't let him down yet.

"I'll be sitting on the main platform, with the other stylists; you'll be able to look right at me. When you're asked a question, look me up and answer as truthfully as you can."

"Even if what you plan to say is horrible or boring?" 

"Especially if you think it's awful - will you try?"

Tim nodded. 

The time to leave comes all too soon. The interviews take place on a stage built in front of the Training Center. Within minutes of leaving his room Tim is in front of the crowd, the cameras, all of Panem.

As Cinna goes to turn the doorknob, he grabs his hand.

"Cinna..." Stage fright has him completely petrified. It's worse than the interviews at his house.

"Remember, they already want you," Cinna tells him gently. "Just stick to being yourself."

They meet the rest of the District 12 team in the elevator. Portia and hers have been hard at work - Darla looks stunning in her black dress with orange and red flame trim. Although they look good together, Tim feels it's a relief that they're not dressed exactly alike. 

The elevator doors open and they see the other tributes line up to go on stage. Tim tries to see Conner, but he is placed in front of him. The twenty-four sit in a large arch during the interviews. Tim would be last, because the girl always precedes the guy from his district.

Tim wants to wish Darla good luck, and apologize for so readily accepting Jean-Paul's order, but they don't have much room to interact, as they walk one at a time to their seats and take their places.

Just by setting foot on the stage, his breath is already quickening. He feels the veins throbbing in his temples. He is relieved to reach his chair, because with his legs trembling, he is afraid of stumbling. 

Although night is falling, the City Circle is brighter than a summer's day. They've built elevated bleachers for the prestigious guests, with the stylists positioned in the front row. Cameras will turn to them as the crowd reacts to their work. There is also a large balcony reserved for the Gamemakers, and the TV crews have taken over almost every other balcony. However, the City Circle and the avenues leading to it are completely crowded with people, all standing. In homes and municipal auditoriums across the country, every television set is on, every citizen of Panem watching. Tonight there will be no blackouts.

Caesar Flickerman, the man who has been in charge of the interviews for over forty years, enters the stage. He's a little scary, because his appearance hasn't changed a bit in all that time: the same face under a layer of pure white makeup; the same hairstyle, although every year he dyes it a different color; the same ceremonial suit, navy blue dotted with thousands of tiny light bulbs that twinkle like stars. In the Capitol they have surgeons who make people younger and thinner, whereas, in District 12, looking old is something of an accomplishment, as many die young. Everyone envies the fatties, because their looks mean they haven't had trouble eating. In the Capitol it's different: wrinkles are not desirable, and a round belly is not a symbol of success.

This year, Caesar's hair is light blue, and his eyelids and lips are painted the same shade. It looks weird, although Tim doesn't find it as scary as last year, when he wore scarlet and looked like he was bleeding. The presenter tells a few jokes to cheer up the audience and then gets down to business.

The girl from District 1 walks up to center stage in a provocative gold see-through dress and joins Caesar for the interview. It's clear that her mentor has had no problem choosing her approach: with that gorgeous blonde hair, emerald green eyes, tall, slender body. Tim thinks she's sexy, no question about it.

The interviews last three minutes, after which a buzzer sounds and the next tribute comes up. Admittedly, Caesar does his best to make the tributes shine; he's pleasant, tries to put the nervous ones at ease, laughs at silly jokes, and can turn a lazy answer into something memorable just by his reaction.

Tim remains seated the way Effie taught him, as the districts continue to pass, 2, 3, 4. They all have a focus: the monster boy from District 2 is a relentless killing machine; the sly-faced girl from District 5 is mischievous and sneaky, like a weasel. Tim sees Cinna as soon as he sits down, but even her presence doesn't relax him. 

Finally the District 9 interview arrives. The girl finishes speaking and it's Conner's turn. Tim wants to bite his nails, because his whole plan hinges on how good Conner is at lying. 

Tim spends the first part of Conner's interview in a daze, even though he sees that he has the audience on his hands from the beginning; he hears them laughing and screaming. He's using being the son of a victor to his advantage. Then he tells a funny anecdote about the dangers of the Capitol showers.

"Say, do I still smell like roses?" he asks Caesar, and then they spend some time sniffing each other in turn, which makes everyone crack up. Tim starts to regain his concentration just in the nick of time, when Caesar asks him if he has anyone special at home. 

Conner hesitates and then shakes his head, though not quite convinced.

"A good-looking guy like you? There's got to be someone special. Come on, what's their name?"

"Well, there is a boy," he replies, sighing. "I only met him recently, but they say young love is quick, and well, it was impossible for me not to love him. I don't know how he feels about me, though."

The crowd expresses sympathy: they understand what unrequited love is like.

"Does he have someone else?"

"I don't know."

"Then I'll tell you what you have to do: win and go home. Then he won't be able to reject you, huh?" encourages Caesar.

"I don't think it would work. Winning...won't help, in my case." 

Tim braces himself, because his face has to be one of utter surprise - nothing else can work. 

"Why not?" asks Caesar, perplexed.

"Because..." begins to stammer Conner, blushing. "Because... he's here with me."

Chapter Text

For a moment, the cameras linger on Conner's crestfallen gaze as everyone takes in what he just said. Then Tim saw his face, dumbfounded, with a mixture of surprise and love, magnified on all the screens. 

Tim had never been able to fully show his emotions, but when you come from a family like his, knowing how to pretend is a big deal. And Tim was an expert at pretending to be who he was not. At home he could pretend to be happy, upbeat, excited and as if Jason's harsh words wouldn't affect him. So if Tim could be that at home, he could pretend to be a boy in love in front of the Capitol.

"Wow, that's really bad luck," Caesar says, and he seems genuinely sorry. The crowd agrees with him in their murmurs, and a few have let out little cries of anguish.

"Not good, no," agrees Conner.

"Anyway, no one can blame you for it, it's hard not to fall in love with that young man. didn't he know that?

"I don't think so" replies Conner, shaking his head.

Tim briefly lifts his gaze to look at the screen for a second, long enough to see that his blush is perfectly visible.

"Wouldn't you like to get an answer to that?" asks Caesar to the audience, who respond with affirmative shouts. "We'll get the answer from our dear Tim Wayne. Well, I wish you the best of luck, Conner Kent , and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say we hold you in our hearts."

The roar from the crowd is deafening; Conner has wiped all the other tributes off the map, Tim knows that no matter what he says or does, it won't compare to him. When the crowd finally quiets down, Conner mumbles a "thank you" and returns to his seat.

Then it's District 10's turn. The lame kid from District 10 is very quiet. Tim's hands are sweating profusely and the gemstone suit isn't absorbent, so they slip if he tries to dry them on it.

He had rehearsed what to say once Conner did his part, but still Tim is afraid of ruining everything. 

It's District 11's turn and finally District 12. Darla is the first one through in her gauzy black dress that seems to make her float with every step she takes. The crowd falls silent at the sight of her, who seems like a breath of magical air. The host treats her gently and praises the seven she scored in training, a very high score for such a small and slim girl. When he asks her what her strong point will be in the stadium, she doesn't hesitate:

"It's hard to catch me," she says, in a tremulous voice. "And, if you don't catch me, you won't be able to kill me, so don't write me off so quickly."

"Not in a million years" replies Caesar, encouraging her.

And then they call Timothy Wayne.

Tim feels like he's in a dream, getting up and approaching center stage. He accepts Caesar's handshake and he has the grace not to wipe the sweat right away on his suit.

"Well, Tim, I know what the audience wants to hear, but first tell us a little about yourself. You've been around cameras since you were adopted by our favorite victor Bruce Wayne, but this is the first time you've been on Capitol. What has impressed you the most since you've been here?

What? What did he say? It's like the words don't make sense.

His mouth is as dry as a shoe sole. He searches desperately for Cinna in the crowd and looks him in the eye; he imagines the words have come from his lips,

"What has impressed you the most since you've been here?" Tim rack his brain trying to think of something that has made him happy since his arrival. 

Of course he wants to say Darla and Conner, but the audience is expecting something that is their own, not other tributes. 

Be honest. He think. Be honest.

"The lamb stew" , he manages to say. Caesar laughs and Tim realizes, vaguely, that some of the audience does the same.

"The prune one?" asks Caesar, and Tim nods. "Oh, I eat it nonstop." He turns to the audience, horrified, his hand on his stomach. "It won't show, will it?" they all shout to cheer him on and clap. "Well, Tim," he continues, in a confidential tone. "When you showed up at the opening ceremony my heart literally stopped. What did you think of that suit?"

Cinna arches an eyebrow. Tim has to be honest.

"You mean after checking to make sure I didn't burn to death?"

Laughter from the host, genuine guffaws from the audience.

"Yeah, from there."

"I thought Cinna was a genius. That it was the most wonderful suit I had ever seen and couldn't believe I was wearing it. I can't believe I'm wearing this one either. Anyway, check it out!"

As the audience erupts in exclamations of admiration, Tim sees Cinna move his finger in circles; he knows what he wants to say, "Turn for me."

Tim stands up, gives a full twirl and the reaction is instantaneous.

"Oh, do it again!" asks Caesar, so Tim raises his arms and spins around and around, letting the fabric float around him, letting the fabric engulf him in flames.

The audience cheers him on. When he stops, he has to grab onto the host arm. "Don't stop!" he tells him.

"I have to - I got dizzy!"

Tim is also letting out silly giggles, which surprises him, because it's something he only does with his family and close friends. The nerves and gyrations have gotten the better of him.

"Don't worry, I've got you," Caesar tells him, putting an arm around him. "It's okay, you're safe with me. Well, let's talk about the score: eleven. Give us a clue what happened in there."

"Ummm..." Tim says, looking at the Gamemakers, who are on the balcony, and Tim bites a lip. "I'll just say one thing: I don't think they've ever seen anything like it."

The cameras focus on the Gamemakers, who are laughing and nodding.

"You're killing us," protests the host, as if it really hurts. "Details, details."

"I'm not supposed to tell anything, am I?" he asks, looking up at the balcony.

"That's right!" shouts the Gamemaker who fell into the punch bowl.

"Thank you" replies Tim. "Sorry, my lips are sealed."

"So, now let's talk about what I think everyone wants to know. Your friendship with Conner Kent, our District 9 tribute, started at the training center, had you ever heard of him before?"

Tim feels his cheeks flush, and thinks it's good that he's showing a little of his nervousness. 

"Our parents know each other, but I didn't know about him until the first day at The Training Center. It was impossible not to recognize him though, he's the spitting image of his father." 

"So how did you two meet?" asks Caesar leaning closer, trying to make the conversation seem intimate between two friends. "Who spoke to each other first?"

Tim smiles and lets out a small laugh that he hopes is believable. 

"Well, actually Conner was watching me for a while, but I was the first one to talk" Tim shrugs with a nonchalant air. "I like spending time with him."

"We've already heard Conner's confession, and believe me Tim, we wouldn't want to pressure you to answer. But we all want to know what's going on between the two of you!" 

The audience goes wild at Caesar's words. Even though Caesar says he doesn't want to push it, everyone is waiting for him. 

Tim had told Conner that the Capitol likes good stories, and they were going to give him one to talk about, so it was time for Tim to seal the deal. 

Tim sighs and looks doubtfully at the host for a few seconds, before turning to the audience. 

"I wish I could have met him under different circumstances." 

Just then the buzzer sounds announcing that his time was up. 

"I'm sorry, we've run out of time. Best of luck to you, Tim Wayne, tribute from District 12."

The applause continues long after they are seated. Tim looks to Cinna for reassurance, and he gives a thumbs up to indicate that all went well.

Caesar bids farewell to his audience, and a few seconds later all the tributes rise for the anthem. Tim has to raise his head, because it's a mandatory show of respect, and he can't help but notice that an image of Conner and him appears on all the screens, separated by a few feet that, in the minds of the viewers, must seem insurmountable. 

Poor tragic couple.

Tim smiles slightly. 

After the anthem, the tributes line up to return to the Training Center lobby and their elevators. Although Tim wants to be able to talk to Conner, he is rushed into an elevator next to Darla. The crowd holds back their entourage of stylists, sitters and escorts, so they are left alone. Tim wants to talk to her about his plan, but he knows it's risky and at this point it's not worth it. Things are done and they have to adapt to them.

They both get to their floor and stare at each other, neither of them really knowing what to say. But after a few moments Darla opens her mouth, as if her brain has finally found the words to break the uncomfortable silence.

But nothing happens, because just at that second the elevator doors open again. It's the rest of his team. 

Jean-Paul is the last to leave, he beckons Tim to follow him to his room. Tim has no choice but to accept, he gives Darla one last look to apologize, but she is already busy talking to her stylist. 

Tim closes the door behind him. Jean-Paul's room is almost in semi-darkness, except for the window that shows images of the Capitol at night. Jean is leaning against one of the walls, arms crossed and staring intently at Tim. 

"You should have told me," is the first thing he says.

"I-" 

And what can Tim say, I'm sorry? He knows he hurt him by not telling about his plan. Tim actually trusts him, he does, but this was his, something he had planned and orchestrated. He hadn't needed the manipulations of others or having to pretend to be who he wasn't to achieve a goal. Tim simply had to continue to be nice to Conner, something he already was because it was impossible not to love that boy. If Jean - or anyone else - had found out about his plan they might have wanted to change everything, and Tim wanted things to stay as it was.

So of course he felt bad about withholding information from his mentor.

"I know I should have told you," Tim finally responds.  It's a lame excuse, and you can see it by the way Jean frowns. "It's just...I thought you might not think it was a good idea and you would be put off. "

"I don't think it's a bad idea." The answer came quickly. Tim was grateful. "However, it would have made it feel better to know that you trusted me enough to tell each other what you were planning. "

"I trust you, I really do. But when it all came up you weren't there, I didn't have time to tell you and then I didn't get the chance" Tim takes a breath. "Jean, I promise you this is going to work. I know you'll do whatever it takes to help me, and I know this is going to be a big advantage for us."

Tim looks at the man in front of him. This man that he has grown up with, that he has trained with.  A friend and confidant - who cares if the man is older than him? This man he has come to respect and admire insensibly.  

Jean-Paul sighs with resignation. 

"Sometimes I wish I could be mad at you."

Tim smiled. There were things Jean would never change.

"But you're glad we're friends, aren't you?"

"Just...if you ever think of anything like that again you have to tell me, understand?"

Tim nods and smiles at him, relieved that this whole mess is over and he can move on with his life, even if it's just for a little while longer.

"Tim, before we go back there's something I have to tell you." Jean-Paul moves closer to him until they are face to face. "No matter what happens from now on, I just want you to know that you are my family and I love you. Whatever happens in the games, I am already proud of you, to me you are already a victor." 

Tim feels his eyes watering, he fights back tears for a few seconds before rushing to hug the man in front of him. 

He knows this is goodbye. 

Tim wipes away his tears and they both return to the living room, and after a quick chat they go to dinner to catch the replay of the interviews in the living room. 

When he sees himself on TV, Tim feels that he looks shallow and smug, pacing around and giggling, although the others assure him that they think he's charming. But without a doubt the interview that sticks in everyone's mind is the one with Conner. He is indeed charming, and then he is irresistible in his lover-boy act. And there's Tim, blushing and perplexed, stunning thanks to Cinna's hands, desirable thanks to Conner's confession, tragic because of the circumstances and, no matter how you look at it, impossible to forget.

When the hymn ends and the screen goes dark, the room falls silent.

Tomorrow morning at dawn they will get them up and ready for the stadium. The games themselves don't start until ten o'clock, because many of the people in the Capitol get up late, but Tim and Darla have to start early. There is no telling how far away the battlefield chosen for this year's games will be.

Tim knows that Jean-Paul and Effie won't be going with them. As soon as they leave here, they will travel to the headquarters of the games, where they will recruit sponsors non-stop and work on a strategy to decide how and when to deliver the gifts to them. Cinna and Portia will travel with Tim and Darla to the very point from where they will launch them into battle. Regardless, it is time to say goodbye.

Effie takes them both by the hand, with real tears in her eyes, and wishes them good luck. She thanks them for being the best tributes she has ever had the privilege of sponsoring; then, because she is Effie and seems to be obligated by law to always say something awful, she adds:

"Wouldn't be at all surprised if next year I'm finally promoted to a decent district!"

Then she kisses them on the cheek and quickly walks away, Tim not sure whether overwhelmed by the sentimental goodbye or by the possible improvement in her fortune.

Jean-Paul crosses his arms and examines them.

"One last piece of advice?" asks Darla.

"When the gong rings, run as fast as you can. Neither of you are good enough to mushroom in the Cornucopia bloodbath. Run out, put as much distance between as you can and find a water source. Got it?"

"And then?" asks Tim. 

"Try to survive."  

They nod. What else can they do?

He goes to his room and takes a shower and washes off the gold paint, makeup and the scent of beauty. All that's left of the design team's work are the flames on his fingernails, which Tim decides to keep to remind the audience who he is: Tim Wayne, the boy on fire. Maybe it will give him something to hold on to in the days ahead.

He puts on thick, wool-like pajamas and goes to bed. In about five seconds he realizes he won't fall asleep, and he desperately needs to, because every moment of fatigue in the stadium is an invitation to death.

It's no use; an hour passes, then two, then three, and his eyelids refuse to close. He can't help imagining what terrain they will be released on: desert? swamp? frozen wasteland? Most of all he hopes there will be trees that can offer them hiding places, food and shelter. There are usually trees, because bare landscapes are boring and, without vegetation, the games are soon over. But, what will the weather be like?, and what traps will the Watchers have hidden to liven up the boring moments? And then there are the other tributes.

The more anxious he is to go to sleep, the less he succeeds. In the end he is so restless that he has to get out of bed; he paces the room, noticing that his heart is beating too fast, that his breathing is racing. It's like being in a cell, if he doesn't get some fresh air soon he's going to start breaking everything again. He runs down the hall to the door leading to the roof, which not only is not locked, but has been left ajar. Maybe someone forgot to close it, although it doesn't matter, because the energy field surrounding the roof prevents any desperate attempt to escape, and Tim doesn't want to escape, just fill his lungs with air; he wants to see the sky and the moon before they try to hunt him down.

Is this how his family felt when they were in his place?

The roof is not lit at night, but as soon as he steps barefoot on the tile floor, he sees his silhouette against the lights that keep shining on the Capitol. On the streets there is quite a racket, music, people singing and horns, things he wasn't hearing through the thick glass panels of his room. Tim could take off right now without her noticing; she wouldn't hear him over all the commotion. However, the night air is so pleasant that he couldn't bear to return to his cramped cage. 

He advances noiselessly across the tiles; when he is within a few feet of her, he says: 

"You should be sleeping."

She startles, but doesn't turn around, and Tim sees her shake her head a little.

"I didn't want to miss the party. After all, it's for us."

Tim walks over to her and peers over the edge: the wide streets are full of people dancing. He strains to make out the details of their diminutive figures.

"Are they in costume?"

"Who knows? Considering the crazy outfits they're wearing here.... You couldn't sleep either?"

"I couldn't stop thinking," Tim replies.

"Do you think about your family?"

"No" he admits, feeling a little guilty. "I keep wondering what's going to happen tomorrow, though it doesn't help, of course." In the light coming from below he can see her face. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about Conner." 

Darla shrugs. 

"I'm not going to lie, I wish you would have told me" Darla replies. "But it's your thing." 

Tim sighs. He's already hurt two people with his secrets. 

"Wouldn't mind staying the rest of my life up here if it means not having to go to the games tomorrow" Darla says after a few minutes. "I just hope I don't embarrass my district tomorrow, or my family. I want them to be proud of me until the last minute." 

Tim nods. 

"I'm afraid of letting my family down," he confesses. "They are all champions...And Bruce...I don't know if he would forgive me if he was forced to kill someone."

"But your siblings..."

"It's different with them. Bruce would forgive Jason anything, and everyone knows Cass is his favorite, but he's always been picky with me. Maybe he knew I was going to be a disappointment from the start and that's why he didn't want to come to the Capitol with me" he shrugs. 

"But, Tim! You've done nothing but surprise everyone! You're the boy on fire. If this game was about popularity, you would have won by now." 

"Well, that's not what it's about." replies Tim. "I'll try to go to sleep, are you coming?" 

"I'll stay here a little longer. Good night Tim."

Although he tries to rest, Tim spends the rest of the night sleeping for a few minutes and then waking up because of some nightmare. 

Tim doesn't see Darla in the morning. Cinna comes for him before dawn, gives him a simple robe and accompanies him to the roof. Final preparations will be made in the catacombs below the stadium itself. A hovercraft emerges out of nowhere, and drops a ladder. He places his feet and hands on the first step and is instantly paralyzed. Some sort of current sticks him to the ladder until he is pulled up inside.

Although Tim imagined the ladder would let go of him when he got there, he is still glued to it and a woman in a white gown approaches him with a syringe.

"It's your tracking device, Tim. The more still you are, the better I can place it on you," she explains to him.

Tim stands still as a statue. However, that doesn't stop him from feeling a sharp pain when the needle inserts the metal device under the skin of his forearm. Now the Gamemakers will be able to locate him at all times. They would hate to lose a tribute.

As soon as the device is in place, the ladder releases it. The woman disappears and Cinna is picked up from the roof. An avox boy approaches and escorts them to a room where breakfast has been served. Despite the tension Tim feels in his stomach, he sews as much as he can, though the delicious treats don't impress him. He is so nervous he could be eating coal dust. The only thing that distracts him is the view from the windows: they fly over the city and then the uninhabited area beyond. 

This is what the birds see, Tim thinks, only they are free and safe. Just the opposite of me.

The trip lasts about half an hour. Then the windows darken, indicating that they have arrived at the stadium. The hovercraft lands, and Cinna and Tim return to the ladder, but this time to descend to a subway tube leading to the catacombs. They follow the instructions to reach their destination, a chamber where they make preparations. In the Capitol they call it the launch room. In the districts they know it as the pen, where they keep the animals before taking them to the slaughterhouse.

Everything is new; Tim will be the first and only occupant of this launch room.

The battlefields are historic sites and preserve them after the games, popular tourist destinations for Capitol residents: you can spend a session here, re-watch the games, take a tour of the catacombs and visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even participate in reenactments of the events.

Tim struggles not to vomit up his breakfast as he showers and brushes his teeth. Cinna dries his hair and tousles it a bit, then the clothes arrive, the same for each tribute. Cinna has nothing to do with Tim's outfit, he doesn't even know what's in the package, but helps him get dressed in the underwear, the reddish pants, the light green blouse, the sturdy brown belt and the thin black hooded jacket that goes down to his thighs.

"The material of the jacket is designed to harness body heat, so you're in for cool nights," he tells Tim.

The boots, which he pulls on over tight-fitting socks, are better than you might expect: soft leather, similar to the ones Tim has at home. However, these have a flexible rubber sole with patterns, perfect for running.

Just when Tim thinks he's done, Cinna pulls the gold Mockingjay badge out of his pocket. Tim had completely forgotten about it.

"Where did you get it?" he asks him.

"From the suit you were wearing on the train," he replies. "It's the symbol of your district, isn't it?" Tim nods, and Cinna puts it on his shirt. "It almost didn't make it past the review board. Some thought it could be used as a weapon and give you an unfair advantage, but, in the end, they approved it. They did remove a ring from the girl in District 1; if you twisted the gem, a poisoned tip would come out. The girl said she had no idea the ring transformed and there was no evidence to prove otherwise. Anyway, she lost her symbol. Well, that's it. Move along, make sure you're comfortable."

Tim walks over, runs in a circle and waves his arms.

"Yes, it's fine. it stays perfectly."

"Then all that's left to do is wait for the call," Cinna tells him. "Unless you can eat something else."

Tim refuses the food, though he accepts a glass of water, which he gulps down as they wait on the couch. He doesn't want to bite his nails or his lips, so I end up nibbling on the inside of his cheek. 

Nerves turn to terror as he begins to think about what awaits him. He could be dead, completely dead, in an hour or less. He obsessively touches the hard lump on his forearm, where the woman injected him with the tracking device. Despite the pain, he squeezes it so hard it bruises.

"Do you want to talk, Tim?"

Tim shakes his head, but, after a moment, he shakes his hand and Cinna squeezes it between his own. They sit like that until a pleasant female voice announces that it's time to get ready to launch.

Still clutching Cinna's hands, Tim approaches the round metal plate.

"Remember what Jean-Paul said: run, get water. The rest will come out on its own," he says, and Tim nods. "And remember one thing: even though I'm not allowed to bet, if I could, I'd bet on you."

"Really?" whispers Tim.

"Really," Cinna affirms; then leans over and gives him a kiss on the forehead. "Good luck, boy on fire."

Then a cylinder of glass surrounds him, forcing them to let go, forcing Tim to separate from him. Cinna taps him on the chin; he wants to tell him to keep his head up.

Tim lifts his chin and stands as still as possible. The cylinder begins to rise and, for about fifteen seconds, he is in darkness. Then he notices that the metal plate comes out of the cylinder and carries him into the bright sunlight, which dazzles him; he is only aware of a strong wind that brings him a hopeful scent of pine.

At that moment he hears the voice of legendary announcer Claudius Templesmith all around:

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"

Chapter Text

Sixty seconds. That's how long they have to stand in their metal circles before the sound of a gong releases them. If you step forward before the minute is up, the mines blow your legs off. Sixty seconds to watch the ring of tributes, all at the same distance from the Cornucopia, which is a giant golden cone-shaped horn with a curved peak and an opening at least twenty feet high, filled to overflowing with the things that will sustain them here in the arena: food, containers of water, weapons, medicine, clothing, fire-making materials. Around the Cornucopia are other supplies, though their value decreases the farther they are from the horn. For example, a few steps from Tim is a square of plastic about four feet long. It would certainly come in handy in a downpour. However, near the opening he sees a tent that would protect him from any weather condition; if Tim were brave enough to go in and fight for it against the other twenty-three tributes, of course, which he has been advised not to do.

They are on clear, level ground, a plain of flattened earth. Behind the tributes in front of him he sees nothing, indicating a downward slope or maybe a cliff. To his right is a lake. To the left and behind, sparse pine forests. That's the direction Jean-Paul would want Tim to go, and right away.

He hears his instructions inside his head, "Run out, get as much distance in between as possible, and find a water source."

However, it is tempting, very tempting to see the gift in front of him, waiting for him, and to know that, if he doesn't take it, someone else will; that the career tributes who survive the bloodbath will share almost all the loot, essential for survival here. Something catches his eye: on a mound of rolled-up blankets rests a magnificent gleaming spear, and next to it a set of knives. 

That's mine, he thinks. They've left it for me.

Tim is kind of fast, he can run faster than the other boys in his school, though a couple of them beat him at long distances. But it's less than a hundred feet, perfect for him. 

He knows he can make it, he knows he can get there first, though the question is: can he get out of there fast enough? By the time he has reached the blankets and grabs the weapons, the others will have reached the horn, and maybe he can take down a couple of them, but suppose there are twelve; so close, they could kill him with knives or arrows. Or with their huge fists.

On the other hand, he won't be the only target. Surely many of the tributes will pay no attention to a boy smaller than they are, even if he had scored an eleven in training, and would rather devote themselves to fiercer opponents.

Jean-Paul hasn't seen him run, because Tim always avoids competing in front of his brothers knowing he will be humiliated. But, if he had, maybe he would have told him to try, to take the weapon, considering that it is precisely the weapon that could save him. 

The minute must be almost up and Tim has to decide what his strategy will be; at the end he instinctively moves into a position to run, not towards the forest around them, but towards the pile, towards the spear. Then, suddenly, he sees Darla, who is five tributes to his right; despite the distance, Tim knows she is looking at him and Tim thinks she shakes her head, but the sun is in his eyes and, as he turns it over, the gong sounds.

And Tim missed the opportunity, because those two extra seconds of unpreparedness have been enough to make him change his mind. He moves his feet from side to side, not knowing the direction his brain is telling him to go, and he lunges forward, picks up the plastic square and a loaf of bread. He has taken so little and is so angry at Darla for distracting him that he moves forward about 40 feet toward the Cornucopia and picks up a bright orange backpack that could hold anything, just because he can't bear the thought of leaving with practically nothing.

A boy, from District 10, tries to grab the backpack at the same time as Tim and, for a brief moment, they both tug on it. Then he coughs and gets blood all over his face. Tim takes a staggering step back, disgusted by the warm sticky droplets; the boy falls to the ground and Tim sees the knife sticking out of his back.

The other tributes have arrived at the Cornucopia and are scattering to attack. The girl from District 2 runs towards Tim, she is about thirty feet away and is carrying half a dozen knives in her hand. Tim has seen her throw them in training, and she never misses. He is her next target. 

All the general fear Tim has felt so far is condensed into a specific fear of this girl, this predator that could kill him within seconds. With the adrenaline rush, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and runs at full speed into the woods. He hears the blade of the knife coming at him and reflexively lifts his backpack to protect his head; the blade sticks in it. With the backpack slung on his back, he keeps running towards the trees. Somehow, he knows the girl won't follow him, that she'll make it back to the Cornucopia before they take all the good stuff. Tim smiles and thinks: Thanks for the knife. 

At the edge of the forest he turns for a moment to examine the battlefield; there are about a dozen tributes fighting in the horn and some dead lying on the ground.

Those who have fled disappear into the trees or into the emptiness he sees on the other side. He keeps running until the forest hides him from the other tributes and then slows down a little to maintain a pace that allows him to keep going for a while longer. For the next few hours he alternates running with walking to get as far away as possible from his competitors. 

He loses his bread in the struggle with the boy from District 10, but manages to get the plastic in his sleeve, so, while walking, he folds it up neatly and puts it in a pocket. He also pulls out the knife (it's a good one, it has a long sharp blade with teeth near the handle, which will come in handy for sawing things) and tucks it into his belt. He keeps moving, only stopping to see if he is being followed.

Thanks to all his training, Tim has a lot of stamina. However, he's going to need water. It was Jean-Paul's second instruction so he tries to pay attention to any trace of moisture, but with no luck.

The forest begins to evolve and the pines are mixed with a variety of trees, some recognizable and others completely unknown to him. At a certain point he hears a noise and pulls out his knife, thinking to defend himself, but it turns out to be a frightened rabbit.

"Good to see you" he whispers. Where there is one rabbit, there could be hundreds waiting for him to hunt them down.

The ground slopes down, Tim steps down carefully, trying not to trip and roll off. 

The funny thing is, he doesn't feel too bad; the binge eating of the last few days has been good for him. He can keep himself up even if he's sleep-deprived, and being in the woods reminds him of his first home, his home before his parents died. He appreciates the loneliness, even if it's nothing more than an illusion, as he's likely to be on screen right now, not continuously, but from time to time. There are so many deaths to show on the first day that a tribute walking through the woods isn't too interesting. However, they'll get him out enough to let people know he's still alive, unharmed and moving. One of the strongest days of betting is the opening day, when the first casualties come in, though it can't compare to what happens as the battle narrows down to a handful of players.

Late in the afternoon he start to hear the cannons. Each shot represents a dead tribute. At last the fighting must be over at the Cornucopia, as they never pick up the corpses from the bloodbath until the killers disperse.

On opening day they don't even fire the cannons until the first battle is over, because they find it too difficult to keep track of the dead. Tim allows himself a pause, between gasps, to count the shots. One..., two..., three..., and so on up to eleven. Eleven dead in all; thirteen left to play with. He scratches the dried blood that the boy from District 10 coughed in his face. No doubt he's dead. What happened to Darla, to Conner?  He'll know in a few hours, when they project the images of the dead into the sky for the others to see.

Suddenly, he is overcome by the thought that one of the two has died, that their bodies have been picked up and are on their way back to the Capitol, where they will be cleaned, dressed and sent to his District in a simple wooden box; that they are no longer here, but on their way home. 

He thinks that perhaps it is best that they are dead. Darla has no chance, and although Conner is big and strong, his chances are still less than with career tributes. So Tim won't have to face the unpleasant task of killing them. Maybe it's better that they're out of the game for good.

He plops down next to his backpack, exhausted. Anyway, he needs to check it before nightfall and see what he has to work with. When he unbuckles the straps, he notices that it's sturdy, though it's a very unfortunate color. This orange one almost glows in the dark; he notes that he needs to camouflage it as soon as it becomes daylight.

He opens the flap; right now, what he wants most of all is water. Jean-Paul's advice to find it immediately was not arbitrary: he won't last long without it.

Maybe Tim can function for a few days with the ugly symptoms of dehydration, but then he will deteriorate to helplessness and die in a week at most. 

He carefully pulls out the supplies: a thin black sleeping bag that stores body heat; a package of crackers; a package of beef jerky strips; a bottle of iodine; a box of wooden matches; a small roll of wire; some sunglasses; and a plastic bottle with a stopper to fill it with water, though it's empty.

No water. Tim notices how dry his throat and mouth are, the cracks in his lips. He's been moving around all day, it's been hot and he's been sweating a lot.

As he stuffs his things back into his backpack, a horrible thought occurs to him: the lake, the one he saw while waiting for the gong to sound, would it be the only source of water in the stadium? That would ensure that everyone would have to fight. The lake is a whole day's walk from here, a very tough hike if you have nothing to drink.

In any case, even if he did make it, he's sure to be guarded by some of the professional tributes. He starts to panic, until he remembers the rabbit that ran off earlier in the day; he has to drink too, Tim just has to find out where.

It starts to get dark and Tim is not comfortable. The trees are too sparse to hide in, and the layer of pine needles cushioning his footsteps also makes it difficult to track the animals to find water. In addition, he keeps going further and further down into a valley that never seems to end.

He's hungry too, but he doesn't dare waste his precious treasure of crackers and jerky, so he takes out his knife and - just as he learned in training a few days ago - sets about cutting a pine tree, stripping off the outer bark and pulling out a good handful of the softer inner bark. He chews it slowly as he walks. After a week of enjoying the best food in the world, it's hard to take. 

After an hour it is clear that he has to find a place to sleep. The creatures of the night come out of their dens; he hears the occasional howl and owls, which makes him think he will have competition in the rabbit hunt. As to whether they will see him as a food source, it's too early to say. Who knows how many animals are stalking him at the moment.

Right now, however, he believes his priority is the other tributes, as he is sure they will continue to hunt at night. Those who fought at the Cornucopia will have food, plenty of water from the lake, torches or lanterns and weapons they will be eager to use. He just hopes he has moved far enough away to be out of their reach.

Before making camp, he pulls out his wire and sets two snare traps -like the ones he learned to make- in the bushes. He knows it's risky, but it won't be long before he runs out of food. In any case, he walks another five minutes before stopping.

He chooses his tree carefully, a not very tall willow, though placed in a copse with other willows, so that he can hide it among the long overhanging branches. He climbs it using the strongest branches, close to the trunk, and finds a fork that will serve as a bed. It takes him a while, but he manages to get the sleeping bag into a relatively comfortable position and climbs inside. As a precaution, he takes off his belt, pulls it through the branch and the bag, and ties it around his waist. That way, if he rolls while sleeping, he won't fall to the ground. 

Although he is small enough to cover his head with the sack, he pulls up his hood as well. As night falls, the temperature plummets. Despite the risk he took by grabbing the backpack, he knows he did the right thing, because this sleeping bag that reflects his body heat back to him is priceless. Surely, right now, the main concern of several tributes is how to get warm, while maybe Tim can get a few hours of sleep. 

If only he wasn't so thirsty...

Just as night falls he hears the hymn that precedes the casualty count. Through the branches he sees the Capitol seal, which seems to float in the sky. In reality he is looking at a huge screen they are carrying in one of their silent hovercrafts. The anthem ends and the sky darkens for a moment. At home, Tim would be watching with his family the replay of each and every murder, but they feel that would be an unfair advantage to the surviving tributes. For example, if Tim had gotten the spear and killed someone, his secret would be out. No, in the stadium they only see the same pictures they televised when the training scores came out, simple pictures of their heads. Instead of scores, however, what they put underneath is the district number. 

He takes a deep breath as the faces of the eleven dead tributes emerge and he counts them on his fingers.

The first is the girl from District 3, which means that the career tributes from Districts 1 and 2 have survived. He is not surprised. Next, the boy from District 4. He didn't expect that, because the career tributes usually survive the first day. The boy from District 5. The two tributes from 6 and 7. The boy from 8. The girl from 9...

That means Conner is still alive. 

Despite his earlier thoughts, a wave of relief washes over him. 

By his calculations there are only two dead tributes left. Will one be Darla? No, it's the two boys from 10. 

They put the Capitol seal back on with a final musical melody. Then it goes dark and the noises from the forest return.

Tim is actually relieved to know that his two friends are alive, especially since if Darla survives, her victory would benefit everyone in the District. 

He tries to review who is left: five career tributes; the weasel-faced girl, and the strong tribute from District 11. That makes ten, tomorrow he will find out the three he is missing. 

Now, in the dark and after having walked so far and climbed so high in a tree, it's time to try to get some rest.

Actually, Tim hasn't slept much in the last two days, plus the long day's journey through the battlefield. Tim slowly lets his muscles relax. His eyes close. The last thing he thinks is that it's lucky he doesn't snore.... 

-

Crack! The sound of a broken branch wakes him up. 

How long have I been asleep? He thinks, Four hours? Five? The tip of his nose is cold. 

Crack! Crack!

More noises arise in the darkness, but it is not the sound of a branch being stepped on, but of one that has broken off in the tree. 

Crack! Crack!

Tim calculates that it is several feet to his right. He turns that way slowly and quietly. For a few minutes there is nothing but darkness and the sound of movement, but then he sees a spark and the start of a small campfire. A pair of hands warm above it, though Tim can't make out anything else.

He has to bite his lips to keep from shouting out all the bad words Jason taught him. What could he be thinking? Maybe in the daytime a fire could go unnoticed, but at night it's the worst possible sign. 

Tim wants to scream in impotence, because how can he be so unlucky to be only a few steps away from the most idiotic tribute of the games. He wants to run, but if he moves he can give his exact location to any assassins in the area. 

Tim lies still inside his sleeping bag unable to go back to sleep for a couple of hours. The sky is still dark, but he notices that dawn is approaching. He begins to think that perhaps they have gone unnoticed. 

Then he hears it: several pairs of feet running. The one at the campfire must have fallen asleep. 

They fall on her before she can escape; Tim now knows it's a girl, because he hears her pleas and the cry of pain that silences her. For a second his heart stops thinking it might be Darla, but he soon calms down because that is not her voice. Then there is laughter and congratulations from several voices. Someone shouts, "Twelve down, eleven left!". The others cheer.

So they fight in packs; Tim is not surprised. Alliances are often formed in the early stages of games; the strong group together to hunt down the weak, and when the tension starts to grow too much, they turn on each other. It's pretty clear who forms the alliance: it will be the remaining career tributes from Districts 1, 2 and 4, two boys and three girls, who were eating together.

For a moment he hears them searching the girl for supplies. From their comments Tim knows they haven't found anything good. 

"We'd better get going so they can take the corpse away before it starts to stink."

Tim is almost certain that he is the brute of District 2. He hears murmurs of approval and, horrified, sees that they are headed his way. 

They don't know where he is - how could they? Tim is well hidden in the trees, at least while the sun is still low. After that, his black sleeping bag will go from being camouflage to being a problem. If they keep moving, they'll pass under it and disappear in a minute.

Then the professionals stop in the clearing about thirty feet from their tree. They have flashlights and torches, Tim sees an arm here and a boot there through the gaps in the branches.

"Shouldn't we have heard the cannon fire by now?"

"I'd say yes, there's nothing to stop them coming down right away."

"Unless she's not dead."

"She's dead, I've run her through myself."

"Then what about the cannon shot?"

"Someone should go back and make sure it's done."

"Yeah. I don't want to have to chase her twice."

"I said she's dead!"

An argument begins, until one of the tributes silences the others.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her off and we'll keep moving!"

Tim almost falls out of the tree: the one talking was Conner.

Chapter Text

Luckily, Tim had strapped himself to the tree with his belt, because the second he saw Conner, due to shock, he rolled sideways over the branches and was hanging from the branch, facing the ground, held by the belt and one hand, and with his feet straddling the backpack, inside the sleeping bag, hugging the trunk. Tim was sure he must have made some noise as he slid down, but the careers were too engrossed with their discussion to hear him.

"Come on, lover boy," the one from District 2 tells Conner, "see for yourself."

Tim saw out of the corner of his eye Conner, illuminated by the torch, addressing the girl at the bonfire. His face is bruised, a bloody bandage on his arm and, from the sound of his footsteps, he's limping a little.

Tim tries to understand. They had talked about allying with the careers if given the chance, but Conner had quickly dismissed it because of how mean and arrogant they are. Besides, Tim thought, everyone hates the careers deeply, except the people in his own district. He didn't even want to imagine what they would be saying in District 9, or worse, Conner's family. 

Tim is shocked, but, after all he had only known Conner for a few days, you can't truly get to know a person in such a short time. 

The career tributes are silent until Conner gets out of his reach, then speak in hushed tones.

"Why don't we just kill him already and get it over with?"

"Let him stay, what's the difference? He knows how to use a knife."

"Besides, it's our best chance to find him."

It takes Tim a moment to realize they're talking about him.

"Do you really think they're in love?"

"Maybe. They're both pretty goofy and idiotic. Every time I remember him walking around in his suit it makes me want to puke."

"I wish we knew how he got the eleven."

"Surely the lover boy knows."

They fall silent as they hear Conner return.

"Was she dead?" the boy from District 2 asks him.

"No, but she is now," replies Conner. Just then the cannon sounds. "Shall we go?"

Had it been that easy for Conner to kill someone? Tim can't help but shudder. 

The careers herd rushes out just as dawn breaks and birdsong fills the air. Tim stays in his awkward, muscle-quivering position for a while longer, then settles back on the branch.

Suddenly, the birds fall silent and one lets out a high-pitched warning call. A hovercraft materializes over the dying bonfire and from it descend huge metallic teeth. Slowly, carefully, they carefully pull the dead girl into the craft. Then it disappears and the birds resume their song.

"Move " Tim whispers to himself. 

He climbs out of the sleeping bag as best he can, rolls it up and stuffs it into the backpack. He takes a deep breath. As long as he's hidden by the night, the sleeping bag and the willow branches, the cameras won't have been able to get a good picture of him, but he knows they must be following him. As soon as he hits the ground, he's guaranteed a close-up.

The audience will have been going wild, knowing that Tim was in the tree, that he's overheard the careers conversation, and that he's discovered that Conner is with them.

Tim feels a little betrayed, but he can't let his feelings show. Until Tim figures out what to do with the information, Tim decides to act like it's all part of a bigger plan, as if he and Conner have planned for one of them to join the careers. So no bewilderment, confusion or fear.

It has to look like Tim is one step ahead of them.

So he steps out of the foliage and into the dawn-lit area, pauses for a second so the cameras can catch him, tilts his head slightly to the side and smiles smugly. He wishes he could hear what the commentators think it means. 

He is about to leave when he thinks about the traps. Maybe it's unwise to check them with the others so close, but he has to, he can't waste the food. The reward is a good rabbit. It takes him several minutes to figure out how to clean and gut the animal, he hopes that at home Damian won't have to watch his brother end the life of a small animal. He leaves the head, feet, tail, hide and entrails under a pile of leaves. He would love to light a fire because Alfred had taught him that it is not good to eat raw meat, no matter the animal. 

Then he remembers the dead girl. 

He runs back to his camp and sure enough, the embers of his campfire are still hot. He cuts up the rabbit, makes a spit out of twigs and places it on the embers.

Now he's happy to have cameras around him, because he wants the sponsors to see that he can hunt, that he's a good bet because he won't fall into the hunger traps as easily as the others. While roasting the rabbit, he crushes part of a burnt branch and starts to camouflage the orange backpack. The black disguises it a bit, although he thinks a layer of mud would help a lot. Of course, to get mud he needs water....

He puts on his gear, grabs the spit, throws dirt on top of the coals and sets off in the opposite direction to the career tributes. He eats half the rabbit on the way and wraps the rest in his plastic for later. His stomach stops rumbling, but the meat has not quenched his thirst. Water is his top priority.

As he moves on, he's sure he's still on the Capitol screens, so he continues to carefully hide his emotions; however, Claudius Templesmith (the games announcer) must be having a great time with his guest commentators, dissecting Conner's behavior and Tim's reaction. 

How does that affect the betting? Think Tim. Will we lose sponsors? Do we even have any?

Conner has certainly destabilized their tragic lovers dynamic. All is not lost yet though, Tim thought, as long as he doesn't turn me over to the careers people might think we have planned it together.    

The sun rises in the sky and, even through the trees, it seems too bright. Tim smears his lips with rabbit fat and tries not to pant, though it's no use, because it's been a day already and he's dehydrating fast. He tries to think of everything he knows about finding water: it flows downhill, so, in fact, continuing down the valley is not a bad idea. If Tim could locate any animal tracks or any particularly green patches of vegetation, that might help him, but it all looks the same. There is only the slope, the birds and the trees themselves.

As the day progresses, Tim knows he's going to be in trouble. The little urine he passes is dark brown, his head hurts, and he notices a dryness in his tongue that refuses to get wet. The sun hurts his eyes, so he puts on his sunglasses, although, as he does so, he notices they look funny and puts them back in his backpack.

Suddenly, late in the afternoon, Tim thinks he has found help: he sees a bush with berries and runs to pick the berries to suck the juice out of them. However, just as he is putting them in his mouth, he takes a good look at them: he thought they were black chokeberries, but they have a different shape and, inside, they are red. Tim doesn't recognize the berries; although they may be edible, it looks to him like an evil trick of the Gamemakers. Even the plant instructor at the Training Center told them to avoid the berries unless they were 100 percent sure it were not toxic. It was something Tim already knew, but he's so thirsty he needs to remember it to gather his strength to throw them away.

Fatigue begins to weigh on him; not the normal fatigue after a long hike, but he has to stop and rest frequently. He knows he won't find a cure for his ailment if he doesn't keep looking. He tries a new tactic, looking for traces of water, but, as far as he can see in all directions, there is only forest and more forest.

Determined to keep going into the night, he walks until he stumbles alone. Exhausted, he climbs a tree and ties himself to it. Although he is not hungry, he forces himself to suck on a rabbit bone to keep his mouth entertained. Night falls, the hymn plays, and he sees in the sky the image of the girl, who, it seems, came from District 8. The girl that Conner killed.

The fear inspired by the careers oack is nothing compared to the thirst. Besides, they went in the opposite direction and, at this time, they too will have to rest. With the shortage of water, they may have returned to the lake to refuel.

Perhaps that is also Tim's only alternative.

The morning brings him nothing but worry. His head throbs with every heartbeat. The simplest movements make his joints ache as if he were being stabbed with knives. Rather than climbing down the tree, he falls out of it. It takes him several minutes to pick things up and, deep inside himself, Tim knows it's wrong, that he should exercise more caution and move with more urgency. However, his head is foggy and he struggles to follow a plan. He leans against the tree trunk and as he assesses his options, how can he get water?

Go back to the lake, Tim thinks, no, he'd never make it.

Wait for rain: not a cloud in the sky.

Keep looking: yes, that's his only option. Then he has another idea, and the hope he feels next brings him back to reality.

Jean-Paul! He thinks, He could send me water! 

He could push a button and send Tim up in a silver parachute in a few minutes. Tim knows he has sponsors, at least one or two who could afford to give him half a bottle of water. Maybe Jean-Paul is waiting for Tim to ask for it. 

"Water," he says, as loud as he dares to speak, and waits, wishing for parachute to descend from the sky. 

Nothing appears.

Something's wrong, is he deluding himself into thinking he has sponsors? 

No, I must be wrong, he thinks. There's someone out there who wants to buy water from me.

That's when he remembers what Jason told him as they were saying goodbye. Jason assured him that they would help him with everything, even if it meant spending all his money. 

Tim knew his family had a lot of money. Bruce's parents had been well off, and when they died Bruce inherited all that money, then by winning the games he continued to gather wealth. Plus all of his older siblings had a good amount of money on the side. How could they not be able to spend a little on sending him a bottle of water? 

Maybe they had simply lied. Maybe they just wanted to reassure him, to feel better about themselves by letting Tim believe that their help was something he could rely on. But if there was one thing he'd realized since the Reaping, it was that Tim couldn't trust his family. And this just proved once again that they didn't really care about him, at least not enough to accompany him and train him, not enough to receive their help. 

He covers his face with his hands. He is in no danger of crying, he couldn't produce a tear if his life depended on it. 

Then he thinks of Jean-Paul again. The only person who had not lied to him so far. Tim knew he could trust him, and Jean had promised him that he would help him. So what is Jean-Paul doing? 

A little voice inside his head whispers an answer, "Maybe he's sending you a message." A message to tell me what? Tim thinks.

Then he understands; Jean-Paul would have only one good reason not to give him water: to know that Tim is about to find it.

He grits his teeth and stands up. The backpack seems to weigh three times as much as usual, so Tim grabs a broken branch to serve as a stick and sets off. The sun drops to gray, it's even more scorching than the first two days, and Tim feels like a piece of leather drying out and tightening in the heat. Every step takes a great effort, but he refuses to stop, refuses to sit down. If he sits down, it is very likely that he will never get up again, that he will not even remember what his goal is.

Tim realizes that at this point he is easy prey. Any tribute could take him out right now. They would only have to push him over and kill him with his own knife, and Tim would have no strength left to resist. However, if there is anyone else in this part of the forest, he pays no attention to them. The truth is that Tim feels a million miles away from the rest of humanity.

In any case, he is not alone, because a camera is sure to follow him. Tim thinks of the years he spent watching tributes starve, freeze to death, bleed to death or dehydrate. Unless there's a good fight somewhere, Tim must be the one in the lead.

Even though at this moment Tim feels betrayed by his family, he can't help but think of Damian. He's probably not watching it live, but will pass on the latest news at school during the lunch break, so Tim tries not to look so desperate, for him.

But as evening falls, Tim realizes that the end is near. 

His legs are shaking and his heart is racing. He keeps forgetting what he is doing. He stumbles again and again, and, although he manages to get up, when he finally drops his stick, Tim collapses for the last time and doesn't get up again. He lets his eyes close.

He has misjudged Jean-Paul: he, like his family, had no intention of helping him. He has lied to him and betrayed him like the rest. 

It's all right, he thinks. It's not so bad here.

The air is less warm, which means night is approaching. There is a soft sweet scent that reminds him of Alfred's flowers. No, he thinks, of the water lilies in the pond near his house. He caresses the soft earth and slides his hands easily over it.

It's a good place to die.

He draws swirls in the cool, slippery earth. He loves the mud, he thinks. He likes the smell of the wet earth and it reminds him of rainy days, when his parents would close their store early and the three of them would stand near the fireplace watching the rain fall through the window. Also the damp earth reminds him of all the times he was stung by a bee playing near Alfred's flowers, Bruce used to carry him up to the porch and apply mud to his stings so he wouldn't get stung...

...

Mud. Mud. Mud!

Tim's eyes pop open and he digs his fingers into the dirt. It's mud! He lifts his nose and sniffs: The sweet smell isn't flowers, he thinks, it's water lilies! Water plants!

He begins to crawl over the mud, moving toward the scent. About ten feet from where he had fallen he crosses a tangle of plants overlooking a pond. Floating on the surface are some yellow flowers, beautiful water lilies.

Tim resists the temptation to stick his face in the water and swallow as much as he can, because he has enough sense left not to. With trembling hands he takes out the bottle, fills it with water and adds the correct number of drops of iodine to purify it. The half-hour wait is agony, but he endures it. At least, he thinks it's been half an hour, although, no doubt, that's as long as Tim can stand it.

Now, little by little, he tells himself. He takes a drink and forces himself to wait. Then another. Over the next two hours he has drunk the whole bottle, he doesn't hesitate to drink another. 

He makes himself another before retreating to a tree, where he continues to sip, eat rabbit and even allows himself to splurge on one of his prized crackers. When the anthem plays, he feels much better. Tonight there is no face in the sky, no tributes have died today. 

Tomorrow - he decides - he will stay here, resting, camouflage his backpack with mud, catch some of the minnows he has seen while drinking and dig up the roots of the water lilies to make himself a nice meal. He curls up in the sleeping bag and clutches the water bottle as if his life is at stake, for indeed it is.

A few hours later he is awakened by a stampede. He looks around, bewildered. It is not yet dawn, but his battered eyes see it; it would be hard to miss the wall of fire descending on him.

Chapter Text

Tim's first impulse is to run down the tree, but he is tied up with the belt.

He manages to somehow get the buckle loose and falls to the ground, still wrapped in his sleeping bag. No time to pack anything. Luckily, he already has the backpack and bottle inside the sack, so he tucks the belt in, slings the sack over his shoulder and flees.

The world has been transformed into an inferno of flames and smoke. Burning branches fall from the trees in showers of sparks at his feet. Tim can do nothing but follow rabbits and deer, and even a pack of wild dogs running through the woods. He trusts their direction because their instincts are more developed than his. However, they are much faster, flying through the forest with great agility, while Tim's boots keep tripping over roots and fallen branches, and he can't keep up with them at all.

The heat is horrible, but the worst is the smoke that threatens to drown him at any moment. Tim pulls up his shirt to cover his nose and is glad it's wet with sweat, as it offers him a little protection. And he keeps running, choking, with the sleeping bag bouncing on his back and his face full of cuts from the branches materializing in front of him without warning.

Tim is certain that the fire was not a bonfire that got out of control to a tribute, nor was it an accidental occurrence; the flames that stalk him have an unnatural height, a uniformity that betrays them as artificial, created by humans, created by the Gamemakers. It's been too quiet today; there have been no deaths and maybe not even fights, so the Capitol audience was beginning to grow lethargic and comment that these games were almost boring. And the Hunger Games can't be boring.

For Tim it's easy to understand the motivation of the Gamemakers. There's a gaggle of careers and then there are the others, surely scattered throughout the stadium. Tim is sure the fire is designed to bring them together, to find each other. 

He jumps over a burning log, but doesn't jump high enough; the back of his jacket catches fire, and Tim has to stop to take it off to put out the flames. However, he doesn't dare abandon the jacket, even though it's scorched and hot; so he takes the risk of stuffing it into the sleeping bag, hoping that the lack of air will finish extinguishing the fire. What he has in his backpack is all he has, and it's not enough to survive on.

Within minutes he feels his throat and nose burning. Coughing starts soon after, and it feels like his lungs are frying. The discomfort turns to anguish, until every breath he takes sends a stab of pain shooting through his chest. He manages to take shelter under a rocky ledge just as the puking begins, and so Tim loses his meager dinner and everything else that was left in his stomach. 

He gets down on all fours and keeps gagging until there is nothing left to throw up.

Tim knows he has to keep moving, but he is shaking and dizzy, gasping for air. He allows himself to take a drop of water to rinse his mouth and spit out, then takes a couple more swigs from the bottle.

You have one minute, he says to himself. A minute to rest. 

He takes that time to rearrange his supplies, roll up the sack and cram everything roughly into the backpack. He's running out of time. He knows it's time to move, but the smoke has stunned him. The animals guiding him have left him behind and he knows he hasn't been in this part of the forest before, that he hasn't seen big rocks like this on his previous excursions. Where are the Gamemakers taking him? Back to the lake? To new terrain full of new dangers? The attack began just as Tim was finally getting a few hours of peace. 

Would there be any way to advance parallel to the pond and return later, at least by water? The wall of fire must end somewhere and it can't burn forever. Not because the Gamemakers can't do it, but because, again, the audience would complain. If Tim could get behind the fire line, he would avoid running into the careers. 

When he finally decided to try to turn around by making a detour, even if it meant several miles of travel to get away from this inferno and a few more to get back, the first fireball crashes into the rock, about a foot from his head. Tim runs off the ledge. Fear gives him renewed energy.

The game has taken an unexpected turn: the fire is an excuse to get them moving, to let the audience see real fun. When he hears the next hiss, he throws himself face down on the ground without bothering to look back, and the fireball hits a tree to his left and engulfs him in flames.

Standing still means death; he has barely gotten to his feet when the third ball hits the spot where he was lying and raises a column of fire behind him. Time loses meaning as Tim tries to dodge the attacks. He can't see where they're launching them from, though he's not a hovercraft, as the angles aren't extreme enough. Surely they've rigged this whole area of the forest with precision launchers hidden in trees or rocks, Tim thinks. Somewhere, in a cool, spotless room, there's a Gamemaker sitting in front of some remotes, firing the triggers that could end his life in a matter of seconds; all it takes is a direct target.

The very thought makes Tim hate these people even more than before. 

He runs in a zigzag, ducks, jumps to his feet and, between one thing and another, gets the vague plan to return to the pond out of his head. The fireballs are the size of apples, but release enormous power on contact. He has to use all his senses to the fullest to survive, there is no time to judge whether a move is correct or not: if he hears a hiss, he either acts or dies.

However, something keeps him going; after a lifetime of watching the Hunger Games on TV, he knows that there are some areas of the stadium that are set up for certain attacks and that, if he can get out of this area, he might be able to get out of the range of the rocket launchers. It's also possible that he could end up inside a nest of vipers, but he can't worry about that now.

Although he doesn't know how long I've spent dodging fireballs, finally, the attacks start to subside, which he thinks is great, because he feels gagging again. This time it's an acidic substance that burns his throat and gets into his nose. Tim is forced to stop, convulsing, desperately trying to rid himself of the poisons he has absorbed during the attack.

Tim waits for the next hiss, the next signal to run away, but it doesn't come. The violence of the retching has brought tears to his eyes, and his eyes sting. His clothes are drenched in sweat, and somehow, despite the smoke and vomit, the smell of burning hair reaches him. Tim runs his hand through his hair and discovers that there are parts that have been burned, luckily his hair was somewhat long and that has prevented his scalp from being burned; the blackened strands of hair unravel between his fingers and Tim stares at them, fascinated by the transformation, until suddenly the hissing returns.

His muscles react, although this time they are not fast enough and the fireball falls to the ground beside him, but not before sliding down his right calf. Seeing his trouser leg on fire makes him lose his nerve: Tim squirms and crawls back on all fours, screaming, trying to get away from the horror. When he finally comes to his senses, he rolls his leg on the floor, which serves to extinguish most of it. At that moment, however, without thinking, Tim rips off the remaining cloth with his bare hands.

Tim sits on the ground, a few feet away from the fire that caused the ball. His calf burns and his hands are blistered red; he's too shaky to move. If the Gamemakers want to finish me off, now is the time, he thinks. 

He hears Cinna's voice, bringing him images of luxurious cloths and glittering gems: "Tim, he boy on fire." Tim is sure the Gamemakers must be laughing their asses off at this. 

The attack is over. It's clear the Gamemakers don't want him dead, at least not yet. Everyone knows they could destroy them as soon as the gong sounds, but the real entertainment of the games is watching the tributes kill each other. Occasionally they'll kill one to let the other players know they can do it, although, in general, what they're trying to do is manipulate them so that the tributes have to go head to head. That means, if Tim is no longer being shot, there is at least one tribute nearby.

Tim would crawl into a tree for cover if he could, but the smoke is still thick enough to kill him. So he forces himself to lift me up and limps away from the wall of flame that lights up the sky. It doesn't seem to be chasing him anymore, except with his stinking black clouds.

Another light, daylight, slowly begins to emerge, and rays of sunlight fall on the swirls of smoke. Tim has poor visibility, but he can see for a distance of about 25 feet around him; any tribute could easily hide.

He knows he should draw the knife for protection, but doubts his ability to hold it for long. The pain in his hands can't compare to the pain in his calf. He hates burns, he has always hated them, for Tim it is the worst kind of pain, although he has never experienced anything like this.

He is so tired that he doesn't even notice he is in the pond until the water reaches his ankles. The water comes from the stream coming out of a crevice in the rocks and it's cool, so he dips his hands in and feels instant relief. Bruce had told him a couple of times that the first treatment for a burn is cold water, because it absorbs the heat. Although Bruce was referring to minor burns, like the ones on his hands. But what about the calf? Although Tim has not yet worked up the courage to examine it, he thinks it is a completely different wound.

Tim lies face down on the edge of the pond for a while, hands in the water, and examines the flames on his fingernails, which are already beginning to flake off. Well, Tim thinks, I've had enough fire for a lifetime.

He wipes the blood and ash from his face and tries to remember everything he knows about burns. They are common injuries in his district, so Bruce had to treat many... Once, a family brought them an unconscious young man and begged Bruce to help him. The district doctor, responsible for treating miners, had given him up and told the family to take him home to die, but they wouldn't accept it. He was lying on the kitchen table, unconscious. Tim caught a glimpse of the wound on his thigh, the open, charred flesh leaving the bone exposed, and then he ran out of the house and stood training in the garden all day, haunted by the image of that dreadful leg. Bruce helped the young man as best he could, although the man died, just as the doctor had said.

Tim's leg needed attention, but he didn't dare look at it. What if it was as bad as the man's and Tim could see the bone? Then Bruce's voice comes into his head, saying that if a wound is serious, the victim sometimes doesn't feel the pain, because the nerves are shattered. Encouraged by the idea, he sits down and puts his leg in front of him.

He almost faints at the sight of the calf: the flesh is bright red, covered with blisters. Tim forces himself to take a slow, deep breath, certain that the cameras are broadcasting a close-up of his face; he can't look weak if he wants sponsors. Besides, part of him doesn't want to give his family the satisfaction of seeing him suffer, they had always considered him the weakest of them. Well, Tim isn't going to make it that easy for them. 

He cuts off the remains of the pant leg at the knee and examines the wound more closely. The burned area is about the size of his hand and the skin is not blackened. He gets the impression that he can get it wet, so he carefully stretches it out and dips it into the pond, resting the heel of his boot on a rock so that the leather doesn't get too soaked; then he sighs, because the water soothes him a little. He knows there are herbs that would speed healing, though he can't remember which ones. So water and time are probably his best alternatives.

Tim doesn't know if he should keep moving, the smoke is starting to clear, but it's still too thick. If he keeps moving away from the fire, won't he go right into the guns of the careers? Besides, every time he lifts his leg out of the water, the pain comes back with renewed energy and he has to pull it back in. His hands are a little better, they can get out of the pond now and then, so he goes back to tidying up his things. First, he fills the water bottle from the pond, makes it drinkable and, when enough time has passed, starts to hydrate. After a while, he forces himself to nibble on a cracker, which helps settle his stomach. He unrolls his sleeping bag and, except for a few black marks, it's pretty good. The jacket is another story: it stinks and is scorched, and there are at least thirty centimeters on the back that are beyond repair. Tim cuts away the damaged area and is left with a garment that reaches just below his ribs. However, the hood is intact, and that's much better than nothing.

Despite the pain, Tim begins to doze off. If he were to climb a tree to try to rest he would be too easy a target. Besides, he finds it impossible to leave the pond. He sorts through his supplies, even going so far as to put his backpack on his back, but he can't seem to get away. He sees some aquatic plants with edible roots like the ones he was taught in his short stint at the training center and prepares himself a light meal with what's left of the rabbit. He drinks some water and watches the sun trace its slow arc across the sky. Can he go anywhere safer than this? He plops down on his backpack, overcome by sleep.

If the careers want me, let them find me, he thinks before falling asleep. Let them find me.

It doesn't take Tim long to realize that he should never have thought that, because it doesn't take long for the careers to find him.  Luckily, by the time he hears the footsteps he is ready to move, because he has less than a minute's head start. 

Night has begun to fall. As soon as he wakes up, he gets up and runs across the pond, then into the bushes. His leg slows him down, but he gets the impression that his pursuers are not as fast as they were before the fire. He hears them coughing and calling to each other in hoarse voices.

In any case, they are closing in like a pack of wild dogs, so Tim does what he thinks is right, what he always does when he has to get away from Jason or wants to get away from his family for a moment: he chooses a tall tree, and although he is not the fastest or best climber, he has enough of a head start to start climbing.  

If running hurts, climbing is excruciating, because it requires not only effort, but direct hand contact with the bark. Still, by the time they reach the base of the trunk Tim is already twenty feet up. For a moment they all stop and look at each other. 

Tim realizes that this could be the end, he doesn't stand a chance against them. Six have come, five careers and Conner. If it weren't for the pain in his hands and leg, Tim thinks it might hurt to see the one he considered his friend among the people looking to kill him. His only consolation is that they, too, are pretty beat up. They grin and snarl, certain that Tim is easy prey. Although Tim's situation seems hopeless, he suddenly realizes something else: they are stronger and bigger than he is, no doubt, but they also weigh more.

There's a reason Tim used to climb trees to escape his older brothers, he weighs about forty to sixty pounds less than the smaller tribute.

Now he's the one smiling.

"How's it going?" shouts Tim to them, in a cheerful tone.

That surprises them, although Tim knows the audience must have loved it.

"Pretty good," replies the boy from District 2. "And you?"

"A little too warm weather for my taste" he replies; Tim can almost hear the laughter in the Capitol. "It breathes better up here, why don't you come up?"

"I think I will" replies the same boy.

"Take this, Cato" the girl from District 1 tells him, offering him a silver bow and the quiver with the arrows.

"No" says Cato, pushing the bow away. "I'll do better with the sword."

Tim sees the weapon, a short, heavy blade that he wears hanging from his belt.

It gives him time to climb up the log before he continues climbing. Tim wasn't very fast or very experienced, but he was better than they were. He slips a couple of times because of the poor grip his hands offer him, but when he gets another 15 feet he hears a branch snap and sees Cato flailing his arms as he falls, branch included. He hits the ground hard and, although part of Tim hopes he broke his neck with the fall, he scrambles to his feet spouting expletives like a madman.

The girl with the arrows, who goes by the name Glimmer, climbs up the tree until the branches start to crunch under her feet and she is sensible enough to stop. By that time Tim is already 44 feet above the ground, at least. She tries to shoot arrows at him, but it becomes apparent that she does not know how to use a bow. However, one of the arrows sticks in the tree next to him and he manages to catch it. Tim waves it in the air, to taunt her, because Tim is only somewhat decent with a bow and arrows, and even if he managed to get hold of a bow it would be of no use to him.

The careers regroup and Tim hears snarling conspiracies among them, furious that he has made them look like idiots, but twilight has arrived and their window of opportunity to attack him is closing. After a few minutes he hears Conner say, in a harsh tone:

"Come on, let's leave him up there. He can't go anywhere either; we'll deal with him tomorrow."

Well, Tim thinks, he's right about one thing: I can't go anywhere. The relief the pond water gave him is gone, and now he feels the full severity of his burns. Tim climbed down a little way to a branch and made up his bed as best he could. He put on his jacket, stretched out the sack, strapped on the belt and tried not to groan in pain. The warmth of the sack is too much for his leg, so he makes a cut in the fabric and pulls his calf out into the air. He pours water on the wound and on his hands.

Tim has run out of courage; the pain and hunger have weakened him, but he can't eat. Even if he holds out all night, what will happen in the morning? He stares at the leaves, trying to force himself to rest, but to no avail; the burns won't let him. The birds lie down and sing lullabies to their chicks; the creatures of the night come out; he hears an owl hoot and the faint scent of a skunk wafts through the smoke; the eyes of some animal watch him from the neighboring tree, reflecting the light of the careers torches. Suddenly, Tim straightens up, propped up on one elbow: those are not animal eyes. He distinguishes it thanks to the last rays of muted light, observes it silently from a gap between the branches. It is Darla.

Tim wants to jump for joy, if only he weren't in a tree and his leg didn't hurt like hell. He feels his heart beating faster and is sure that if any camera is recording him everyone in Panem will be able to share his happiness. He wants to jump from his branch to the ground and climb the tree so he can hug her, feel her in his arms and prove that this is not a hallucination brought on by pain. 

Darla is fine. Darla is alive. Darla is by his side. The pain takes a back seat at that moment. All he can think about is his friend, his district mate. 

How long has she been there? Probably since the beginning, motionless and invisible as the action unfolded at her feet. Maybe she climbed her tree just before Tim, hearing the herd approaching. She had said in the interview that she was good at climbing trees, now Tim can check it out. 

They stare at each other for a while and then, without moving a leaf, the girl's little hands come out into the open and point to something above his head.

Chapter Text

Tim followed the direction of Darla's fingers. At first he has no idea what she's pointing at, but then he sees a vague shape about ten feet higher up. 

What is it, some kind of animal? Tim thinks. It looks about the size of a raccoon, though it hangs from the bottom of a branch and sways slightly. There's something else; among the familiar night sounds, he notices a soft buzzing. Then he understands: it's a wasp's nest.

Tim is scared to death, but he has enough sense to stay still. After all, he doesn't know what kind of wasps they are; they could be the normal, "leave us alone and we'll leave you alone" kind. However, he's in the Hunger Games and it's not normal to encounter something normal. Most likely it's one of those mutations of the Capitol, the Tracker jacker.

Like the Jabberjay, these killer wasps were lab-grown and strategically placed in the districts as mines during the war. They are larger than normal wasps, have an unmistakable golden body and a stinger that causes a plum-sized lump just by touching it. Hardly anyone tolerates more than a few stings and some die instantly. If you live, the hallucinations produced by the venom have driven some to insanity; in addition, these wasps will chase down anyone who has disturbed it and attempt murder. This is the origin of the tracker that is part of its name.

After the war, the Capitol destroyed all the nests surrounding the city, but those near the districts remained, as a further reminder of their weakness, just like the Hunger Games. They are another reason to stay within the confines of the wire fence of District 12. 

So, is that what I have on me? Tim thinks.  He looks to Darla, looking for help, but she has melted into the tree.

Considering his circumstances, Tim assumes it doesn't matter what kind of wasps they are, since he's injured and trapped. The darkness has given him a slight respite, but by the time the sun comes up, the careers will have a plan to kill him. They can't do anything else after Tim made a fool of them. This nest may be his only option; if he can drop it on them, maybe he'll manage to escape, though he'd be gambling his life in the process.

Of course, he can't get close enough to the nest to cut it down; he'll have to saw the branch off the trunk and let the whole thing fall. The saw on his knife should do it, though will his hands leave him? What if he wakes up the swarm with the vibration? What if the careers find out what he's doing and move his camp? That would screw everything up.

Tim realizes that his best bet for cutting the branch without anyone knowing is during the anthem, which could start at any time. 

He crawls out of the sleeping bag, makes sure he has the knife in his belt and starts to climb up the tree.

This is already dangerous in itself, because the branches are thin even for Tim, but he keeps going. When he reaches the branch that supports the nest, the buzzing becomes clearer, though it's still somewhat soft for Tracker jacker. It's the smoke, he thinks, has sedated it. It was the only defense the rebels found to fight it.

The Capitol seal shines on Tim and the anthem begins to thunder. It's now or never, and he begins to saw. As he drags the knife back and forth the blisters on his right hand pop. Once the groove is made, the work is less heavy, though it's still almost more than he can handle. He grits his teeth and keeps cutting, looking up at the sky from time to time to check that there have been no deaths. It's okay, he thinks, the audience will be satisfied with my wound, the tree and the pack below me. However, the hymn comes to an end and he still has a quarter of a branch left when the music ends, the sky darkens and he is forced to stop.

Tim doesn't know what to do. He could finish the job blind, but that may not be the smartest thing to do. If the wasps are too stunned, if the nest gets caught in the fall, if he tries to escape, it could all be a deadly waste of time. He thinks it best to return up here at dawn and throw the nest to his enemies.

In the dim light of the careers torches, he makes his way down to his branch and finds the best possible surprise: on top of his sleeping bag is a small plastic canister attached to a silver parachute. His first gift from a sponsor! Jean-Paul must have sent it during the anthem. The canister fits in the palm of his hand. He's sure it's not food, so what? He opens the lid and knows from the smell that it is medicine. He gingerly touches the surface of the ointment and the pain in his fingertip disappears.

"Oh, Jean," he whispers. "Thank you."

He hasn't abandoned him, hasn't left him to fend for himself. Jean-Paul had promised him that he would help him in every way possible, Tim had no reason to doubt because since they met Jean has never broken his trust...but still, his family experience makes him a bit distrustful and pessimistic. 

The medicine must have cost Jean-Paul an astronomical amount, it sure took a few sponsors to buy this tiny little bottle. For Tim, it's priceless.

He dips two fingers into the jar and carefully smears it on his calf. The effect is almost magical, erasing the pain just by touching it and leaving a pleasant cooling sensation. This is not one of the herbal remedies available in the district, the kind you get by crushing plants in the forest, but a high-tech medicine created in the laboratories of the Capitol. When he's done with the calf, he pours a little on his hands. Then he wraps the canister in the parachute and puts it in his backpack. Since it doesn't hurt so much anymore, he manages to get into position and fall asleep.

A bird that has perched a few feet away from Tim alerts him that dawn is breaking. In the gray morning light, he examines his hands: the medicine has transformed the bright red patches into soft baby pink skin. His leg is still swollen, because that burn was much deeper. He puts another layer of ointment on it and puts his things away quietly. Whatever happens, he has to move fast. He also eats a cracker and a piece of jerky, and drinks a few cups of water. He threw up most of it yesterday and is starting to feel the effects of hunger.

The careers and Conner are still asleep on the floor. From his position, leaning against the tree trunk, Tim thinks Glimmer was in charge of standing guard, but fatigue has gotten the better of her.

Although he squints to try to examine the tree next to him, he doesn't see Darla. She has to warn him about the wasps, she can't be around when they fall. Besides, Tim thinks, if I die today it's best if she wins. 

Tim whispers Darla's name and her eyes immediately appear, wide and alert. She points to the nest again, Tim raises the knife and makes the sawing motion, and she nods and disappears. A rustle is heard in a nearby tree and then in another one beyond; then he realizes that she is jumping from tree to tree. He barely manages to contain his laughter - is that what she taught the Gamemakers? Tim wonders how Darla was able to learn that without attracting anyone's attention, because in the district the only big trees are the ones in the victors' village and the ones outside the fence. There are things Darla hasn't told him, but that's okay, because there are things Tim hasn't told her either. 

From the east some pink sunbeams begin to come through, Tim can't afford to wait any longer. Compared to the excruciating pain of last night's tree climb, this is nothing; when he reaches the branch holding the nest, he places the knife in the slot. He is about to saw it off when he sees something move inside the nest: it is the shimmering golden glow of a Tracker jacker, lazily emerging onto the parchment-like gray surface. No doubt it's a little groggy, but the wasp is awake, which means the others will be out soon. Tim's palms sweat through the ointment and he does his best to dry them on his shirt. If he doesn't finish cutting the branch in a matter of seconds, the whole swarm could be on him.

There's no point in delaying, so he takes a deep breath, grabs the knife by the handle and cuts with all his might. The crawlers start buzzing and he hears it  coming out. 

He feels a stab of pain in his knee, and knows that one of it has found him and that the others will join in. And, just as the knife reaches the end, he pushes the end of the branch as far away from him as he can. It crashes into the lower branches, catching for an instant on some of it, but then falling to the ground with a good thud. The nest hatches like an egg and a furious swarm of crawlers take flight.

Tim feels a second sting on his cheek, a third on his neck, and its venom leaves him dizzy almost instantly. He clings to the tree with one arm while pulling out the jagged stingers with the other. Luckily, only those three wasps identify him before the nest falls, so the rest of the insects head for the enemies on the ground.

It's chaos. The carees have woken up to a full-scale attack by crawlers. Conner and a few others have enough sense to drop everything and run away. Tim hears cries of "Into the lake, into the lake!", and imagines that they hope to lose the wasps by getting into the water. It must be close if they think they can get there before the angry insects. Glimmer and another girl, the one from District 4, aren't so lucky; they get stung a lot before they get out of sight. Glimmer seems to have gone completely crazy, screeching and trying to push the wasps away by hitting it  with her bow, to no avail. The girl from District 4 staggers away, though Tim thinks she doesn't have much chance of making it to the lake.

Tim sees Glimmer fall, writhing on the ground in hysterics for a few minutes, and then she lies frozen.

The nest is now nothing but an empty carcass. The insects have left in pursuit of the others and Tim doesn't think the insects will return, though he doesn't want to risk it. He hurries down from the tree and runs in the opposite direction of the lake. The stinging venom makes him dizzy, but he makes it back to his little pond and dives into the water, just in case the wasps are still on his trail. After five minutes he crawls onto the rocks. People were not exaggerating about the effect of these stings; in fact, the lump on his knee is the size of an orange, rather than a plum, and the holes left by the stings ooze a stinky green liquid.

Swelling, pain, green liquid; Glimmer writhing on the ground to death; that's a lot to take in and it's not even fully dawn. Tim doesn't even want to think about what the girl will look like now: the disfigured body, the swollen fingers stiffening over the arch. He has caused this death, Bruce must be so disappointed in him. 

But he doesn't have time to think about Bruce, one thing is left swirling around in his head: Glimmer's bow. Tim hadn't been the best during archery training, Darla had been worse than him, but he had been able to hit the target a few times. The bow might not be useful for defense, but he could use it to hunt something without relying on traps. When the idea pops into his mind that manages to get him on his feet to stagger back through the trees.

The bow, the arrows, he has to get it. He hasn't heard the cannons yet, so maybe Glimmer is in some kind of coma, heart struggling against the wasp venom. However, as soon as she stops and the cannonade certifies her death, a hovercraft will come down to take her corpse away, he has to get it before that happens.

Tim reaches Glimmer just as the cannon sounds. There are no Tacker jacker in sight and this girl, the one who was once so beautiful in her golden dress on interview night, has been rendered unrecognizable. Her features have been erased, her limbs are three times their normal size, and the stinger bumps have begun to burst, oozing putrid green fluid all over her. Tim has to break several of her fingers (what used to be her fingers) with a rock to get the bow loose. The quiver of arrows is trapped underneath her, so he tries to turn her body around by pulling on one arm, but the flesh disintegrates at his touch and Tim falls on his ass.

Is this real, he thinks, or have the hallucinations started? 

Tim squeezes his eyes tightly shut, tries to breathe through his mouth and orders himself not to puke. 

A second gunshot sounds, Tim assumes the girl from District 4 has just died. Yet another name to his list of deaths, Tim hopes he doesn't end the games with such a long list. 

He notices the birds fall silent and then let out a single note, which means the hovercraft is about to show up. Bewildered, he thinks it's coming for Glimmer, though it doesn't quite make sense, because Tim is still here, still fighting for the arrows. He gets to his knees and the trees start to spin above him. He sees the hovercraft in the sky, so he throws himself over Glimmer's corpse as if he wants to protect her, but he sees the girl from District 4 being carried into the air.

"Do it now!" he shouts to himself.

Tim clenches his jaw, reaches under Glimmer, grabs what should be her ribs and manages to turn her face down. 

Tim is hyperventilating, he can't help it, it's all a nightmare and he's losing all sense of reality. He pulls on the silver quiver, but it's caught on something, caught on his shoulder blade, on something; he finally lets go. Just as he has the quiver in his hands he hears footsteps, several feet approaching through the brush, and realizes that the careers have returned. They come back to kill him, to retrieve his weapons, or both.

However, it is too late to run. He grabs his knife to defend himself, but when he tries to focus his gaze on something everything seems to multiply around him, and the stench of the stings is so foul that he can't do it. He can't do it.

He feels helpless when the first hunter arrives, spear held high, ready to strike. Conner's surprise tells him nothing; Tim stands waiting for the blow, but he lowers his arm.

"Why are you still here?" he hisses at him. Tim looks at him blankly as he watches the drop of water falling from the sting under his ear. His whole body begins to glow, as if he has been drenched in dew. "Have you gone mad?" he nudges him with the hilt of the lance. "Get up, get up!" Tim heeds him and gets up, and Conner keeps pushing him. "Run!" he yells "Run!"

Behind him, Cato pushes his way through the bushes. He, too, is wet and has a nasty sting under one eye. Tim sees a ray of sunlight reflecting off his sword and does as Conner tells him; he grips bow and arrows tightly, and shoots off between stumbles toward the trees that have sprung up out of nowhere. He leaves his pond behind him and enters unfamiliar woods. The world begins to bend alarmingly. A butterfly swells to the size of a house and then bursts into a million stars; trees turn to blood and splatter on his boots; ants grow from blisters on his hands and he can't shake it off; they crawl up his arms and up his neck. 

Someone screams, a high-pitched scream that is not interrupted for breath; Tim has a vague feeling that it is him. He stumbles and falls into a small pit covered with little orange bubbles that buzz like the nest of crawlers. Tim curls into a ball, knees under his chin, and waits for death.

Sick and disoriented, he can only think of one thing: Conner has just saved his life.

Then the ants get into his eyes and he faints.

Chapter Text

Tim is in a nightmare from which he awakens only to enter a worse one. His worst fears flash before his eyes, the things he fears most happening to others manifest themselves in the most vivid detail. Every time Tim wakes up he thinks it's finally all over, but in truth it's just the beginning of a new nightmare. He doesn't even know anymore how many ways he has seen his family die, Stephanie, even Jean-Paul. He has revived the last memories of his parents over and over again, only to see them die in front of his eyes in ever more creative ways, perhaps he no longer even remembers how they actually died, he only knows that their bodies are two corpses rotting in the sun. 
In his small moments of lucidity Tim realizes that this is how wasp venom works, specially created to attack the part of the brain that deals with fear.

When he finally comes to, Tim lies there, waiting for the next wave of images. After a while, however, he accepts that his body has expelled the venom, leaving him broken and weak. He continues to lie on his side, in a fetal position. He brings a hand to his eyes and checks that they are whole, with no trace of the ants that never existed. The mere act of stretching his limbs is an enormous effort; he is in so much pain that it is not worth a check-up.

He manages to sit up very, very slowly. Tim is in a shallow hole that is filled not with the noisy orange bubbles of his hallucinations, but with old dead leaves. His clothes are damp, but he doesn't know if it's from water, dew, rain or sweat. He spends a long time unable to do anything but take little gulps from the bottle and watch a beetle crawl up the side of a honeysuckle bush.

Tim wonders how long he was inside the hallucinations. It was in the morning when he went crazy, and now it's in the afternoon, although his joints are so stiff that it seems to him that it's been more than a day, maybe two. If so, he has no way of knowing which tributes have survived the tracker attack. Glimmer and the girl from District 4 are clearly not still alive, but there was the boy from District 1, the two from District 2, and Conner. 

Part of him hopes that if they didn't die at least they had as bad a time as he did. 

Then the person who helped him with the wasps comes to mind. What happened to Darla? She was smaller than he was, and that was already saying a lot. Darla had had a hard life in The Seam, she had been starved since she was little and that had made her small and fragile, a little poison would have been enough to kill her. 

But even though he had only known her for a short time, Tim knew she would be hard to catch. Darla was quick and cunning, and he had given her time to escape. 

Tim noticed a foul taste in his mouth, resembling something rotten. He took another mouthful of water and gargled with it, hoping he could eliminate the sea taste, but there was little he could do. So he crawled over to the honeysuckle bush and plucked a flower; he carefully removed the stamen and dropped the drop of nectar on his tongue. The sweetness spread through his mouth, down his throat and warmed his veins with memories of summer, of Damian playing in the garden and plucking some of Alfred's flowers because he knew he would have some sweet nectar for dessert. 

Tim tried to laugh, but the sound that came out of his mouth was more of a cry. He had watched all his dreams disappear because of the wasps, and now he had almost nothing left to go on. But then he remembered that he was still alive, a miracle in itself. He still had a chance to survive, and that had been thanks to Conner.

Conner had saved his life, or so he thought. When they met Tim could no longer quite distinguish what was real and what had made him imagine the tracker jacker venom. But if Tim was right, then he owed his life to Conner. 

That was not in his plans.

For a moment Tim can't help but wonder how his family would view the incident. None of them had had to deal with wasp venom, none of them had had to watch their loved ones die over and over again in front of their eyes in a thousand different ways. Tim wondered if Damian had been in his place, would he have survived? 

He shook his head to get those thoughts out of his mind, why Damian and the games couldn't coexist in his mind. 

So he focuses on something else: the bow and arrows he got. He had practiced a bit before the start of the games, but honestly he was terrible at it. He could aim and shoot, even get a little close to a target, but he would never have the same skill as with a pair of knives.

Tim remembered that a few years after Bruce won the games there was a victor who won by killing everyone with his bow and arrows, he never missed a single target. It had been a complete massacre, a total hunt. It was one of the most remembered and rebroadcast games. Oliver Queen had become one of the most beloved winners in the Capitol, and a source of pride for his district already full of winners, but what else could you expect from a career tribute? 
The last Tim had heard of him, he had picked up a kid off the street after Bruce had adopted Dick, trained him and when the kid had been in his last reaping he had volunteered as a tribute and followed his mentor's steps. He had become a victor killing everyone with his lethal shot. 

So the bow and arrow was out of the question for him, he didn't want spectators to think he was planning to follow the steps of those tributes. Every year there was a tribute who tried to do the same thing but died horribly. So thanks but no thanks. 

Still he decided to keep the bow and the dozen arrows, they could be useful to hunt a rabbit that was distracted. Besides, if someone approached him from far away, it would serve as a good warning. Even with some luck he could hit some part of the body. 

Long-range weapons give you a whole new perspective on gaming. He is no longer the prey running and hiding or taking desperate measures. If Cato were to emerge from the trees now, Tim knows he would not run away, he would shoot to wound and perhaps incapacitate him, and then attack with his knife. Tim realizes that he looks forward to that moment.

First, however, he must get strong, because he is once again very dehydrated and his water reserve is at dangerous levels. He has lost the extra pounds he managed to put on by gorging himself at the Capitol, plus a few more pounds of his own. He can't remember ever having such marked hip bones and ribs. Then there are the wounds: burns, cuts and bruises from falling through the trees, and three wasp stings, which are as irritated and swollen as they were to begin with. Tim rubs the ointment Jean-Paul sent him on the burns and tries to do the same on the bumps, but it has no effect. Tim is sure Bruce would know a way to help him, some medicine or some kind of leaf Alfred grew in the garden. But he can't remember the last time Bruce treated anyone with poison. 

First, the water, he thinks. 

He finds it easy to follow the direction he came from, thanks to the path of destruction his crazed body opened up through the foliage. So he wanders off in the opposite direction, hoping that his enemies are still locked in the surreal world of the crawlers' poison.

He can't walk too fast, as his joints refuse to make abrupt movements, so he keeps the slow pace Bruce once taught him. It was perfect to go unnoticed in his house and to be able to surprise his brothers, but now it serves him not to waste energy and to avoid being overheard by the animals. In a few minutes he spots a rabbit and tries to shoot it with the bow, the arrow only grazes the rabbit but creates a wound that slows it down, so Tim throws himself on it without caring about the pain in his joints due to the sudden and unexpected movement. The rabbit squirms in his hands, so Tim can't help but feel a little sorry for it as he buries the knife through its eye to make it all go faster. He hopes Damian isn't watching TV at the moment. 

After an hour he finds a shallow, wide creek, more than enough for what he needs. The sun is beating down hard, so while he waits for the water to purify, he stays in his underwear and steps into the stream. Tim is filthy from head to toe. He tries to pour water on himself, but in the end ends up lying in the water for a few minutes, letting it wash away the soot, blood and skin that has begun to flake off the wounds. After rinsing his clothes and hanging them on some bushes to dry, he sits on the shore for a while and untangles his hair with his fingers. He regains his appetite, and eats a cracker and a strip of jerky. 

Cooler, he treats his burns again, shakes out his hair and puts on his wet clothes; he knows the sun will dry them quickly. Following the course of the stream against the current seems the most appropriate thing to do. He is now moving uphill, which he prefers, with a source of water not only for himself, but also for possible prey. 

Late in the afternoon he decides to light a small fire to cook the meat, assuming that the twilight will help hide the smoke and that he will have the fire out by nightfall. He cleans the rabbit carefully, and as he puts the first pile on the coals, he hears a branch snapping.

He turns at once towards the sound, He has his knife in hand less than a second later. There is no one; at least not that Tim can see. Then he distinguishes the toe of a boot peeking out from behind a tree trunk; he relaxes and smiles. Darla was more amazing than she let on. She could climb trees like a pro and move unheard in the same way he was trained to.

"Took you long enough to show up" Tim says.

"I had to bring a gift" Darla replies finally showing herself fully. She is just as dirty as Tim, though she looks less hurt. In one of her hands she holds what looks like a rare, plucked, headless chicken. "So, allies?" 

"Will you give me some of your chicken?" asks Tim smiling, already making a space beside him that Darla doesn't hesitate to occupy.

"Only if you give me some of your rabbit."

"It's a deal" replies Tim. 

They both stand silently watching the flames of the small campfire cook the rabbit. The smell makes their stomachs growl and Tim wonders if the chicken is the first thing Darla has hunted since the start of the games. 

"I can heal your bites," Darla says after a few minutes. 

"Really? How?" She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a handful of leaves. Tim isn't very good with plants, so he can't tell it apart "Where did you find these?"

"They're the plants we use at the Seam when the bees sting someone allergic." 

"You know they could go to Bruce, he'd help them without charge." 

"There is a certain amount of charity we are able to accept. Your father has already done a lot for the us." 

Tim snorts, but he's not able to say anything but to insult the Capitol, and right now he needs them on his side. The people of The Seam wouldn't need help so desperately if the Capitol would spread their resources around better and not leave it all to themselves, but Tim isn't going to say that, not when there are cameras rolling. 

"Well, come on, heal me." he finally says. 

He rolls up his sleeve to reveal the sting on his knee. Darla surprises him by popping a handful of leaves into her mouth and chewing on it. Tim is sure Bruce would use one of the fancy porcelain mortars he inherited from his father, but at this point Tim can't complain. After a minute, Darla compresses a good pile of chewed leaves and spits it onto his knee.

A minute goes by and then another, and Tim is sure nothing is going to happen because the plants they use with the bees must not be the same ones to cure stings from tracker jackers. But by the third minute it is as if his knee freezes and all the pain and burning he had been feeling up to that minute disappears. It's as if the leaves filter out the stinging pain and expel it. 

"The neck! The cheek!" exclaims Tim, almost pleading.

Darla pops another handful of leaves into her mouth and, after a few minutes, Tim almost laughs with relief, for the sensation is wonderful. Then Tim sees that Darla has a long burn on her arm. 

"I've got something for that." Tim rummages through his things until he finds the ointment and applies it to her arm. 

"Jean-Paul got you some good sponsors," she says, longingly.

"He just saw me as a bit of a handful. The closer we get to the end, the more people realize how smart you are."

Tim flips the meat. 

In his mind he can already almost hear what the presenters will be saying about the two of them. How they came a long way to find each other again. Surely they'll be talking about their great friendship and interviewing someone from their district, maybe someone from school to find out if they were friends before. But although Tim had met Darla a couple of times in class, he had never spoken to her. So this alliance must be surprising everyone at home.  

Of course, this kind of deal can only be temporary, but neither mentions it.

Darla adds to the meal a handful of roots which she says are sweet and sour, and which is a regular thing eaten on the Seam. A good source of protein, though not easy to find, you had to know where to look and the years had made her an expert at that. So far she had been feeding on them and some berries she knew were eatable. Darla tells him that after the careers left the camp for the tracker jackers she went back to see what she could find, and that's how she got the knife. Of course it took her a couple of days to hunt something, it was the first time she had done it, but the chicken hadn't seen her coming and she had used that to her advantage.  

They make room in the campfire for the chicken, because it looks juicier than the rabbit. And when it's ready a little over an hour later, they both look grateful for that decision. The chicken is juicy and sweet, the fat drips down their chins and Tim is already comparing it to one of the Capitol meals. 

"Oh" says Darla, sighing "I haven't eaten this good since we got to the Capitol." 

"Like forgetting the food on the train" says Tim.

When they've both eaten until their stomachs are satisfied, they decide it's best to organize all their food. They have the whole rabbit and parts of the chicken, but Tim adds the last couple of crackers and the jerky strips to the pile. Darla for her part has gathered a nice collection of roots, nuts, vegetables and even some berries.

"Are you sure they're harmless?" asks Tim looking suspiciously at the berries. 

"They taught us about them at the training center. I've been eating them for several days now," she replies, popping a handful into her mouth.

Tim takes a tentative bite of one and it tastes as good as the blackberries Alfred grows at home. 

They split the food; that way, if we split up, they'll be stocked up for a few days. Aside from the food and knife, Darla has a small bottle with water and a spare pair of socks. 

"I know it's not much," she says, as if embarrassed, "but I had to get out of the Cornucopia fast."

"You did good," Tim replies.

When Tim pulls out all his gear, she stifles a gasp at the sight of the sunglasses.

"How did you get them?"

"They were in the backpack. They haven't done me any good so far, they don't block the sun and make it hard to see with it" Tim replies, shrugging his shoulders.

"They're not for the sun, they're for the dark" exclaims Darla. "I saw a couple of miners with one a few times, there are parts of the mine that even with flashlights it's hard to see". 

"Gotta try them tonight" says Tim. 

Tim gives Darla some matches and she makes sure he has extra leaves, in case he gets swollen stings again. They put out the campfire and head upstream until it's about to get dark.

"Where do you sleep?" asked Tim. "In the trees?" Darla nodded. "Bundled up in the jacket, nothing else?"

"I have these for hands," she replies, showing him the spare socks. "Besides, I've had colder winters in the district." 

"You can share the sleeping bag with me, if you want," Tim offers her. He was sure that if the circumstances had been different the people in the Capitol would have freaked out. But everyone believed in his romance with Conner, even though they had never given more than a few smiles and the occasional one-liner in an interview. "We both fit, a little tight but we'll be fine." 

Darla's face lit up, as if that was the best idea in the world.

They chose a branch from the top of a tree and settled in for the night just as the anthem begins to play. No one died today.

"Darla, I just woke up today, how many nights have I missed?"

The hymn should drown out his words, but, still, Tim whispered. He even took the precaution of covering his lips with his hand, because he doesn't want the audience to know what he's thinking of telling her about Conner. She notices and does the same.

"Two. The girls in Districts 1 and 4 are dead. There are ten of us left."

"A very weird thing happened. At least, I think so, though maybe the venom from the crawlers made me imagine things. I think Conner saved my life, but he was with the careers."

"He is no longer with them. I spied them at their camp by the lake. They came back before they collapsed from the poison, but he wasn't with them. Maybe he really saved you and had to run away."

Tim doesn't answer, why he honestly doesn't know what to think. 

The deal had always been to pretend to be in love to gain sympathy from onlookers and get sponsors. It had never included risking their lives for each other. So, if Conner saved him, Tim owes him, and Tim can't repay him.

The anthem ends and the sky darkens. 

"Let's try those glasses." says Tim to change the subject. 

He takes them out and puts them on; Darla wasn't kidding, Tim sees everything from the leaves on the trees to a skunk wandering through the bushes about fifty feet away from them. With this view even if he wasn't good at archery he would have more of an advantage than anyone else, he could sneak up on them and shoot them or kill them with his knife. With these glasses Tim could kill anyone. 

"I wonder who else has one of these?" says Tim.

"The careers have two, but they keep it all in the lake. And they're very strong."

"So are we, although in a different way. We may not be as strong physically, but we're agile, we think fast, we can feed. What about them?" 

"They don't need to, they have plenty of supplies."

"Suppose they didn't. Suppose the supplies were gone. How long would they last? I mean, we're in the Hunger Games, aren't we?"

"But, Tim, they're not hungry."

"No, that's right, that's the problem," Tim acknowledges, and, for the first time since they arrived in the arena he comes up with a plan, a real plan that is motivated by the need to flee; a plan of attack. "I think we're going to have to work that out, Darla."

Chapter Text

They've only known each other for a few weeks, but Darla has placed her absolute trust in Tim, and Tim has placed his trust in her. Right now there are only three people he would trust with his life. One is in the Capitol trying to get him back alive, and the other is waiting for him in his district. 

So when Darla curls up next to him and falls asleep as soon as the anthem is over, Tim knows he won't let anything happen to her as long as he can help it. He'll take care of Darla for as long as he's alive, whatever it takes. She deserves to come home as much as he does, even more. 

But, chances are, neither of them will survive. 

Tim plans to sleep for a couple of hours, but the thought about the careers and their supplies distracts him. The two should find a way to destroy their food. Tim was pretty sure that the careers would have a hell of a time feeding themselves. The traditional strategy of the careers tributes is to gather as much food as possible and go from there. When they don't protect it well, they lose games (one year it was destroyed by a pack of foul reptiles and another by a flood created by the Gamemakers). The fact that the careers have grown up with a better diet works against them, as they are not used to starving. In any case, neither was Tim, but he knew he could manage, it wouldn't be the first time he would have to adapt to survive. 

He thinks for a few more minutes about what to do, but finally realizes he's too tired to start hatching a detailed plan tonight. His wounds are healing, he's still a little gawky from the poison, and the warmth of Darla beside him -her head resting on his shoulder- make him feel safe.

For the first time, he realizes how lonely he has felt since he arrived in the arena, how comforting the presence of another human being can be. So in the end he lets sleep overcome him and decides that tomorrow he will continue planning. 

Tomorrow it will be the careers who have to watch their backs, he thinks. 

He is awakened by a cannon shot; rays of light streak across the sky and the birds are already twittering. Darla is perched on a branch in front of him, holding something in her hand. They wait for more gunshots, but hear none.

"Who do you think it was?"

Tim can't help but think of Conner.

"I don't know, it could have been any of the others," Darla replies." I guess we'll find out tonight."

"Can you tell me again who's left?"

"The boy from District 1, the two from District 2, the boy from District 3, Conner, the boy from District 11, you and me. That makes eight. Wait, and the kid from District 10, the one with the bad leg. He's the ninth." There's someone else, but neither of them manages to remember them. "I wonder how the last one died."

"There's no way of knowing, but it's good for us. A death will serve to entertain the masses a bit. Maybe it will give us time to prepare something before the Gamemakers decide things are going too slow. What's in your hands?"

"Breakfast," Darla replies; she opens them and shows him two large eggs.

"What are they from?"

"I'm not sure; there's a swampy area over there, some kind of waterfowl."

It would be nice to cook them, but they don't want to risk lighting a fire. The dead tribute must be a victim of the careers, which means they've recovered enough to return to the games. They both get down to slurping up the contents of the eggs, and munching on a rabbit leg and some berries. It's a good breakfast any way you look at it.

"Ready to do it?" asks Tim, hanging up his backpack.

"Do what?" asks Darla in turn; by the way she's rushed to answer, she's ready to do anything Tim proposes.

"Today we're going to take food away from the careers."

"Yeah? How?" her eyes sparkle with excitement. 

"No idea. We'll figure something out while we hunt."

They don't hunt much because Tim is too busy getting as much information out of Darla as he can about the careers base. She's only come over to spy a little, but she's very observant. They have set up camp by the lake, and their supply cache is about sixty feet away. During the day they leave another tribute, the kid from District 3, standing guard.

"The kid from District 3?" asks Tim. "Is he working with them?"

"Yeah, he stays in camp all the time. He got bitten by the crawdads when they followed them to the lake too" replies Darla. "I guess they agreed to let him live in exchange for him standing guard for them, but he's not a very big boy."

"What weapons does he have?"

"Not many, from what I saw. One spear. But any big guy could kill it with ease." 

"And the food is just sitting there?" asks Tim, and she nods. "There's something that doesn't fit that scheme."

"I know, but I couldn't figure out what. Tim, even if you managed to get to the food, how would you get rid of it?"

"I'd burn it, throw it in the lake, douse it with fuel. Don't worry, I'll think of something. Destroying things is a lot easier than building it."

They spend a while digging up roots, picking berries and vegetables, and strategizing between whispers. After a while they end up telling anecdotes from their days at school, or just moments together with their family. Although Darla's parents were alive, she had grown up practically alone, her only companion growing up had been her faithful friend Bernard. Tim was sure he had met him a couple of times, and he had always seemed like an odd kid. He is surprised at how much you can get to know about a person in a situation like the one they were in, he realizes that the Darla he had known since the Reaping was only a small part of the real Darla. 

Darla likes to pick apples from the trees outside the fences, when she gets a lot she gives them out to her neighbors and friends, because the apples don't last long but their taste stays in their mouth for days, it's the only sweet thing she can eat normally and she loves it. She likes to run away from home for days because none of her parents notice, and she always ends up in an abandoned house near the forest, she knows that there she could meet her friend and pretend they have a normal family. She's good at history because she likes to remember things, but she hates math because she knows it won't do her any good. She has a hard time reading a little bit but that's because the letters get crossed every time she tries to read. She loves to sing, she loves music more than anything in the world. 

"Music?" repeats Tim. In his world, music is on the same level as hair bows and rainbows, as far as usefulness goes. Even in their house there used to be no music in a row, even though they all had good voices, it was taboo for them. "Do you have much time for that?"

"I'm always singing at home, and on the way to school. But my favorite time is when I'm outside the fence at the end of the district. That's why I love your pin!" she adds, pointing to the mockingjay; Tim had forgotten about its existence again, even though the pin had been a gift from Stephanie, and was a representation of his mother's favorite bird and memories of her sweet voice. 

"Have you seen mockingjay?"

"Oh, yes, some of them are close friends of mine. We spend hours singing together and they carry the messages I give them."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I get separated from Bernard and I need to let him know it's time to come back, so I sing a special little song." she says; then he opens her mouth and sings a four-note melody in a clear, sweet voice "and the mockingjay repeat it through the trees. So we know when it's time to go, we've found something interesting or there's a peace officer near the fence. However, they can be dangerous if you get too close to their nests, but that's logical."

By lunchtime they have a plan; they will carry it out by mid-afternoon.

Tim helps Darla gather and set up the wood for the first of two bonfires, although the third one she will have to prepare on her own. They decide to meet later at the site where they had their first meal together, as the creek should make it easier for them to find it. Before they leave Tim makes sure Darla is well stocked with food and matches, even insisting that she take his sleeping bag with her, in case they don't manage to find each other before nightfall.

"I don't need you to take care of me," Darla says. "Won't you get cold?"

"Not if I pick up another sack at the Cornucopia" replies Tim "You know, stealing is not illegal here" he adds smiling.

At the last minute, Darla decides to show him her mockingjay signal, the one she sings to warn her friend Bernard. 

"Maybe it won't work, but, if you hear the mockingjay sing it, you'll know I'm okay, even if I can't come back at that time."

"Are there a lot of mockingjay around here?"

"Haven't you seen them? They have nests all over the place." 

"Okay then. If all goes according to plan, I'll see you for dinner" he tells her. 

Suddenly, Darla throws her arms around his neck; Tim doesn't hesitate to return the hug. 

"Be careful" she asks him.

"And you" Tim replies, then turns and heads for the creek, somewhat worried.

Worried that Darla will end up dead, that Darla won't end up dead and the two of them will stay until the end, about leaving Darla alone, about being left alone. Well, that last thought itself had nothing to do with Darla, but since they had met Tim had stopped feeling like he was playing against the world, now it was the two of them against everyone. Tim didn't want to be alone again, not after being abandoned by his family, and although he knew there was someone else waiting for his return, there was little Jean-Paul could do to fill that void that his family's contempt had left. 

Once at the creek, Tim has to do no more than follow the course down the hill to the place where he started to walk it, after the wasp attack. He has to move cautiously through the water, because he keeps asking himself unanswered questions, mostly about Conner. This morning a cannon shot rang out. Was it to announce his death? If so, how did he die? At the hands of a careers? And was it to take revenge for letting him escape? Tim tries to remember again that moment by Glimmer's corpse, when Conner appeared in the trees. However, the fact that he was glowing makes him doubt everything that happened.

It takes Tim a few hours to reach the shallow area where he bathed, which means he had to move very slowly yesterday. He stops to fill the water bottle and adds another layer of mud to the backpack, which seems determined to stay orange no matter how much camouflage Tim puts on it.

His proximity to the careers camp sharpens his senses, and the closer he gets to them, the more alert he becomes; he stops frequently to pay attention to strange noises, his knife firmly clutched in his hand. He sees no other tributes, but he does spot some of the things Darla has mentioned: sweet berry bushes; another with the leaves that cured his bites; clusters of tracker jacker nests near the tree he got stuck in; and, from time to time, the black-and-white flicker of a mockingjay's wing in the branches above him.

Tim reaches the tree with the abandoned nest on the ground and stops for a moment to gather his courage. Darla has given him specific instructions on how to get from this point to the best hiding place from which to spy on the lake.

He tightens his grip on the knife and moves on. The bow on his back next to the quiver feels heavy, Tim wonders how he let Darla convince him to bring it with him, but he can't say no to this girl. He makes it to the copse Darla has told him about and, again, admires her cunning: it's right at the edge of the forest, but the lush foliage is so thick underneath that Tim can easily observe the careers camp without them seeing him. Between them is the wide clearing where the games began.

There are four tributes: the boy from District 1, Cato and the girl from District 2, and a scrawny, pale boy who must be from District 3. He made no impression on Tim during their time in the Capitol; he remembers almost nothing about him, not his outfit, his training score, or his interview. Even now that he's sitting in front of him, fiddling with some sort of plastic box, it's easy to tune him out next to his larger, more dominant peers. However, he must be of some value to them, otherwise they wouldn't have bothered to let him live. In any case, seeing him only serves to make him more uncomfortable about the careers motives for putting him on guard, not to kill him.

The four tributes still seem to be recovering from the wasp attack. Although Tim is a bit far away, he can make out the swollen bumps from the stings. Surely they must not have had the sense to remove the stings or, if they have, they don't know anything about the healing leaves. Apparently, the medicines they found in the Cornucopia were of no use to them.

The Cornucopia is still where it was, albeit with nothing inside. Most of the supplies, stuffed into boxes, burlap sacks, and plastic containers, are stacked in a neat pyramid at a rather questionable distance from the camp. Other things have been left scattered around the perimeter of the pyramid, as if mimicking the arrangement of supplies around the Cornucopia at the beginning of the games. A net covers the pyramid itself, though Tim sees no use for it other than to keep birds away.

The configuration as a whole is puzzling to him. The distance, the net, and the presence of the boy from District 3. What is clear is that destroying these supplies is not going to be as simple as it seems; there has to be another factor at play, and Tim realizes that he'd best stay put until he figures out what it is. 

His theory is that the pyramid has some kind of trap; he comes up with hidden shafts, nets that fall on the unwary, or a wire that, when broken, shoots a poison dart straight into the heart. The possibilities are endless, of course.

As Tim is mulling over his options, he hears Cato shout something. He's pointing into the forest, away from Tim, and, without needing to look, he knows that Darla will have already lit the first bonfire. They both make sure to gather enough green wood to make the smoke look good. The careers immediately begin to arm themselves. A fight breaks out; they yell so loudly that Tim hears them argue over whether the District 3 boy should stay or join them.

"He's coming. We need him in the forest and he's done his work here. No one can touch the supplies," says Cato.

"What about the love boy?" asks the boy from District 1.

"I already told you to forget about him. I know where I gave him the cut. It's a miracle he hasn't bled out yet. Anyway, he's in no condition to rob us anymore."

So Conner is in the woods, Tim thinks, badly wounded. 

"Come on." Cato insists, and passes a spear to the District 3 boy; then they walk away in the direction of the bonfire. The last thing Tim hears as they enter the woods is, "When we find him, I'll kill him my way, and don't let anyone get in the way."

Tim knows they're talking about him. 

He stays where he is for a half hour, trying to decide what to do with the supplies. He has the advantage of bringing the bow and arrows, because he could shoot a burning arrow at the pyramid, but with his bow handling he doubts he'll get it through the holes in the netting, and even if he does that doesn't guarantee it will ignite either. Most likely it will go off by itself, and then what? Tim would not achieve anything and he would have given them too much information about him; that he is here and that he has an accomplice.

Tim has no choice: he will have to get closer and see if he can discover what is protecting the supplies. In fact, he is about to come out into the open when a movement catches his attention. A few feet to his right, he sees someone coming out of the woods. For a moment he thinks it is Darla, until he recognizes the weasel-faced girl, crawling toward the cache. When she finally decides it's safe, she runs towards the pyramid with quick little steps. Just before she reaches the circle of supplies scattered around, she stops, looks around the ground and places her feet carefully on one spot. Then he approaches the pyramid in odd little hops, sometimes on one leg, sometimes swaying a little, sometimes risking a few steps. At one point he launches himself into the air over a barrel and lands on tiptoe. However, he has given himself too much momentum and falls forward, giving a squeal as his hands touch the ground. Seeing that nothing is happening, he quickly gets to his feet and keeps going until he reaches the stuff.

With this, Tim realizes that he was right about the traps, though it seems a bit more complicated than he imagined. The girl fills her backpack, pulling a few items from various containers: crackers from a box, a handful of apples from a burlap sack hanging on the side of a bucket. She tries not to take too much, so that no one notices that food is missing, so that no one gets suspicious. Then she repeats her strange dance until she leaves the circle and runs back into the forest, safe and sound.

Tim's teeth are gritted in frustration; the weasel has confirmed what he already assumed, but what kind of trap would require so much skill and have so many trigger points? Why did the girl squeal when she touched the ground with her hands? Anyone would have thought..., then Tim begins to understand...,anyone would have thought that it was going to blow up.

"It's mined," he whispers.

That explains it all, Tim thinks, how little the careers cared about leaving the supplies unguarded, the weasel's reaction, the involvement of the kid from District 3, the factory district, where they produced TVs, cars and explosives. And where did he get them? Tim thinks. From supplies? Not the kind of weapon the Watchmakers usually provide, as they prefer to see the tributes tear each other apart face to face. 

Tim steps out of the bushes and approaches the round metal plates that carry the tributes up to the arena. He notices that they've scoured the ground around them and then flattened it out again. The mines are deactivated after the sixty seconds the tributes have to spend on top of the platforms, but the boy from District 3 must have managed to reactivate them. Tim has never seen anything like this in the games, not even the year Barbara Gordon, another tribute from District 3, won the games. Tim is sure that even the Gamemakers must be surprised. 

It's clear to Tim that he can't go into that maze without getting blown up. He can't shoot an arrow either, because even though he knows that with the width of the mines it's almost impossible that he can miss even with his aim, this because the mines are activated by pressure, and it doesn't have to be a very big pressure. One year a girl dropped her symbol, a little wooden ball, when she was still on the platform, and they had to scrape her remains off the ground.

Tim has strong arms, and he could throw some rocks, but what if he sets off a mine and that starts a chain reaction? Would the District 3 guy have set the mines so that the explosion of one mine would not affect the others? That way he would ensure the death of the invader without endangering supplies. Even if Tim only set off one mine, his sure the careers would come running back for him. 

He needs to find a mine that is close enough to the supplies but far enough away from the other mines to give him enough time (a few seconds) to get as far away as possible before the explosion occurs. 

He looks back towards the forest: smoke from Darla's second bonfire rises into the sky. The careers must have begun to suspect a trap. Time is running out of time.

Tim knows that everything has a solution, he just has to concentrate and watch. So he stares at the pyramid, the cubes and the boxes, all too heavy to be knocked over by throwing a rock. He's thinking about trying to recreate the weasel's path to the pyramid, hoping to find new ways to destroy it, when he notices the circle of excavated earth just a few steps away from the pyramid of supplies. It's just what he needs. 

Of course, it's a bit far away, so Tim will need strength and marksmanship to make it. But he knows what to do. So he picks up three good-sized stones and gets into the position that Bruce taught them to throw, the one Jason always uses when they're playing tossball and he doesn't care about the fun anymore, he just wants to win and rub their faces in it. He places his feet carefully, isolates himself from the rest of the world and sharpens his aim. The first rock is thrown so hard that it hits the pyramid, but it just falls to the ground and nothing happens. The second one hits the ground at the side of the base of the pyramid, but the mine is a foot to the left. Tim throws the third stone and he doesn't need to watch to know that this time he hit it, he turns around to run away before everything turns into hell, but he doesn't do it fast enough before he gets blown up.

Chapter Text

The impact with the hard earth of the plain leaves Tim breathless, and the backpack does little to soften the blow. The ground is still shaking from the explosions, but Tim doesn't hear it, he doesn't hear anything at the moment. However, the rocks must have set off enough mines and the debris is triggering the others. He manages to shield his face with his arms from a shower of small pieces of stuff, some burning. An acrid smoke fills everything, which is not very suitable for someone trying to catch his breath.

After a minute, the ground stops vibrating, Tim rolls on the ground and allows himself a moment of satisfaction at the smoldering ruins of what was once the pyramid. The careers aren't going to be able to save anything.

I'd better get out of here, they're sure to come running, he thinks.

However, as he stands up, Tim realizes that escape is not going to be so easy. He's dizzy, not just a little wobbly, but with one of those dizzy feelings that makes the trees spin around him and the earth move under his feet. He takes a few steps and somehow ends up on all fours. He waits a few minutes for it to go away, but it doesn't go away.

Tim starts to panic. He must not stay here, escape is essential, but he can neither walk nor hear. He puts a hand to his left ear, the one that was turned towards the explosion, and sees that it is stained with blood.

Have I gone deaf? The very idea terrifies him, right now, in this place, in the games, he depends on his ears as much as his eyes, perhaps more so when night falls and he can only hear what is going on around him. In any case, Tim can't let his fear show; he's completely and absolutely certain that he's being taken out live on every screen in Panem.

He can't leave traces of blood, so he manages to get his hood up and tie the cord under his chin with fingers that can't be said to help him very much. That will do to soak up some blood. But, Tim can't walk, but can he crawl? He's trying to move forward; yes, if he's going very slowly, he can crawl. Almost every area of the forest would be insufficient to hide in. His only hope is to reach Darla's grove and hide in the vegetation. If he stays here, on all fours, in the open, not only will he be killed, but Cato will make sure it is a slow and painful death. The mere thought that Damian might see it makes him force himself to crawl doggedly, inch by inch, to his hiding place. 

Another blast sends him falling on his face; a stray mine that will have gone off when a crate falls on him. To say Tim made it at the last moment is an understatement: just as he crawls to the tangle of bushes at the foot of the trees, Cato appears on the plain, followed by his teammates. His rage is so over the top it could be comical, if Tim didn't know it was directed at him, at what I've done to him, he would have laughed. Add to that the fact that Tim is nearby and he is not able to run away, or defend himself, and he is terrified. He's glad his hiding place doesn't allow the cameras to see him up close, because he's biting his nails like crazy, pulling off the last bits of nail polish so his teeth don't chatter.

The kid from District 3 has been throwing rocks at the wreckage and must have concluded that all the mines have been activated, because the careers are closing in. Cato is done with the first phase of his tantrum and vents his anger at the burnt remains, kicking at the containers. The other tributes examine the mess for anything salvageable, but there's nothing. The District 3 boy has done his job too well; Cato must have had the same idea, because he turns to the boy and seems to yell at him. The poor guy only has time to turn and start running before Cato grabs him by the neck from behind. Tim watches the muscles in his arms swell as he shakes the boy's head from side to side.

That's how quickly the boy from District 3 dies.

The other two careers seem to be trying to calm Cato down. Tim realizes that he wants to go back to the forest, but they keep pointing to the sky, which puzzles Tim, until he realizes.

Sure enough, they think the one who set off the explosions is dead.

They don't know about the rocks and Tim's good aim. They have taken for granted that the trap was wrong and that the tribute who set it off has been blown to bits. The cannon shot could easily have been lost in the blasts. The thief's mangled remains would have been carried away by a hovercraft. The tributes retreat to the other side of the lake to let the Watchmakers carry away the body of the District 3 boy.

Tim assumes that a cannon shot is heard, because a hovercraft appears and takes the dead boy away. The sun sets on the horizon. Night falls. In the sky Tim sees the seal and knows that the hymn must have started. A moment of darkness and then they put up the image of the boy from District 3; also the boy from District 10, who must have died this morning. Then the seal reappears. Now the careers know that the saboteur has survived. In the light of the seal he sees Cato and the girl from District 2 put on their night vision goggles. The boy from District 1 lights a tree branch as a torch, which illuminates their grim and determined faces. The careers return to the woods to hunt.

The dizziness has subsided and, although the left ear is still deaf, Tim can hear a ringing in the right; a good sign. However, there is no point in leaving here for the time being. They probably think the saboteur is two or three hours ahead of them. Anyway, it takes quite a while before he risks moving.

The first thing he does is take out his glasses and put them on, which relaxes him a bit, because at least he has one of his senses. He drinks some water and washes the blood out of his ear. Since he's afraid that the smell of meat will attract unwanted predators (it's bad enough that they smell fresh blood), he feeds himself with the vegetables, roots and berries which Darla and he collected in the morning.

Tim wonders where his friend could be, had she made it to the meeting point? At least heaven has made it clear to him that she is still alive.

He counts on his fingers the remaining tributes: the boy from 1, the two from 2, the Weasel, Conner, the boy from 11 and 12. Only eight; the stakes must be getting interesting at the Capitol. Tim remembers the special reports every year, the first and last one he'd participated in had been Cassandra's. She didn't have many friends at school, so they had only interviewed a few of her teachers and her entire family, Tim had barely appeared on screen.  

A cold breeze has picked up, so Tim sets out to grab the sleeping bag...,until he realizes he left it with Darla. He was supposed to get another one, but, with all the mess with the mines, he forgot. He starts to shiver; since spending the night up a tree wouldn't be wise anyway, he digs a hole under the bushes, and covers himself with leaves and pine needles.

It is still freezing; he throws the piece of plastic over the top and places the backpack so that it blocks the wind. It gets a little better and he begins to understand the girl from District 8, the one who lit the campfire the first night. Now, however, he is the one who has to grit his teeth and hold on until daylight. More leaves, more pine needles. He tucks his arms inside his jacket, curls into a ball and somehow manages to fall asleep.

When he opens his eyes, the world still seems somewhat fractured to him, and it takes him a minute to realize that the sun must be too high and the glasses are doing that to his eyesight. He sits up to take them off, and just then he hears laughter somewhere near the lake; Tim stands still. The laughter is distorted, but the fact that he hears it means he is regaining his hearing. Yes, his right ear is working again, although it's still ringing. As for the left, well, at least it's not bleeding anymore.

Tim peeks through the bushes, fearing that the careers have returned and he's trapped for an indefinite period of time. No, it's the Weasel, standing in the rubble and laughing her head off. She's smarter than the caereers , because she manages to find a few useful items among the ashes: a metal pot and a knife. He is puzzled by her joy until it dawns on him that the elimination of the careers gives her a chance of survival, just like the rest of them.

It crosses Tim's mind to come out of hiding and recruit her as a second ally, but he dismisses it. Her mischievous smile has something about it that makes it clear to him that if she were to befriend the Weasel he would end up with a dagger stuck in his back. If he had that in mind, this would be the perfect time to stab her or slit her throat; however, the girl hears something that isn't him, because she turns her head in the opposite direction, toward the place where they were released, and runs back into the woods. 

Tim waits. Nothing, no one appears. Be that as it may, if it has seemed dangerous to her, perhaps the time has come for Tim to leave too. Besides, he's eager to tell Darla about the pyramid.

Since Tim has no idea where the careers are, the route back down the creek seems as good as any other. He hurries, knife at the ready in one hand and a chunk of cold chicken in the other; he is now starving, and leaves and berries are not enough for him, he lacks the fat and protein of meat. 
The hike to the stream is uneventful. Once there, he collects water and washes himself, paying special attention to his wounded ear. He then moves uphill using the stream as a guide. At one point he discovers boot prints in the mud on the bank; the careers have been here, though not recently.

The prints are deep because they were made in wet mud, but are now almost dry from the heat of the sun. Tim himself has not been very careful with his own tracks, he thought that light footprints and the help of pine needles would help hide them. Now he takes off his boots and socks, and walks barefoot along the shore.

The cool water has a revitalizing effect on both his body and his mood. He catches two fish easily in the sluggish waters of the stream and eats one raw, even though he has just eaten the chicken. The second he saves for Darla.

Gradually, subtly, the ringing in the right ear diminishes until it disappears completely. Occasionally he touches his left ear trying to clear out anything that is preventing him from detecting sounds, but, if there is improvement, he does not detect it. Tim does not adapt to deafness in one ear, it makes him feel unbalanced and helpless on the left, even blind. He keeps turning his head to that side, while his right ear tries to compensate for the wall of emptiness through which yesterday a constant flow of information was coming in. 

The more time passes, the less hope he has that the wound can heal.

When he arrives at the place of their first meeting, Tim is sure that no one has come. There is no sign of Darla, neither on the ground nor in the trees. Tim finds this strange, because it is already noon, she must have returned. It's clear that Darla has spent the night in a tree somewhere else - what else could she do with no light and the careers scouring the woods with their night vision goggles? Besides, the third campfire she had to light was the one farthest from their camp, although Tim forgot to check to see if she lit it. 

Tim tries to reassure himself that Darla is surely trying to make her way back by stealth. He wishes she would hurry up, because he doesn't want to stick around too long, he wants to spend the afternoon moving on to higher ground and hunt along the way. In any case, he has no choice but to wait.

He washes the blood from his jacket and hair, and cleans his growing list of wounds. The burns are much better, but he still pours some ointment on them. The priority now is to avoid infection. He eats the second fish, because it won't last long in this heat and it won't be hard for him to catch a few more for Darla.

Feeling very vulnerable on the ground, with one ear less, he climbs a tree to wait.

The sun moves slowly and does what he can to pass the time: he chews leaves and applies them to his bites, which have already deflated, but still hurt a little; he combs his wet hair with his fingers; he ties the laces of his boots; he checks the bow and arrows, it hasn't done him much good but he wants to believe that maybe it could be useful in the future; he tests his left ear, shaking a leaf next to his ear to see if it gives signs of life, but with no good results.

Despite the chicken and fish, his stomach starts to growl and he knows he's going to have what Stephanie would call a hollow day, well known in the 12th district. It's those days when it doesn't matter how much you fill your stomach, because it's never enough. 

Since sitting in the tree doing nothing makes things worse, he decides to give up. After all, he's lost a lot of weight in the stadium, he needs more calories and a good knife gives him confidence in his chances. 

He slowly opens a handful of nuts and eats them; his last cookie; the chicken's neck, which comes in handy, because it takes him a while to get it clean; then he swallows a wing and the bird is history. However, since it's a hollow day, despite everything, he daydreams of more food, especially the recipes they serve at the Capitol: chicken in orange sauce, pies and pudding, bread and butter, noodles in green sauce, lamb and prune stew. Suck on a few mint leaves and it is said that he has to get over it; mint is good, sometimes when someone has a stomach ache Alfred would give them mint tea which besides relieving the pain would take away their hunger for the rest of the day. 

Hanging from the tree, in the warmth of the sun, mouth full of mint, knife in hand..., this is the most relaxed moment Tim has had since he arrived at the stadium. If only Darla would show up and they could leave.... 

As the shadows grow, so does his unease. By late afternoon he has decided to go out in search for her; at the very least, he can stop by the place where he lit the third fire and see if he can find any clues to her location.

Before leaving he scatters some mint leaves around his old campfire. Since they were picked up some distance from here, Darla will understand that Tim has been here, whereas to the careers it would mean nothing.

In less than an hour Tim is at the spot where they agreed to make the third campfire and notices that something is wrong. The wood is well placed, expertly mixed with tinder, but it has not ignited. Although Darla prepared the fire, she did not return to light it. Sometime after the second plume of smoke Tim saw before the explosion, she got into trouble.

Tim has to remember that she's still alive, doesn't she? Maybe the cannon shot signaling her death sounded in the wee hours of the morning, when his good ear was too sore to pick it up. 
Will she appear in the sky tonight? No, Tim refuses to believe, there could be a hundred different explains: she got lost, or ran into a pack of predators or another tribute, like that kid in 11, and had to go into hiding.

Whatever happened, Tim is almost certain that Darla is out there somewhere, somewhere between the second fire and the one next to it; something is keeping her perched in a tree.

Tim thinks he'll go for that something.

It's a relief to be on the move after sitting all afternoon. He creeps silently through the shadows, letting them hide him, but sees nothing suspicious; no signs of a struggle, no broken needles on the ground. He stops for a moment and listens for it, though he has to tilt his head to be sure: there it is again, it is Darla's four-note melody, sung by a mockingjay. The melody that tells him she is still alive.

He smiles and advances towards the bird. Another one repeats a handful of notes a little further on, which means Darla has been singing to them recently; otherwise they would have moved on to another song by now. Tim looks up in search of her, swallows and sings the melody softly, hoping she knows it's safe to join him. A mockingjay repeats it, and then he hears the scream.

It's a high-pitched scream, a girl's scream, It has to be Darla's, no doubt about it. Tim starts to run, knowing it may be a trap, knowing that the three careers may be ready to attack him, but he can't help himself. He hears another high-pitched scream, though this time it's his name:

"Tim, Tim!"

"Darla!" he replies, so that she knows he's already nearby, so that they know Tim is nearby and, hopefully, the idea that the boy who has attacked them with tracker jackers and gotten an eleven they still can't explain is nearby will be enough to to leave the girl alone. "Darla! I'm coming!"

When he reaches the clearing, she is on the ground, trapped by a net.

Chapter Text

Tim stands still for a second, trying to process the image in front of him. Then, from out of the trees, the boy from District 1 appears with his spear held high, ready to hurt Darla. 

Tim doesn't know how his body moves so fast. Before he knows it he has an arrow and bow in his hand, and in less than 5 seconds the arm holding the spear is pierced by his arrow. The boy drops the spear in a shriek of pain. They are separated by a couple of feet, but Tim is through them in a flash. He lunges at the boy to knock him down, and with the knife that has not left him slashes his throat. 

The boy is left lying on the ground as he chokes on his blood, much of it having found its way to Tim's face and hands. He knows at this point he must be quite a spectacle for the audience, just what the people of the Capitol want to see. Bruce has to be so disappointed, and Tim doesn't give a shit. 

Tim wishes he could stay longer, could watch the life leave his body, but Darla comes first. He jumps to his feet, immediately adopting a defensive stance. 

"Is there anyone else, is there anyone else?" 

Darla has to repeat no several times before he hears her. 

Darla is still under the net, trying to fight it off. Tim runs to her side and with the knife helps her free herself from the net. He wants to hug her, but her health comes first. She has several scratches on her face and hands, and a long cut on her right forearm, but it doesn't look too deep and she's not bleeding enough to worry about. 

"I tried to defend myself," Darla says, staring Tim in the face, as if she is trying to get him to believe her. 

"I know you did. You did good, I'm proud of you." 

Darla smiles at him and tries to wipe some of the blood stains off his face, but Tim is going to need water for the job. 

"Did you blow the food to pieces?" she asks after a few seconds. Behind them they can still hear the last groans of the District 1 boy.  

"Every last bit."

"They won't stand a chance without their supplies." 

"Not against us."

The two stare at each other for what seems like hours, but Tim knows it's time to leave. They can't stay here in case the careers come. He gets up to leave, pulling Darla by the hand, but she refuses to stand. 

"Let's wait for them to come for him, even someone like him doesn't deserve to die alone."

Tim thinks of all the tributes this boy helped kill, of all he killed, of how he almost killed Darla if Tim had given him the chance, if only he had stood still for more than a second or if he hadn't had the bow and arrows he had complained so much about. Darla has a kindness in her heart that he can never have. 

He can't fight her, so he leaves her sitting still and he walks over to the boy's corpse. He lays him face down and takes off his backpack. Now that he's dead the boy from District 1 looks vulnerable, so he refuses to hate him; the one he hates is the Capitol for doing all this to them.

When the hovercraft comes for him and takes him away is when Darla finally stands up. Before leaving the clearing Tim picks up the boy's spear, it's more useful than his arrows, but he won't get rid of them yet, if they were able to help him save Darla's life they are useful. 

As they move on into the forest Tim has no idea which direction to go. 

"You need to wash your face, let's go to the river." 

Tim nods, but his body seems to be more than exhausted from all the events, so he lets Darla drag him along at a leisurely pace for several hours, taking breaks and picking some berries every so often to try to regain energy. Right now what they need most is to find a place where they can spend a day or two safely, hunt some animals, heal and rest, because they are getting fewer and fewer tributes and Tim is sure that in no time the Gamemakers will come up with another trick to gather them together. 

However, they will have had enough blood for today, and perhaps we will be allowed to sleep.

"I know the river is near, but I need to rest." 

"I'll look for a tree."

She's good at that, so Tim gives her all the freedom to find a safe place. He who is left leaning against a rock waiting for her to scan the area, then a silver parachute lands at his feet. A gift from a sponsor. 

Why now? Tim wonders. They may not have much meat at the moment, but they're doing pretty well with their supplies. Maybe Jean-Paul sent me something for my ear.  

He opens the chute and finds a small loaf of bread, not the fancy white Capitol bread, but made from the dark cereal rations, a small circle with some miscellaneous seeds. Tim recognizes it as one of his district's breads, the kind Stephanie always enjoyed eating but it took her months to save up enough to make one, but which she always shared with him and Cassandra.

Tim holds it carefully: it's still warm. How much must it have cost the people of our district, who don't even have anything to feed themselves? How many people will have to go hungry for having given a coin to the collection in which this bread was bought? 

There is a small note next to the bread, Tim clutches it with trembling hands.

A little reminder that your district will never leave you alone. -JP. 

"Darla!" yells Tim forcing her to return from her search for the perfect tree. 

She runs back scared, as if she's afraid they're being attacked or something has happened to Tim. She looks confused when everything seems normal, but Tim hands her the note as he cuts the bread in half. Darla finishes reading the card with teary eyes, it's her first gift within the games, and it came from a district that always seemed to leave her alone. She accepts half of her bread with a smile in her eyes, raises her head and tries to position herself in a spot illuminated by the last rays of sunlight.

"Our thanks to the people of our district, to the people of District 12." 

They both climb the tree chosen by Darla and climb to a dangerous height. Darla pulls out the sleeping bag, and although they still have some supplies left neither of them makes the pretense of trying to look for them. They settle in as last time, inside the sleeping bag, with Darla leaning against Tim's chest and both tied to the tree by their belts. Tomorrow they will order supplies; tomorrow they will decide on a new plan. Tonight, however, they are only able to take nibbles of bread. It tastes like home. 

The seal soon appears, followed by the hymn, which Tim only hears with his right ear. He sees only the boy from District 1. 

"Seven of us are left," he says in Darla's ear. "Only seven."

With the bread still in his hands, he immediately falls asleep.

When Tim wakes up his whole body is heavy, as if liquid lead is coursing through his veins. He has lost the will necessary for even the simplest tasks, but the dried blood on his hands and face is annoying, and he still has to look closely at the wound on Darla's arm. She is still sleeping peacefully in his arms, as if the world is a peaceful and happy place. 

Tim doesn't want to wake her, but he has to.

They both get up in complete silence, and when they are already on the ground is when Tim realizes that he cannot move. He leans against the tree and stares in horror at the blood on his hands. How could he do that? How many times had Bruce told him that they had no right to end the life of another human being? 

He wants to scream and tear the skin off his hands and face, and just as he starts to scratch himself, Darla holds his hands and stops him. Although they have little water left, she uses it to wash as much of the blood off his hands and face as possible, uses her clothes to help herself, and now they are both stained with blood, although it is not as much as before. That seems to be enough to calm him down. 

"You're going to drink water and we're going to order our supplies, can you do that?" Following orders had always helped him calm down, so Tim nods toward Darla. These are easy tasks, he can do it. 

Darla had stowed the sleeping bag in her backpack, along with her nearly empty water bottle, a handful of nuts and roots, some rabbit and her spare socks. In the District 1 boy's backpack (Tim wants to throw up) are several knives, two spare spear heads, a flashlight, a leather pouch, a first aid kit, a full bottle of water, and a bag of dried fruit. 

A bag of dried fruit! Think. Of all the things he could have taken, he thinks to take this. To Tim, it's a sign of extreme arrogance: why bother taking food when you have a whole bounty in camp, when you kill your enemies so quickly that you can be back before you get hungry? Tim only hopes that the other careers traveled just as light on food and now have nothing.

As they finish ordering they realize how few supplies they have left. Still Darla forces him to eat what's left of the bread and they divide up what's left of the rabbit. So they are left with only Darla's roots and nuts, the boy's dried fruit and a strip of jerky.

"We're going to have to hunt," Darla says. Tim nods and they finish dividing everything up. Tim gives Darla the boy's knives and he keeps the spear heads. Now that he has something he is comfortable with he knows he has a better chance than before. 

They are both somewhat disoriented, because with Tim's condition they found it difficult to follow a fixed path, but they try to head back in an approximate direction to the creek. They know they are on the right track when they come across Darla's third campfire, the one she failed to light. Soon after they discover a flock of those rare chickens Darla had managed to catch, it's in a tree and Tim throws his spear (lighter than he thought it would be) at it before it can react. 

"Let's go find a place farther away to roast it," Darla says. 

"Let's go to your campfire" is Tim's reply, already on his way to light the huge campfire without caring about the smoke. Darla doesn't want to argue with him, so she just nods and follows him.

Where are you, Cato? thinks Tim, as he roasts the chicken. I'm waiting for you.

He wonders if Cato and the careers have connected the dots. Do they know he blew up the supplies and killed their partner? What about the Weasel? Did she stick around to watch the stash blow up? No, thinks Tim, when I found her laughing in the ashes the next morning, it was as if someone had given her a nice surprise.

Tim doubts they think Conner lit the fires, because to Cato it's like he's dead. Suddenly, it occurs to him that he wishes he could tell Conner about how he blew up the careers' supplies and how he saved Darla. Maybe if he wins the games he'll get to see him on victory night, Tim thinks, when they replay the highlights of the competition on a screen above the stage where they did the interviews. The winner sits in the place of honor on the platform, surrounded by his support team.

Tim wants in case he can't, Darla or Conner to win, but he promised Damian he would come home, and above all he doesn't want to let his brother down. 

So deep in thought that if it wasn't for Darla pulling the chicken away from the fire it would have turned to charcoal. They finally wrap up the food and return to the creek to gather water and some plants, but this morning's heaviness attacks him again and, even though it's only late afternoon Tim convinces Darla to climb a tree. He knows she will be awake for a few more hours, but he prepares to sleep. His brain begins to relive yesterday's events: he sees the boy bleeding out from the cut on his throat. He doesn't know why he should care about what he did to the boy.

Then he realizes it's his first murder.

Along with the other statistics that are made public to help people with their bets, each tribute has a list of kills. Tim assumes that, technically, he will have been targeted for Glimmer's and the girl from District 4, for throwing them the trackers jackers' nest. But the boy from District 1 was the first person he's consciously killed.

He has killed a boy who doesn't even know his name. His friends will be clamoring for Tim's blood, maybe he had a girlfriend who really believed she'd see him again?

But when he thinks of Darla trapped by the net and the boy about to spear her, he manages to put the boy out of his mind; at least for now. 

According to the sky, nothing important has happened today, there have been no deaths. 

"It won't be long before they try to make a killing" Darla whispers. 

"We have to get ready, we have to rest" replies Tim.

He covers his good ear so as not to hear the sound of the anthem, although he does hear the trumpets afterwards, and he and Darla sit down all at once, waiting. 

Normally, the only information the tributes receive from the outside is the daily death count. Occasionally, however, they blow the trumpets to make an announcement; most commonly it is an invitation to a banquet.

When food is scarce, the Gamemakers call the players to participate in a feast held in a place known to all, such as the Cornucopia, thus encouraging them to gather and fight. Sometimes it's a real feast, while others it's a loaf of stale bread to compete over. With his knife and spear Tim knows he doesn't need to go for food, he can hunt, but it may be the ideal time to finish off a few rivals.

Claudius Templesmith's voice booms overhead, congratulating the seven remaining, but he doesn't invite them to a feast, instead he says something very strange: they've changed some rules of the games. 

They've changed the rules! 

By itself, that's already mind-boggling, because they don't have any rules per se, except that they can't leave the starting circle until after sixty seconds and the implicit rule of not eating each other. According to the new rule now two tributes, regardless of gender or district, will be declared the winner if they are the last survivors. Claudius pauses, as if he knows they're not getting it, and repeats the rule again.

Tim and Darla digest the news: two tributes can win this year. Both can go home...both can live. Even though their position is awkward, Darla unbuckles her belt and turns as best she can to hug him, because this changes everything, their alliance is sealed forever. But when they pull apart they both stare into each other's eyes, there is something implicit in the air, a thorn in their side that they need to pull out. 

"We need to find Conner."

Chapter Text

Tim isn't sure who said it first, but they've both come to the same conclusion. They want Conner on their team. Darla perhaps out of some sense of loyalty earned during the days they trained together, and Tim because he owes it to Conner. Yes, they had both planned everything about the tragic lovers, and it had worked out for them to get recognition and maybe sponsors, they had also talked about Conner joining the career tributes if he got the chance, to turn everything around and make the people of the Capitol more aware of them. Tim had feigned surprise very well at seeing him with them, but they had both agreed that that was as far as their alliance would go, they could do no more for each other, plus Tim already had it in mind to find Darla and team up with her. That Conner had saved him from Cato (and gotten hurt in the process) complicated things. Now Tim had a life debt to pay. 

Plus, it makes sense that Tim would think of Conner despite having Darla: he and Conner are tragic lovers, a must if Tim wants to receive more help from sympathetic sponsors.

Tragic lovers... Why else would the Gamemakers have decided on this unprecedented rule change? For two tributes to have a chance of winning, Tim thinks their "romance" must be so popular with the audience that to condemn it to failure would jeopardize the success of the games. 

He thinks about the remaining tributes and who might team up with whom. The Weasel works alone, at night, and her strategy has been to evade, not attack. There's also that giant kid from District 11. Okay, he's a real threat, Tim thinks, but he hadn't seen him once since the games started. When the Weasel was startled by a noise at the explosion site, she turned not toward the woods, but toward what's on the other side of it, that area of the stadium that's out of sight. Tim is almost certain that the person she was running from was that boy and that's his domain. 

That leaves him with Cato and the girl from District 2, who has surely teamed up, but they are probably still in the vicinity of the Cornucopia. Up here Tim doesn't have to worry about them, but still he can't help but get a little tense, he knows that when they face off it will be on the terms of the two of them. 

"Tomorrow you can keep thinking," Darla tells him in a whisper. "Tomorrow we'll find him."

Tim settles in as best he can and manages to fall asleep shortly after he makes sure Darla is resting, but in the morning he behaves with extreme caution. With the new rule the careers should feel a new confidence, and with their night vision goggles they should find it easy to traverse the forest in the dark. And although they have proven incapable of climbing a tree, they are quite capable of setting up an ambush. 

Tim makes sure he is fully prepared to make it through the day before climbing down from the tree. With some discomfort they eat a hearty breakfast, stow their belongings that are out of their pack, and head down with weapons in hand. All seems quiet and unchanged when they reach the ground. Tim had left his spear covered in one of the nearby bushes, knowing that he would not be able to get it up the tree and sleep comfortably.

"We need to take every precaution we can from now on," Tim says as they walk, touring the perimeter while deciding which way to go. "The career don't know we're partners, but they'll know I should be looking for Conner and may want to wait until I do before they act." Tim stops by one of the trees, looks up at the sky, where there isn't a cloud in sight, and continues. "If Conner is as badly hurt as Cato thinks, we'll have to defend him, we have to be ready to fight at a moment's notice." Darla nods. "But if you see things get messy I want you to save Conner. You have to take him away while I stall for time." 

Darla looks horrified. 

"How can you believe I'll leave you alone against the two of them?" she asks in a whisper that might as well be a scream. 

Tim sighs. "You have to trust me," he whispers back. "I've come too far to die now. I'll be fine," he pauses, then says more firmly, "I promise," he assures. His shoulders slump in defeat. "But even if I fail I won't make it easy for either of you to kill me."

"Tim!" 

"Don't yell!" 

How the hell am I going to find Conner? Tim asked himself for the thousandth time. 

He tried to think of something Conner had said that might clue him in on where he was hiding, but he couldn't think of anything, so he goes back to the last moment when he saw him glowing in the sunlight, yelling at him to run. Then Cato appeared with sword held high, and as Tim left, he wounded Conner. But how did he escape? Perhaps he withstood the poison of the tricker jackers better than Cato. Perhaps that was the variable that allowed him to flee. However, he too had been bitten.

How was he able to get away, wounded and full of venom? And how did he stay alive all these days? If the wound and the stings hadn't killed him, thirst would have to have done it.

Then the first clue to his location occurs to him: he couldn't have survived without water, he knows from his first days on the battlefield. He has to be hiding somewhere near a water source. There's the lake, but that's an unlikely option, considering it's too close to the careers base camp. There are a few ponds fed by the creek, but there it would be easy prey. And there's the creek, the one that leaves the camp where Tim was with Darla, passes near the lake and continues on. If he has stayed close to the creek, he would have been able to move and always be near the water; he could walk down the stream and erase his tracks, and even catch some fish.

Well, in any case it's a good place to start.

To confuse the enemy, they light a campfire with lots of green wood. Even if they think it's a ruse, Tim hopes they'll assume he's hiding around here, whereas, in reality, he'll be looking for Conner.

The sun burns off the morning mist almost immediately, and Tim realizes that it's going to be warmer than usual today. The water feels cool and pleasant as he dips his bare feet into it, downstream. Darla seems to feel the same way he does, seeking out the deepest spots and with the water up to her calves. 

Tim is tempted to call out to Conner as they go, but decides that's not a good idea. He'll have to find him using his eyes, his remaining hearing and Darla's perspective. 

It doesn't take him long to reach the spot from where he dropped the wasp nest into the careers camp. There's no sign of Conner, though he's not surprised, because he's walked this spot three times since the wasp incident. Had he been nearby, surely Darla or Tim would have noticed. The creek begins to bend to the left into a part of the forest that neither Tim nor Darla knows about. A muddy bank covered with tangled aquatic plants leads to some large boulders that increase in size until he begins to feel somewhat trapped. Now it wouldn't be at all easy to escape the creek, nor to fight Cato or that giant kid from District 11 as he climbs up this rocky terrain. In fact, just as Tim has just decided that he's going the wrong way, that an injured boy couldn't get in and out of this water source, Darla sees a trail of blood surrounding a rock and lets him know it by pointing to the spot desperately. 

The blood has long since dried, but the stains running from one side to the other suggest that someone (someone who, perhaps, was not in full possession of their mental faculties) tried to wipe the blood away.

Tim practically crawls along the rocks slowly following the blood trail, looking for it. He finds more spots, one with a few pieces of cloth stuck to it, but no sign of him.

Tim collapses on the rocks and calls his name under his breath:

"Conner, Conner!"

Then a Mockingjay lands on a rickety tree and begins to mimic him, so he leaves it, gives up, and together with Darla they return to the stream head down.

"He must have gone deeper," Darla tells him. 

Tim nods, and just as he puts a foot back in the water is when he hears a voice. 

"Have you come to finish me off, handsome?

They both turn suddenly; it's coming from their left, so Tim doesn't hear it very well, and the voice is hoarse and weak, though it has to be Conner. What other person would call him handsome in this place? He scans the shore with his eyes, but nothing, just mud, plants and the base of the rocks. When he looks at Darla asking with his eyes if she has seen anything, she just denies.

"Conner?" whispers Darla beside him. "Where are you?" he doesn't answer. 

If it weren't for Darla, Tim would think he imagined the voice talking to him, but he's sure it was real and he was close by. 

"Conner?" he says, crawling up the bank.

"Well, don't step on me." 

Tim jumps back, because the voice is coming from the ground, but Tim still doesn't see it. He turns again to look at Darla, hoping she has managed to see something he missed, but she just shrugs. Tim looks at the ground beneath his feet closely, and then two unmistakably blue eyes open between the mud and green leaves. Tim stifles a scream and is rewarded with the fleeting sight of his white teeth as he laughs. 

It's a pretty good camouflage, Tim wasn't expecting this from Conner. Now that he knows where to look and does so in detail he can see the parts where Conner's face is visible, the parts where he didn't reach to cover with mud and moss, or the parts of his body that aren't covered by rocks, dirt, mossy leaves and dry branches. 

"Close your eyes again," he orders. Conner does so, and so does his mouth, and disappears almost completely. 

"You must have had a lot of time on your hands if you know how to hide so well," Darla says, looking at everything as, if not more, surprised than Tim. 

"You've saved me from several punishments, and now it's the last defense of the dying."

"You're not going to die." says Darla. 

"Then who says so?" his voice is very hoarse.

"We." replies Tim. "Whether you want to or now we're in an alliance and we're not going to let you die just like that." 

"Nice of you to come looking for what's left of me."

"Did Cato cut you?" asks Tim, pulling out the bottle to give him some water.

"Left leg, up."

"Darla, help me. Let's get him in the creek so I can wash him and see what kind of wounds he has."

"First, come closer for a moment, I have to tell you something." says Conner, Tim leans over him and brings his good ear close to his lips, which tickle as he whispers, "Remember, we're madly in love, so you can kiss me anytime you want." 

"Thanks," Tim replies, jerking his head away, but unable to help but laugh, "I'll keep that in mind."

At least he's able to joke, Tim thinks. But the humorous mood disappears when they try to help him get to the creek. Even though the creek is only a few steps away, it's harder than Tim thought because Conner isn't able to move a millimeter on his own, he's so weak that his only help is to let himself go. Even though Tim is stronger than most of the tributes (excepting the careers and that kid from District 11) Conner is naturally big, having been well fed all his life and working out since he was a kid he has a nice collection of heavy muscles. Between him and Darla they try to drag him, but that only gets him to let out a few screams of pain. The mud and plants seem to have caught him and, in the end, Tim has to give a huge tug to pry him from their grasp. He's still only a few steps from the water, lying there, teeth clenched and tears opening furrows in the muck on his face.

Darla gives him a chagrined look, knowing what they'll have to do to get him to the water. 

"Conner" she says, "we're going to have to roll you into the creek, it's shallow here." 

"Fantastic" he replies.

They both crouch down beside him. Tim looks at Darla and modulates 'don't stop'. He can't let Conner hear him why he'll get more nervous than he is, and Tim knows this is going to hurt, but no matter what, he tells himself, I won't stop until I'm in the water.

"On the count of three," Tim warns him, "One, two and three!" They only get him to roll one full lap before they stops, because of the horrible sounds Conner is making. 

Now he's at the water's edge. Maybe it's better this way, Tim thinks.

"Okay" he says "change of plan: we're not going to roll you in at all." 

"No rolling?"

"Nothing. We're going to clean you up. Keep an eye on the forest for us, okay?"

Neither of them knows where to start. Conner is so covered in mud and caked leaves that even his clothes are indistinguishable...if he's wearing them at all. Between them they have three bottles of water, two empty and one full. Tim empties one over Conner's hair and sends Darla to fill the other two, while he empties the third bottle. It takes them a while, but they finally remove enough mud to find his clothes. Tim carefully unzips his jacket, unbuttons his shirt and removes both of them. The undershirt is so stuck to the wounds that Tim has to cut it with his knife and re-wet it to get it loose. Conner is badly bruised, he has a long burn on his chest and four tracker jackers bites, counting the one in his ear. Tim feels a little better, though, because those things can be fixed. I decide to take care of his chest first, relieving some of the pain before taking care of whatever Cato has done to his leg.

Since treating his wounds doesn't make much sense if he's lying in a mud puddle, Tim props him up as best he can on a boulder. He just sits there, not complaining, while Darla and Tim wash the dirt from his hair and skin. Conner is very pale in the sunlight and no longer looks strong and muscular. Darla pulls the stingers out of his stings, which makes him grimace, but, as soon as she applies the leaves, Conner sighs in relief. While drying in the sun, Tim washes his shirt and jacket, which are filthy, and places them on the stones. Then he puts the burn cream on his chest. Then Tim notices how hot his skin is. The layer of mud and the water bottles had hidden the fact that he is burning with fever. Tim rummages through the first aid kit he took from the boy from District 1 and finds pills to reduce the fever.

"Swallow these," he tells him, and he takes the medicine like an obedient boy. 

"You must be hungry." says Darla. 

"Not really. Funny, I haven't been hungry in days," Conner replies. In fact, when Darla offers him chicken, he wrinkles his nose and turns his face away. That's when Tim realizes how sick he is. 

"Conner, you have to eat something" Tim insists.

"It will only serve to make him eat it back." Between the two of them they manage to force him to eat a few small pieces of desiccated apple. "Thank you. I'm much better, really. Can I get some sleep?"

"In a little while," Tim promises, "I have to look at your leg first."

With all the care in the world, they remove his boots, his socks and then, inch by inch, Tim removes his pants. They see the gash Cato's sword has made in the fabric above his thigh, but that in no way prepares them for what lies beneath. The deep swollen gash oozes blood and pus, the leg is swollen and, worst of all, it smells like rotting flesh.

Tim wants to hide like he does every time a seriously ill person is brought home. Staying in his room talking to Damian or running away to Jean-Paul's house so he doesn't have to face what's in his father's office. However, there is only Darla and him here, there is no one else who has any knowledge of wounds. So he tries to mimic Bruce and Alfred's calmness when they have a particularly difficult case, those times when they even need Dick or Jason's help to hold the patient. 

"Pretty ugly, huh?" says Conner, who watches them closely.

"I've seen worse," replies Tim, shrugging as if it's no big deal. "You should see some of the people who take Bruce to him from the mines. First thing is to clean it up good."

Tim has left his boxers on because they don't look bad and he doesn't want to run them over his injured thigh, plus Tim doesn't know how Conner might feel about being seen naked all over Panem. He places the piece of plastic he kept from the beginning of the games underneath Conner so he can wash it all off. With each bottle he pours over it, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower half is pretty good, just a tracker jacker bite and a few small burns that Darla quickly treats while Tim continues to wash the wounded area. On the other hand, the cut on his leg...how the hell am I going to heal it, Tim thinks. 

"Why don't we just leave it out in the air for a moment and...?" says Darla looking at him with wide eyes and a slightly green face, about to puke from the smell.  

"And then cure him?" replies Conner. It's like he feels sorry for them, like he knows how lost they are.

"Right. In the meantime, eat this."

Tim puts some halved dried pears in his hand and goes back to the creek to wash the rest of his clothes followed by Darla. Neither of them feels comfortable standing next to Conner and not knowing what to do to help him. 

Once they have his clothes laid out to dry, Tim examines the contents of the first aid kit; it's pretty basic stuff: bandages, fever pills, stomach ache medicine. Nothing of the caliber of what he needs to cure him.

"We're going to have to experiment," he whispers to Darla. 

Since they knew that the leaves for tracker jackers kill the infection Darla chewed a few and put them on the wound, it was the best way to start. A few minutes later the pus starts to run down his leg. Darla's face turns green and Tim squeezes her hand to encourage her. 

"Is everything okay?" asks Conner.

"To be honest I'm not good at this stuff, and I have no idea what we're doing" confesses Tim, wiping off the first round of leaves and applying the second. "And Darla looks like she's going to throw up."  

"I hate pus!" she admits. 

After three applications and what looks like a whole bucket of pus, the wound looks better. As the swelling has gone down a bit, Tim sees the depth of Cato's cut: it goes all the way to the bone.

"What now, Dr. Wayne?" asks Conner.

"It's Drake," Tim corrects Tim. 

"We could put some of Tim's burn ointment on it" suggests Darla. "I think it would help with the infection. Shall I sell it?" 

She does and everything looks much more manageable when it's covered in clean, white cotton, although, compared to the sterile bandage, the edge of his boxer shorts looks dirty and full of bacteria. Tim takes off his jacket and hands it to him, "Here, cover yourself with this and I'll wash your boxers."

"Oh, but Tim, I don't mind you seeing me."

"You're worse than my brother Dick. I do mind."

"I'm sure it would bring me some sponsors." 

Tim and Darla turn and look down at the creek until the shorts fall into the stream. Conner must feel a little better if he's able to throw them.

"For being part of a family of victors and the son of a doctor you're a little squeamish," Darla says.

"I'm sure Conner doesn't want all of Panem to see him naked." Tim replies splashing some water on her. 

"Actually I find him very comfortable." 

"Well, maybe I don't want everyone to see him naked."

They both let Conner doze off while they finish the laundry and wait for it to dry, but, late in the afternoon, Darla is afraid that he's still sleeping and someone might find them or worse, the infection will come back and Conner won't wake up anymore, so Tim shakes his shoulder a little to wake him up. 

"It's time to go."  

"Go?" asks Conner, as if in a daze. "Where?"

"Away from here. Maybe down the creek, somewhere we can hide until you get stronger." They help him dress and leave his bare feet to walk through the water; then carefully lift him up. Conner goes pale as soon as he puts weight on his leg. "Come on, you can do it."

But he can't; at least, not for long. They travel a hundred feet downstream, Conner leaning on Tim's shoulder, and that's when he realizes Conner is going to pass out.

With Darla's help he sits him on the bank, puts his head between his knees, and awkwardly pats him as he surveys the area. While it's clear that Tim would rather climb a tree (and from Darla's worried face, so would she), it can't be. On the other hand, things could be worse: there are some rocks that form some small cave-like structures. Tim chooses one that is about forty feet above the creek. When Conner manages to get back up, he is half dragged into the cave. Conner's face is white as snow, he gasps and, although it has just started to cool a little, he shivers.

While Tim holds him, Darla covers the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unrolls the sleeping bag, and they stuff Conner inside. Tim gives him a couple of pills with water when he is absent-minded, but he refuses to eat, not even admitting the fruit. 

He then lies there and stares at Tim intently, while Darla is outside looking for vines to make a curtain to hide the entrance. When Darla returns, even though they both give it their best shot, the result is not satisfactory; an animal wouldn't look twice at it, but a human would notice right away that it is artificial. 

At one point Darla goes in search of more water and that's when Tim takes the opportunity to tear the curtain to shreds in frustration. 
 

"Tim" Conner calls him. He turns to put a hand on his forehead and feel whether or not his temperature has risen. "Thanks for finding me."

"You would have if it were the other way" he replies.

Conner's forehead is burning, as if the medicine has no effect. Suddenly, out of the blue, Tim is frightened that his ally might die. He knows that has to happen in a minute, it's the only way if he wants to get home with Darla, but he doesn't want Conner to die now, not while they're taking care of him...not in the near future either. 

Maybe it was a bad decision to come for him, Tim thinks. 

"Yeah. Look, I know I'm not coming home," he begins.

"Don't say that, the games aren't over yet, and I didn't get all that pus out of you for nothing."

"I know, but, Darla and you..." he tries to continue.

"No, Conner, I don't even want to talk about it," Tim insists, putting his fingers to his lips to shut him up.

"But..."

Following an impulse, Tim leans over and kisses him in order to get him to stop talking. Anyway, Tim thinks, it's something he surely should have done by now. Like Conner said, the two of them are supposed to be madly in love. 

It's Tim's first time kissing a boy and he figures he should make some impression on him, but he only notices that his lips have an unnatural temperature because of the fever. He pulls away and tucks him in with the edge of his jacket.

"You're not going to die. Not now. I forbid you, okay?"

"Okay" he whispers.

Tim steps out into the cool night air in search of Darla, who has already taken a while, but Tim suspects he must have seen what was going on and given them space. Sure enough, it is. She is sitting on the ground leaning against one of the rocks, Tim sits down next to her just as the parachute drops from the sky. Tim quickly undoes the knot in the hope that it is real medicine to treat Conner's leg. However, he finds himself with a pot of hot broth.

Jean-Paul couldn't have sent him a clearer message: a kiss equals a pot of broth. He almost hears him tell him: You're supposed to be in love, and he's dying. Give me something I can work with.

And he's right: if Tim wants to keep the Conner alive for the time being and get help for Darla and him, he needs to give the audience something else to care about. Two hearts beating to the beat of one..., romance.

But, since Tim has never been in love and never had a relationship beyond that one time he kissed Stephanie to know what it felt like to kiss a girl, it's going to be complicated. Think about his parents, but it had never been the best, in fact their marriage was so complicated before they died that Tim was sure they were going to divorce. Think about Bruce and his continual failed relationships, until he finally gave up and stopped trying. Then he thinks of the love story that his family exists for, the love of Martha and Thomas Wayne, who always brought his wife gifts when he strolled downtown; to Martha, whose face would light up when she heard his boots coming to the door. The stories Bruce always shared of his parents were the only thing that made one believe that love really could exist. 

"Conner!" exclaims Tim standing up, trying to put on that tone he had heard Dick use when he was with one of his girlfriends. Conner has fallen asleep again, but Tim wakes him up with a kiss, which seems to surprise him. Then he smiles, as if he's glad he's lying there and can look at Tim forever and ever. Tim holds the pot aloft. "Conner, look what's come to us."

Chapter Text

Tim spent an hour trying to convince Conner to swallow the soup, pleading with him until finally, sip by sip, he emptied the pot. Then he let Conner fall asleep, and Tim finally got himself and Darla, who was still waiting outside. Between them, they ate what was left of the chicken and some roots while watching the daily report in the sky. There were no deaths. Anyway, Tim is sure his team has already given the audience a pretty interesting day, so hopefully, the Gamemakers will grant them a quiet night.

Habit made Darla start looking for a tree to sleep in before Tim stopped her. That time is over, at least for a while. He sent Darla to sleep in the cave next to Conner, even though they left him the sleeping bag. Being near someone else is better than sleeping unprotected. So Tim put on his goggles, readied his weapons, and set out to stand guard.

The temperature dropped rapidly, and within minutes, Tim was as cold as snow. He finally gave up and entered the cave with his team. The truth is that Tim would prefer to sleep next to Darla to leave her in the middle so that she would be less cold. But knowing that the cameras will be on them, he decided to lie down next to Conner in the sleeping bag. But first, he took off his jacket and placed it over Darla. Conner was warm and snuggled happily until he realized he was more than just warm: he was an oven because the bag was reflecting Conner's fever.

He put his hand on Conner's forehead and checked that it was burning hot and dry. Tim didn't know what to do and was sorely tempted to wake Darla. Should he leave him in the bag and wait for the excess heat to make him sweat out the fever? Should he take Conner out and wait for the night air to cool him down? He ended up wetting a bandage and placing it on Conner's head. It seemed like a small thing, but Tim couldn't dare make any drastic decisions.

So he spent the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Conner, cooling the bandage and trying not to think about how vulnerable he and Darla had become now that they had allied with Conner. Now they were stuck on the floor, on guard, with a sick man in tow. However, Tim wouldn't have stood for doing nothing knowing that Conner was hurt because of him.

As the sky took on a pink tinge, Tim saw the layer of sweat on Conner's lip and discovered that his fever had dropped, not to normal temperature, but several degrees. Darla woke up soon after and got up to fetch some berries she had seen the day before. Tim went with her in case there was any danger nearby and took the opportunity to fetch some fresh water and replenish the water he spent during the night on Conner. When they returned, they crushed the fruit in the soup pot and mixed it with some of the cold water.

"I woke up, and you were gone," Conner told them, trying to get up when they reached the cave. "I was worried."

"Are you worried about us?" Tim asks, unable to suppress his laughter as he pins Conner down again. "Have you looked at yourself lately?"

"I thought Cato and Clove found you. They like to hunt at night," Conner continues, still very serious.

"Clove? Who's that?" Darla asks.

"The girl from District 2. She's still alive, isn't she?"

"Yes. It's us, the boy from District 11, the Weasel, and ourselves. That's the nickname of the girl from District 5. How do you feel?" Tim says.

"Better than yesterday. This is much better than the mud: clean clothes, medicine, a sleeping bag... and you."

Ah, okay, we're back to the romance, Tim thinks.

Darla makes a funny noise and gets up apologizing that she'll go watch the surroundings. Tim is sure that the viewers appreciate the moment of happiness.

Tim touches Conner's cheek, and he takes his hand and brings it to his lips. Tim remembers seeing his father do the same once, but that was when he was very young, it was one of the few times he saw them being affectionate with each other.

"No more kisses until you eat," he says.

Tim helps him lean his back against the wall, and Conner obediently swallows the spoonfuls of berry porridge that Tim gives him.

"You haven't slept," he says.

"I'm fine," Tim responds, although he is exhausted.

"Sleep a little. Darla is outside watching, and in case of anything, I'll wake you up. You can't stay awake forever."

And Conner, of course, is right. There are times when Tim takes on more work than he can handle, and this is one of those times.

"Okay, but only a few hours; then you wake me up."

It's too hot for the sleeping bag, so Tim places it on the cave floor and lies on top of it, with the knife firmly grasped in case he has to get up and fight. Conner sits beside him, leaning against the wall, with his injured leg stretched out in front of him and his eyes fixed on the outside world.

"Go to sleep," Conner whispers, and brushes Tim's hair away from his forehead. Unlike the fake kisses and caresses they've given each other so far, this gesture feels natural and comforting to Tim. He doesn't want it to stop, and Conner doesn't stop; he keeps stroking his hair until Tim falls asleep.

Too much, I have slept too much. Tim knows it as soon as he opens his eyes and sees that it is no longer afternoon. Conner is by his side, in the same position, except this time Darla makes him company and they both speak in low voices. He sits up, feeling more relaxed than he has in many days.

“You were supposed to wake me up in a couple of hours.”

“For what?” says Darla. “Nothing has happened here. Besides, it’s nice to see you sleep, you don’t frown.”

Obviously, that makes Tim frown, causing both Conner and Darla to smile and look amused. Looking closely at Conner, Tim can see how dry his lips are. Tim touches his cheek, and it’s as hot as a coal stove. Conner assures him that he’s been drinking water, but with a glance at the nearly full containers, and Darla's face, Tim knows he's lying. So he gives him more fever pills and stays by his side while he drinks first one bottle of water and then another.

Between Tim and Darla, they heal his minor wounds, burns, and bites, which look better. Then Tim mentally prepares himself and removes the bandage from Conner's leg.

His heart sinks because the wound is worse, much worse. There is no more pus in the air, but it has swollen more, and the taut, shiny skin is inflamed. Then they see the red lines starting to climb up Conner's leg: sepsis.

Tim gives Darla a look, and he knows they are both thinking the same thing. If he doesn't get medical attention, he will die.

They both know that chewed leaves and ointment will change nothing at all; they need strong medicine for the infection, Capitol medicine. Tim has no idea how much something so potent might cost; if Jean-Paul collects donations from all the sponsors, will it be enough? He doubts it. Gifts go up in price the longer the games last; what buys a full meal on the first day only buys a salty cookie on the twelfth. And the kind of medicine Conner needs is expensive from the start.

“Well, it’s more swollen, but there’s no pus,” Darla says, her voice trembling.

“I don’t need my father to be a doctor to know what sepsis is.”

“It just means you’re going to have to survive until the end. If you survive, they’ll heal you in the Capitol,” Tim says. He doesn't want to mention the elephant in the room, that if the three of them somehow manage to survive until the end, he wouldn't know how to decide who has to live and who has to die.

“Yeah, good plan,” Conner responds.

“Now you have to eat and stay strong,” Darla says, standing up. “I'm going to make you soup.”

“Don't start a fire, it's not worth it.”

“We'll see. Tim, do you come with me?”

Both go to the creek, and Darla puts the pot in to fill it. Tim focuses on the brutal heat, he would swear that the Gamemakers are gradually raising the temperature during the day and lowering it to the maximum at night. However, the heat from the hot rocks by the creek gives him an idea; maybe he doesn't need to light a fire.

Tim takes the pot from Darla's hands and stands on a large, flat rock halfway between the creek and the cave. After purifying half a pot of water, he places it in the sun and adds several egg-sized hot stones. Tim knows he's lousy in the kitchen, he's only had to cook a couple of times in his life, but, since the soup consists basically of throwing everything into a pot and waiting, it's one of his specialties.

Darla mashes some of the remaining roots into almost a pulp because it's the only food they have left and Tim knows they have to make it last until he can leave Conner to go hunting. Luckily, the roots had been roasted before, so they just need to be heated up. Thanks to the sun and the rocks, the water is already hot. Darla adds the roots, and Tim changes the cold rocks for hot ones and goes in search of some vegetables to give it a bit of flavor. He soon discovers some chives growing at the base of some rocks. He chops them up and adds them to the pot, changes the rocks again, puts the lid on and lets everything cook.

"We should set traps," Darla says.

"I haven't seen many prey around here," Tim replies without taking his eyes off the pot.

"It's better to try than to run out of food."

Although Tim doesn't feel comfortable leaving Darla alone with Conner, he has to admit that she's right. He leaves her in charge of the pot while he walks away following the stream. As he sets a dozen snare traps, he can't help but wonder how the other tributes are doing without their main source of food. At least three of them, Cato, Clove, and the Weasel, depended on it.

Will they be fighting each other? Looking for us? Tim can't help but think that maybe one of them has located them and is waiting for the opportune moment to attack. The idea makes him return to the cave.

Darla is still close to the pot, but she's worried about washing her clothes and refreshing her feet by the stream, so he walks past towards the cave. Conner is lying on the sleeping bag, in the shade of the rocks. Although he perks up a bit when Tim enters, it's clear that he feels terrible. Tim puts a cool cloth on his forehead, but it warms up as soon as it touches his skin.

"Do you want something?" Tim asks him.

"No, thanks. Wait, yes: tell me a story."

"A story? About what?"

"One that's cheerful. Tell me the happiest day you can remember."

Tim lets out a sigh.

What moment was exciting enough but fun enough to keep Capitol viewers entertained and make Conner happy? Tim had many happy moments with his family, especially with Damian, Stephanie, and Cassandra.

"Did you know my little brother has a cow?" Tim asked, and Conner shakes his head and waits, excitedly, so Tim starts, knowing that his words will be heard throughout Panem.

The truth is, Tim wasn't very good at telling stories, nor was how he got the money for the cow a very interesting story, so Tim summarized it as best he could. He had inherited some silver medallions from his mother, one of the few luxuries she could afford before she died. Tim, who couldn't bear to keep them and know that he would never see her wearing them again, decided to do the only thing that seemed right at the time; he gave a medallion to Cassandra and one to Stephanie, kept one in Bruce's office to retrieve someday if he knew the right person, and decided to sell the fourth one because Damian's birthday was approaching.

One thing Tim didn't mention is that his parents had left him enough money so that he could buy a nice gift for his younger brother without having to resort to selling his mother's keepsakes, but Tim was saving that money for when he was older and it was time to leave Bruce's house. Although his siblings were already adults and still living there, Tim knew it would be different for him. They shared a bond that bound them forever, an experience they couldn't leave behind and in which they needed the presence of their family to move forward. Tim didn't have that (until now) so he always assumed that when the time came he would move out and find a job or start a business.

Tim shook his head so as not to get distracted and continued with his story, not wanted to leave Conner waiting. 

It was the morning of Damian's birthday, and Tim had left it until the last minute to buy the gift. Stephanie had offered to go with him to the market in the square to shop while Cass entertained Damian so he wouldn't notice his absence. At first Tim had thought about buying him some fabric so Alfred could make him a new shirt or pants, then he thought it best to buy the clothes already made to save the old butler some work. Still they both stopped at a fabric stall just to watch. As Tim stroked a piece of thick green cotton, something caught his eye. On the other side of the Seam lived an old man with a small herd of goats and three cows; no one knew his real name, but everyone calls him the goat man. The man has swollen joints twisted at strange angles, plus a hacking cough that shows he worked many years in the mines. But he's a lucky guy: at some point he managed to save enough to buy his first goats and from there he did well enough to buy cows, and now he has something to do in his old age, instead of starving to death bit by bit. Although he is dirty and impatient, his animals are clean and his milk is good, if you have money to pay for it.

One of the cows - the youngest - a brown one with white spots, was lying on the ground and it wasn't hard to figure out why: something, probably a dog, had bitten its shoulder, and it had become infected. It was bad, the goat man could no longer milk it, but it occurred to Tim that he knew the perfect person to cure it.

"Steph" whispered Tim, "I want that cow for Damian."

" It's badly hurt," said Steph. "We'd better take a closer look at it."

They both walked over and Tim bought a cup of milk to share; then they stood in front of the cow, as if they were curious and had nothing better to do.

"Leave it alone," the man said.

"We're just looking," Steph replied.

"Well, look quickly then. It's going straight to the butcher shop. If it doesn't give me milk then it's no good to me." 

"What does the butcher give you for it?" asked Tim.

"Wait till you see" replied the man, shrugging his shoulders. Tim turned and saw the butcher approaching them. "Good of you to show up" the goat man said to her when she arrived "This boy here has his eye on your cow."

"Not if it's already been dealt with" Tim replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"It isn't," said the butcher, looking Tim up and down; then she looked down at the cow with a frown. "Look at that shoulder, I'm sure half the critter will be so rotten it won't even be good enough for sausage for me."

"What? We had a deal."

"We had a deal for an animal with a few teeth marks, not this. Sell it to the kid, if he's dumb enough to buy it." 

The goat man was angry, but still wanted the cow off his hands. It took them half an hour to agree on a price, and already they had a crowd of onlookers around them eager to have their say. It was an excellent deal if the cow lived, but a steal if it died. 

Since between them they couldn't carry a cow that couldn't walk, no matter how small the cow was, Tim spent some of his remaining money on a big enough wagon, but they still needed the help of the people who had stood by and watched to get it on, and in the end Stephanie had to go in search of Jason while Tim took care that no one tried to steal the cow from them. When they returned to the victors' village, and in a moment of absolute happiness, Tim bought a green ribbon and tied it around the cow's neck.

Damian's reaction when they arrived with the cow was to see it; he was so excited that he began to cry and laugh at the same time; Alfred nor Bruce were so sure, seeing the wound, but the two went to work on it, applying herbs and coaxing the animal to swallow their concoctions.

"They sound just like you," says Conner. Tim had almost forgotten he was standing next to him.

"Oh, no, Conner, Bruce and Alfred know how to do magic. That thing couldn't have died if it wanted to" replies Tim. "Damian's on the same path, in a few years he'll be an excellent healer." 

"And how does the story end?"

"Well, that's about it. I just remember that night Damian insisted on sleeping with Batcow on a blanket by the fire and that, just before they both fell asleep, the cow licked his cheek, like it was kissing him goodnight or something. He was already crazy about it."

"Why is it called Batcow?" 

"Its has a spot on it's face that looks like a bat. Damian thought it was an appropriate name and even though it was a joke at first the name stuck." 

"So, was the medallion worth selling?" 

"Seeing Damian's smile was worth every penny. Plus it's milk saved us a lot of money, it practically paid for itself."

"Well, it wouldn't dare to the contrary, considering you saved its life. I intend to do the same."

"Really? And how much did you say you cost me?"

"A lot of trouble. Don't worry, I'll pay you back with interest."

"You're talking nothing but nonsense," he replies, and touches Conner's forehead. The fever only goes up. "You're a little cooler, though."

The sound of trumpets startles Tim; he jumps to his feet and rushes out to the entrance of the cave, Darla is not long in joining him; neither of them wants to miss a syllable. It's Claudius Templesmith, one of the announcers of the games and, as Tim expected, he invites them to a feast. Well, at this point they are not that hungry and his traps are sure to get him some food, so Tim quickly dismisses his proposal by waving his hand indifferently, until he presenter says:

"One more thing: some of you may already be rejecting my invitation, but this is no ordinary banquet. Each of you needs one thing desperately." I do need something desperately, something to cure Conner's leg, Tim thinks. "At the Cornucopia, at dawn, you will find what you need in a backpack marked with the number of your district. Think carefully before you discard it. For some, it will be your last chance."

It's over, only his words remain, floating in the air. Tim looks at Darla, but she's already looking at him. If there's one thing Tim is grateful for about the games, it's being able to have met her, with a look they both say what a thousand words couldn't express. 

"No" is heard from inside the cave. " You're not going to risk your lives for me."

"And who said we plan to?" says Darla. "Don't you trust that our care can cure you?" 

"So you're not going?"

"Of course not," Tim replies without hesitation. "What do you take us for, you think we're going to get into an open bar with Cato, Clove and that kid in 9? Don't be stupid. Let them fight each other and we'll see who comes out in the sky tomorrow night; then we'll think of a plan."

"I can believe Tim, but Darla, you're such a bad liar." He shakes his head. "You'd better not get into gambling, because you'll lose your shirt."

"Okay, yes we are, and you can't stop us!" exclaimed Darla, her face red with rage.

"I can follow you, at least part of the way. I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but, if I go after you shouting your names, someone is sure to find me. That way I'll die, end of story."

"You couldn't go fifty feet on that leg." says Tim. 

"Then I'll crawl. If you go, I'll go."

Tim didn't know this side of Conner, stubborn enough he could be and, maybe, strong enough to do it, to come howling out of the woods after them. Even if a tribute doesn't find him, something else might, and he wouldn't be able to defend himself. Tim knows the only way he and Darla can go is if they leave Conner locked inside the cave. 

"So what are we supposed to do, sit around and watch you die?" says Tim, because Conner has to know that's not an option, that the audience would hate Tim, and honestly, he'd hate himself too if he didn't even try.

"I won't die, I promise you," he says looking both Tim and Darla in the eye ", if you guys promise me you won't go."

Both Tim and Darla know that neither of them will be able to convince him to stay, so they don't try and pretend to reluctantly agree.

"Then you'll have to do what we tell you," Darla proclaims "drink the water, rest when we ask you to, and eat all the soup, even if it's disgusting!"

"Okay. Is it ready yet?"

"Wait here."

Darla goes for the soup, and despite the frosty air that has begun to blow, the soup is still warm in its iron pot, and it's actually not that disgusting either. Conner eats it without complaint, and even licks the pot to show his enthusiasm. He rambles on about how delicious it is, which should cheer Tim up, except he knows what fever does to people. 

Tim gives him another dose of fever medicine before he goes completely out of his mind.

They leave Conner alone to rest and both go over to the creek to wash their faces before it's any icier. All Tim can think about is that Conner will die if they don't go to the banquet. They will keep him alive for a couple of days and then the infection will get into his heart, brain or lungs and finish him off. 

Tim is so lost in thought that he almost misses the parachute, even though it floats right under his nose. Darla is the one who jumps in to pick him up from the water and rips off the silver cloth to get a vial.

Tim wants to shout for joy, Jean-Paul has done it! He's got the medicine, Tim doesn't know how, he must have convinced a bunch of romantic idiots to sell their jewels. None of that matters, because now they can save Conner! 

However, after a few seconds Tim realizes two things; first, why is the vial so small? it must be very strong to cure someone so sick, and second, why would Jean-Paul bother to help Conner when he's not from his district? 

Doubt begins to creep in, so Tim takes the vial out of Darla's hands, uncaps it and sniffs it. His heart drops to his feet when the sweetish aroma hits him. To make sure, he drops a drop on the tip of his tongue: no doubt about it, it's sleeping syrup. It's a common medicine in District 12, cheap for medicine, but highly addictive. Almost everyone has taken a dose at some point. There's some at his house, and Bruce gives it to hysterical patients, so they'll fall asleep and he can stitch up a nasty wound, soothe them, or just ease their pain for the night. It only takes a little bit, a bottle this size could knock Conner out for a whole day. 

How does this help me? 

Then it dawns on him: a whole day? That's more than I need.

"Go get berries," he says to Darla, already with an idea in his head.

Tim and Darla return to the cave with the pot and a good amount of crushed berries, also a few mint leaves to mitigate the sweet taste. 

"We've brought you a treat." says Tim. "Darla has found another berry bush a little further down."

Conner opens his mouth without hesitation to swallow the first bite, but, immediately, he frowns a little.

"They're very sweet."

"Yes, they're hackberry" Darla replies "my mother uses it to make jam. Haven't you ever tasted it before?" Tim takes advantage of the distraction to pop the next spoonful of berries into his mouth.  

"No" he replies, almost perplexed ", but I'm familiar with the taste. hackberry?"

"Well, it's not easy to find at the market" Darla keeps on talking as Tim gives him another spoonful again. "They're wild. Maybe in your district there aren't any."  

"They're as sweet as syrup" says Conner, taking the last spoonful. "Syrup."

Conner opens his eyes wide as he realizes the truth, but Tim forcefully covers his mouth and nose, forcing him to swallow instead of spit. He tries to vomit up the mush, but it's too late: he's already starting to lose consciousness. As he leaves, Tim reads in his eyes that he will never forgive him.

Darla crouches down beside him to check that he had indeed fallen asleep. Conner has smudged his chin with one of the berries, so she wipes it off.

"Who was the one who couldn't lie, Conner?" she says with satisfaction.

Chapter Text

In the hours before nightfall Tim and Darla spend their time collecting rocks and doing whatever they can to camouflage the cave entrance. It's a slow and arduous process, but, after much sweating and moving things around, they are both pleased with the result - the cave now appears to be part of a larger rock pile. Thanks to their bearing, the two can still reach Conner through a small hole, but it is not visible from the outside. That's good, because if they don't return from the feast, Conner will be hidden, though not quite trapped. In any case, Tim doubts he can last much longer without medicine. 

Tim manages to catch a few minnows from this part of the creek, which have a lot of spines, while Darla fills all the water containers and purifies it. When they have both had dinner they begin to carefully clean their weapons and decide what to take to the feast. The bow won't do him any good, and he knows Conner is worse at using it than he is, so he leaves it in the cave near the sleeping bag. He still has the spear and knives left, he plans to leave one for Conner so he has some protection while he's not with him, but it doesn't make sense. So in the end he takes it upon himself to sharpen the knife with a rock as Alfred once taught him and keeps his spear next to the bow, although he feels confident with it, he knows that for an all against all battlefield he needs to be quick and agile, a knife is easier to spear and wield. Who knows what he will face? He needs to be ready to kill. 

There are a few things Tim is pretty sure of; for example, that Cato, Clove and the boy from 11, at the very least, will be around when the feast starts. He's not sure what the Weasel will do, as direct confrontation is neither her style, nor her strong point. She's smaller than Darla and is unarmed, unless she's gotten some weapon later. She will probably stay somewhere nearby and wait to see what she can snatch. The other three, however.... Tim is going to have his hands full, he can't let Darla fight. He'll have to get into the thick of it to get that backpack, the one with the number 9 on it, Claudius Templesmith said.

Tim watches the sky in hopes of having one less adversary at dawn, but no one shows up. Tomorrow there will be faces up there, because feast always have victims.

Darla and Tim crawl inside the cave, Tim lets Darla curl up next to Conner and he puts on his goggles and curls up next to her. The night is freezing cold and he needs Darla to get a good night's rest because they need to be on their feet at dawn. He has rested enough and stays on guard, although he doesn't really think they will be attacked tonight. 

By the middle of the night Tim is shivering with cold, it's as if the Gamemakers have introduced an icy draft into the stadium, an assumption that may be correct. He finally gives up and puts the glasses aside, curls up as best he can against Darla and tries to soak up all the warmth from sleeping next to her and Conner. His hand brushes against the sleeping bag, Conner feels warm even through the fabric that separates them. It feels so strange to him to be so physically close to someone who is mentally so far away.

Conner right now could be in the Capitol or District 9, even on the moon, as far as Tim was concerned. With Darla sleeping, Tim hasn't felt this lonely since he got into the games.

You have to accept that it's going to be a bad night, that's it, he tells himself. 

Although he tries not to, he can't help but think of his family, wondering if they will get any sleep tonight. By this point in the games, with an event as important as the feast, surely they will have cancelled classes. His family may watch it together on the TV in the living room, or join the crowd in the plaza, to watch it on the crisp giant screens. At home they will have privacy, but in the plaza they will receive support. Tim remembers Bruce staying home for his siblings' games, fearful, but still confident that his kids would come home. Bruce knew his kids could win the games, Tim knows it's different with him. 

Jason never offered Cassandra to support her with money, he doesn't know how Dick and Jason's goodbye went, but he knows that with his sister they didn't all hug goodbye, it was just a pat on the shoulder, a "see you in a few weeks". They had the confidence, Tim had only gotten the grief. No one in his family would bet a penny on him. 

Through a crack in the rocks he watches the moon advance across the sky. When he calculates that it is about three hours before dawn, he wakes Darla and they begin to prepare. He tries to leave water and a first aid kit nearby for Conner; the rest won't do him any good if they don't return, and even these things won't be able to keep him alive for long.

After some thought, Tim takes off his jacket and puts it on Darla on top of his own. Conner doesn't need it, since he's inside the jacket and running a high fever; besides, during the day, if they're not with him to take it off, he'll roast alive with it. 

He fills his little backpack with food, a bottle of water and bandages, tucks the knife into his belt, and turns to remind Darla that she should go light in case she needs to run or climb a tree to escape. As they are about to leave, Tim remembers the importance of keeping up the tragic lover routine and leans over Conner for a long kiss. 

He imagines the Capitol's tearful sighs and pretends to wipe away tears. Then they slip through the opening in the rocks and out into the night.

Their breaths form white clouds as they come in contact with the air; it is as cold as a December night at home. They move as fast as they dare. The glasses are extraordinary, so Tim is the one leading the way, although he still misses the use of his left ear very much. He doesn't know what made the explosion, but he thinks he's messed something up beyond repair. 

The forest always looks different at night; even with the glasses, everything has an unfamiliar angle, as if the trees, flowers and stones of the day have gone to sleep and sent more sinister versions as substitutes. Tim doesn't try anything dangerous, like picking a new route, but they return to the creek and follow the same route near the lake. Along the way they see no sign of the other tributes, not a cloud of mist, not a branch moving. Either they are the first or the others looked for a place last night.

When they go into the brush to wait for the blood to start flowing, there is still more than an hour, maybe two, before dawn. 

Darla gives him a couple of mint leaves to chew and calm the anxiety, it's perfect because Tim's stomach can't take much more. Darla cuddles up next to him while they wait and it's for the best, because if it weren't for that he would have had to move to get warm. The sky takes on a misty gray morning tone and there is still no sign of the others. The truth is that Tim is not surprised, since they have all been noted for their strength, murderous ability or cunning. Do they know that Conner is with them? He doubts the Weasel and the kid from District 11 know Conner is injured, which is perfect because then they don't know exactly how many people are on their team. 

But where did they put the backpack? The stadium is now bright enough for Tim to take off his glasses. He hears the songs of the morning birds, isn't it about time? For a second he panics that they are in the wrong place. But, no, he remembers well that Claudius Templesmith spoke of the Cornucopia, and here it is. But where is their feast? 

Just as the first ray of sunlight reflects off the golden Cornucopia, Tim notices a movement on the plain. The ground in front of the horn's mouth splits in two and a round table with a snow-white tablecloth emerges. On the table are four backpacks, two large black ones with the numbers 2 and 11, a medium-sized green one with the number 5, and a tiny orange one (he could certainly wear it hanging from his wrist) that must have a 9 on it.

Within seconds of hearing the table click as it clicks to the floor, a figure rushes out of the Cornucopia, grabs the green backpack, and scurries away. 

It's the Weasel! 

She was the only one capable of coming up with such a cool and risky idea. The others are still positioned around the plain, analyzing the situation, and she already has her backpack. Besides, she has caught them, because no one wants to chase her, not with the other backpacks on the table, vulnerable. 

Tim thinks she must have left the other backpacks on purpose, because she knew that stealing one with another number would cause someone to chase her. If only he had thought of that before. 

While he experiences surprise, admiration, jealousy and, finally, frustration, her reddish clump of hair has already disappeared into the trees. On top of that, it has cost him time, because it is now clear that Tim has to go next. If someone gets to the table before him, it won't cost him to take his pack and leave. 

"Stay here, you have to keep an eye out. If you see something happen to me try to take the medicine, but if it's too dangerous you should run away and go back to Conner."

"But Tim..."

"But nothing, Darla, listen to me."

Without hesitation, Tim takes off running towards the table. The feet separating him from the backpack seem eternal, as if the distance multiplies with every step he takes. But, he finally reaches the table, grabs the little orange backpack, reaches between the straps and puts it on his arm, because it's too small to fit anywhere else on his anatomy.

Maybe he must have realized that things were turning out too well, no one had attacked him. It had been too easy. 

"Tim! Tim!"

Tim's heart races and his mind clouds with fear and anxiety.

When he turns, Darla, his beloved Darla, is on the ground, a knife sticking out of her right shoulder. Worst of all, Clove is on top of her, holding another deadly-looking knife and using it to stroke the sharp tip across her friend's face. 

She is enjoying the moment, urging Darla to scream and call for help. Tim knows that without a doubt, Cato is nearby, protecting her, waiting for him.

Tim wishes he had the bow and arrows at that moment, because although his aim is not the best, he knows that from this distance he could hit the target. Through Clove's heart and save Darla. 

In this situation Tim can only run. 

He doesn't know if his footsteps are too loud, if he is screaming or growling, or if maybe Darla is still screaming his name and begging him to hurry. Tim isn't sure how, nor does he care, but Clove realizes he's close by. She looks over her shoulder at him, the hand holding the knife moving down. 

Tim tackles her. 

Clove tries to fight back, tries to hit him, but even though Tim is small, he's bigger than her, stronger. Maybe she is a professional, but Tim lived among winners, he knows how to fight, he knows how to defend himself, and above all he knows how to take painful blows. 

Still she keeps trying to slip away, free her hands and grab one of the knives sticking out of her jacket. Tim won't allow it. He pulls out his own knife, thankful he left it handy. Bruce wouldn't let them train hand-to-hand with weapons, his hands should have been enough. But Jason had seen a side of the games Bruce and Dick hadn't had to live through. Jason had blood on his hands, and he had made sure Tim knew that if the time came he had to be able to do what was necessary to survive.

Tim holds up his knife, and the glint seems to reach Clove's eyes. Her smug face changes to a frightened one and she begins to scream, calling out to her ally. 

"Cato!" she shrieks "Cato!"

"Clove!" Tim hears Cato scream, but calculates that he is too far away to help her. 

Tim had studied anatomy thanks to Bruce, he knew enough theory to know when an infected wound on a limb could be cut, where to make the cut to ensure functionality with the remaining stump, he knew what wound could be fatal, the position of bones in the body and how they should be positioned in the event of a fracture or joint dislocation. He also knew the position of the circulatory system, which places to avoid cutting to prevent massive blood loss. That had been when Bruce still believed Tim could become a healer like him. And well, Tim was good at theory, practice was different. 

But now, Tim knew where to cut to cause fast, incurable blood loss. Cato had been close when he wounded Conner in the leg, Tim wasn't going to miss. He buried his knife in Clove's leg, cutting the femoral artery and vein at the same time. 

Clove would only have 3 minutes to live at most, it didn't matter if Cato arrived in the next few seconds and tried to save her. At best he would be able to extend her life by a few minutes, but Clove's fate was sealed anyway. 

Tim had sent a message.

When he pulled out his knife Clove let out a moan of pain and tried to scream for Cato, move her hands to keep the blood from gushing out, her blood was bright red, the pressure was so great that some of it splattered on Tim's face, staining his forehead and dripping from his eye. 

Each heartbeat made the blood rush out with more force, as if it were a rising river threatening to sweep Clove to her death. Tim could feel the fear and helplessness that gripped her, as the life slowly slipped away from her.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. Cato was nearby, and Tim needed to get out of there as soon as possible. A few feet in front of him was Darla on the ground, writhing in pain from her shoulder wound. Tim ran to her and carried her in his arms despite her protests and moans of pain. When they were far away and safe they could take care of the wound on her shoulder.

When they reach the forest, Tim looks back for a second; Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. Tim knows that in no time he'll realize it's useless, that he can't save her. He carefully gets into the trees, trying not to move Darla too much, with every second that passes she is paler, and Tim knows that the wound must be hurting like hell, maybe she won't even be able to move her shoulder again, but it doesn't matter, he will see to it that she doesn't need to.

When they reach the forest, Tim looks back for a second; Cato kneels beside Clove, spear in hand, begging her to stay with him. Tim knows that in no time he'll realize it's useless, that he can't save her. He carefully gets into the trees, trying not to move Darla too much, with every second that passes she is paler, and Tim knows that the wound must be hurting like hell, maybe she won't even be able to move her shoulder again, but it doesn't matter, he will ensure that she won't need to.

Once they are back in the Capitol the doctors can take care of her and fix everything that is broken. 

After a few minutes, Tim hears the sound of the cannon and knows that Clove is dead and that Cato will be tracking them, or with any luck is trying to track down the giant boy from the 11th district. 

He has to keep moving, put as much distance between them and Cato, get away from the Cornucopia and get the medicine to Conner. 

"Tim" hears his name, but he can't pay attention to Darla now. The creek is close and he has to hide his trail. Cato can't catch them, they are so close to winning.

"Tim, please stop" he hears again, and decides to look at Darla to ask her to keep quiet until the cave. But Darla is so pale, and the blood slipping out of her lips can't be anything good.  

He stops in a clearing and lays her carefully on the ground, trying to figure out what's wrong with her, because she looks like a corpse even though she's still breathing. A shoulder wound can't cause this, unless Clove's knife was poisoned. 

But all it takes is for Tim to take a look at her stomach to make sense of it all. 

There is a deep cut through Darla's clothes, and by the position of the wound Tim is sure it has gone through an organ. Now that he is stood still he can see that Darla's clothes are soaked with blood, as are his hands. The run from the Cornucopia has only aggravated the wound, Tim has only made things worse. 

"Is it that bad?" asks Darla. 

For a moment Tim considers lying, just like he did with Conner, he wants to tell her he's seen worse injuries and she'll be fine, she just needs rest.

But he can't lie to her, not to Darla, not after all they've been through together. She deserves the truth, even if it's painful.

"Yes, Darla, it's really bad," Tim says, his voice cracking with anguish.

Darla nods slowly, as if she already knows, and a tear escapes her eye. "I'm sorry, Tim," she says in a faint whisper. "I really wanted to come home."

"You don't have to apologize for anything, Darla," Tim replies as he takes her hand gently. "We're in this together."

Darla smiles weakly and squeezes Tim's hand tightly. "I know," she says haltingly. "Thank you for being here with me."

Tim feels a lump in his throat as he sees the look on Darla's face, a mixture of pain and gratitude, and realizes there is nothing to be done.

He knows he can't heal Darla's wound, that he can't save her, and helplessness consumes him. He stands there beside her, holding her hand and letting the tears fall down her cheeks as time stops.

Sadness engulfs Tim and Darla as they wait in the glade. They feel the weight of death upon them, the death that has been haunting them since they arrived at the Hunger Games. Death that is now only minutes away.

"Tim" Darla whispers to him squeezing his hand with what little strength she has left. "You have to win the games, you and Conner."

"I will. Now we're going to win for you" he promises her. 

But instead of being consumed by despair, Tim decides he wants to do something for Darla, something to make her feel a little better before she leaves.

"Darla, is there anything you want me to do for you? Anything to make you feel comfortable?" asks Tim, trying to sound optimistic.

Darla thinks for a moment, trying to concentrate despite the pain that is racking her. And finally, her face lights up with a weak smile.

"Sing," she says, though Tim barely hears her.

Sing? he thinks, sing what?

He tries to remember some song he heard at school, or one of the ones Stephanie hums when they take a walk in the garden, but none seem appropriate. Then he remembers his mother's voice when he was little and had a nightmare, when the fever was raging and his mother stayed by his side all night to take care of him. It's a song that promises peace and safety despite all that may be happening outside. 

Tim coughs a little, swallows and begins:

“I remember tears streaming down your face when I said, "I'll never let you go"

When all those shadows almost killed your light

I remember you said, "Don't leave me here alone"

But all that's dead and gone and passed tonight

Just close your eyes

The sun is going down

You'll be alright

No one can hurt you now

Come morning light

You and I'll be safe and sound

Don't you dare look out your window

Darling, everything's on fire

The war outside our door keeps raging on

Hold on to this lullaby

Even when the music's gone, g one

Just close your eyes

The sun is going down

You'll be alright

No one can hurt you now

Come morning light

You and I'll be safe and sound”

Finally, the song ends and Darla smiles gratefully. "Thank you, Tim," she tells him in a soft voice. "That was beautiful."

Tim nods, and stands there beside Darla, holding her hand until her last breath escapes.
 
All is silent; then, in a way that is almost eerie, the mockingjay repeat his song.

Tim stands there for a moment, watching his tears fall on Darla's chest. Darla's cannon sounds, and Tim leans over her and gives her a kiss on the temple. Slowly, as if not wanting to wake her, he lets go of her hand and carefully retrieves his jacket.

Tim knows he must leave so they can pick up her corpse, besides there is no longer any reason for him to stay. But he can't take his eyes off Darla. She looks smaller than ever, it is impossible for him to leave her like this; even if she is not going to be hurt anymore, she looks completely helpless.

He doesn't want to leave her like this, not like another death in the games. Darla means more than that, he can't let her death mean just entertainment for the people of the Capitol. Tim has to show them that they are more than just a piece of their games. 

He wants to do something right now, right here, something that will shame them, that will hold them responsible, that will show them that it doesn't matter what they do or what they are forced to do, because there will always be a part of each of the tributes that won't be theirs. They have to know that Darla was more than just a piece of their games, just like Conner, just like him. 

A few steps from where they stand is a bed of wildflowers. Actually, maybe it's weeds, but it has flowers in beautiful shades of purple, yellow and white. Tim picks a handful and returns to Darla; little by little, stem by stem, he decorates her body with the flowers: covering the ugly wound, surrounding her face, and braiding her hair with brightly colors.

Tim knows that even if they decide not to broadcast it, at some point they will have to broadcast how they pick up Darla's body, and then everyone will see it and know that he did it. Tim takes a step back and looks at the girl one last time; the truth is, she might really be asleep in that meadow.

"Goodbye, Darla," he whispers.

The birds are silent. Somewhere, a mockingjay whistles the warning that precedes a hovercraft. Tim doesn't stop and keeps his eyes on what's in front of him, not on what's going on behind him. It doesn't take long; then the usual birdsong continues, and he knows she's gone. 

He reaches the creek and does not stop there to wash the blood from his clothes, because he knows that if he stops to think about Darla he will not be able to walk. Once he wins the games he can cry all he wants for his lost ally, for the friendship that had begun and for what might have been. Now he has to keep walking, forcing his body to move, he has to do it for Conner. 

Tim makes it to the cave without much trouble, it's as if the Gamemakers were giving him a break after all. He reaches between the rocks and, in the dim light, removes the little orange backpack from his arm, cuts the zipper and throws the contents on the ground: a thin box with a hypodermic needle. 

That tiny syringe may save Conner's life, but it has cost Darla's. Tim knows it's not a fair price, one he wasn't willing to pay, and he knows that when Conner finds out he'll never forgive him.

Still, without hesitation he sticks the needle into Conner's arm and pushes the plunger in bit by bit.

Chapter Text

Tim can hear his mother's familiar footsteps outside his bedroom; it must be time to go to school, and he must have fallen asleep as usual. He wraps himself in the blankets and tries to keep sleeping. If his mother sees him looking tired enough, maybe she'll let him skip classes, as long as his father is in a good mood and doesn't make a scene because his mom let him skip a day of school.

The door opens, and he feels someone sitting on the bed beside him. His mother's hand caresses his cheek, and Tim doesn't pull away; he loves it when his mom shows him a little affection. It makes him feel loved, needed, and, above all, he knows that nothing bad can happen to him when he's with his mother. Then a voice reaches him, the wrong voice, not his mother's, and Tim gets scared.

"Tim," says. "Tim, can you hear me?"

Tim opens his eyes, and the feeling of security fades away. He's not in his old house, not with his mother; he's in a dark and cold cave, with his bare feet freezing despite the coat, and he smells the unmistakable scent of blood in the air. The gaunt and pale face of a boy comes into his vision.

"Conner."

"Hey. I'm glad to see your eyes again. I woke up a little while ago, and you weren't moving."

"Are you better?" Tim asks him.

"Much better. Whatever you shot in my arm worked. This morning, my leg was no longer swollen."

"Have you eaten?" Tim asks him.

Everything feels like a dream, like the moments when he wakes up in the middle of the night and his body doesn't feel like his own. Tim feels like he's watching everything from afar, as if he were at home watching the games. He can't think clearly about what to say, what to do, what to feel. He knows there's something important he needs to tell Conner, but he doesn't know what it is.

"I woke up not long ago, so no. But Darla must be looking for berries; we can wait for her to come back and eat something."

Darla...

Tim wants to throw up. The smell of blood in the cave... the blood on his hands and clothes... Tim couldn't do it; he couldn't wash before returning to the cave.

He tries to look at Conner, to look into his eyes and explain how he led Darla to her death. His whole body trembles, and Tim wants to hug his mother; he wants to have her in front of him and hear her say that everything will be okay. The cave seems larger and smaller at the same time; he can't sit up straight, he can barely breathe.

The only thing keeping him awake is that Conner keeps talking.

He doesn't understand the words; it make no sense, and things only get worse.

"Darla is dead." It's like he can't bring himself to say it; it hurts too much.

Conner is silent for a moment.

"What?" Tim can hear how confused Conner sounds, and it makes him want to cry.

"She's dead, Conner. She's gone. Clove stabbed her," he says, raising his blood-covered hands.

Tim can't take his eyes off it; he hates seeing that blood covering his hands. It reminds him of Darla's life hanging by a thread, and he feels terrible. He doesn't even realize that his hands are trembling until Conner grabs his wrists to stop him. His grip tightens, and it's enough to calm Tim down a little. The world is spinning now, and Tim doesn't care where he is or who he's with; he just wants to die. He's tired of living, tired of fighting and being alive. Tim doesn't want anything else. He wants to leave this place, this horrible place where his friend died, and he stayed to face all these demons.

But Conner holds him close, and Tim clings to him like a lifeline.

The other boy strokes his hair in a reassuring gesture, and Tim wishes for nothing more than to curl up in his lap. Conner's chest rises and falls slowly in the quiet morning, reminding him of how his mother used to hug him whenever he had nightmares. The thought of sleeping in his mother's arms almost makes Tim faint with relief, but he forces himself to stay upright, even as the world tilts dangerously beneath him.

He takes a deep breath, focuses on his breathing, and tries to slow down the pounding of his heart. As he does so, he starts to feel less dizzy, the cave walls seem less ominous, and his breathing stabilizes. The world returns to normal, and Conner releases Tim's wrists and pulls him closer. There are tears dripping onto the fabric of his suit, and Tim isn't sure which of them is responsible. Maybe both of them at the same time.

"I'm sorry," Tim says after a few minutes of silence. "I should have cared more about her, paid more attention to her." Then he adds, "I wish I could have saved her."

"Were you with her... when it happened?"

Tim knew exactly what Conner meant. So he nodded.

"I stayed with her until the end."

Conner nods, and Tim can feel his chest trembling with suppressed sobs.

"Well, she didn't deserve to be alone."

And then they sat there, wrapped in each other, listening to the wind whistling through the rocks. Tim closes his eyes, but he doesn't fall asleep. It's still early, but he needs to fetch water and food, he needs to check and clean Conner's wounds, he needs to wash his clothes and get the dried blood off his skin and clothes.

But for a few minutes, they can stay there, both trying to process everything, trying to accept that things will never be the same again.

The world seems darker without Darla's laughter, her bright smile, and her kind words.

He doesn't know exactly how much time has passed, but the two didn't move apart and the rain didn't stop. 

"I have to go hunting."

"It's raining, there are still some berries," Conner replies in a whisper.

They both settle facing each other, Tim uses a little of the water they still have to try to wash his hands, but when he sees the water turning red, he almost threw and gives up. Conner divides the some of the remaining berries and feeds Tim with it so he doesn't have to touch it with his dirty hands... dirty with Darla's blood, he thinks, on the verge of tears.

By the time they finish eating, the weather has only worsened. Tim's feet are damp from walking in the river a few hours ago, so Conner rubs his feet to warm it and makes him wear the sleeping bag until he feels warm.

"Your boots and socks are still wet, and the weather isn't helping," he says.

A thunderclap echoes, and lightning light up the sky through an opening in the rocks. Rain seeps into the cave through few holes in the roof, although Conner has built a makeshift canopy over their heads by wedging a square piece of plastic between the rocks above them.

"What do you think triggered the storm? I mean, who is the target?" Conner asks.

"Cato and the guy from District 11," Tim says without thinking. "The Foxface will be in her lair, wherever that is, and Clove is dead."

"I was still sleeping when they showed the dead in the sky last night. Did you kill her?"

Tim shrugs.

"She deserved it."

"Did she suffer?"

"Yes."

"Good," Conner responds, looking ahead towards the small entrance and exit of the cave. "So, Cato and the guy from District 11, huh? I guess it would be too much to ask for them to kill each other." He says after a few minutes.

"I don't think we'll be that lucky. But I hope Cato stays alive... I want to be the one to kill him."

The words come out so cold and distant from something he would normally say that Tim is surprised it come out of his mouth. Back home, Bruce must be so disappointed.

"For Darla," Conner murmurs.

"For Darla," Tim says in unison. "She deserved to go home."

"We'll go home for her."

"We'll go home, I promise," Tim replies, and then Conner leans in to give him a kiss.

"Get some more sleep," Conner requests as he pulls away. "I've slept enough for the rest of the games."

"Okay," Tim whispers. "Wake me up if you need me to keep watch."

Conner nods, but Tim knows he won't wake him up.

When Conner wakes him up, it is already dark. The rain has turned into a downpour that turns the leaks from before into real rivers. Conner has set up the stock pot to catch the worst of it and moved the plastic to prevent too much water from falling on them. Tim is calmer now, the mist that covered his mind and thoughts is gone, leaving him alone with the memory of everything that happened and the terrible feeling of guilt and sorrow that weighs on him. 

If only he had left Darla in the cave... she would have been fine...

Conner looks at him with concern.

"Are you feeling better?"

Yes, he wants to answer, but instead, he nods his head. He can't tell Conner the truth about what he felt when his friend bled out in his arms. Not today. When the games end, and they win, Tim will tell him everything. He'll tell him how Darla bled out in his arms, how her face grew paler and colder, how he sang to her and adorned her with flowers.

"There are some dried fruits and roots left. Should we ration it?" Conner asks him.

"No, let's finish it all," Tim replies.

Tim divides the food into two equal piles and they tries to eat it slowly, but they are so hungry that they finish it in a couple of minutes, and their stomachs don't feel very satisfied.

"Tomorrow will be a hunting day," Tim says.

"I've never hunted before," Conner admits.

"Me neither," Tim confesses. "The first time I hunted was a few days ago, but I feel that between the two of us, we can find something. I know how to set traps, so we can use that to our advantage."

"Well, you have more experience, so you can hunt, and I can cook. I'm good at that, and I also know how to gather vegetables."

It's challenging to see the projection in the sky with the storm, but it's clear enough to know that nobody has died today, so Cato and the guy from District 11 have not fight each other yet.

"Do you remember where that guy went?"

"No, but I don't think he's in the forest," Tim responds. "Cato knows the surroundings very well. Is there anything on the other side of the circle?" he asks Conner.

"A field; as far as the eye can see, there's nothing but shoulder-high grass. Maybe some of it have grains. There are areas of different colors, but no paths are visible."

"Surely some of it have grains, and that guy probably knows which ones. Did you go in?"

"No, nobody felt like chasing him through the grass. That place had an eerie feeling. Every time I looked at the field, all I could think of were hidden things: snakes, rabid animals, and quicksand. There could be anything there."

"There must be food, maybe that's why that guy looks better fed now than when the games started."

"Either that, or he has some very generous sponsors," replies Conner. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get them to send us some bread."

"Well, Jean-Paul probably spent a lot of resources to help me knock you out" comments Tim in a nonchalant tone. 

"Yeah, as for that" he replies, interlocking his fingers, "don't you ever think of doing that again. I wasn't worth it." 

Tim knows what he means, the unspoken words. 

I'm not worth Darla's life. 

"Don't say that," Tim whispers, "Of course you're worth it."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because," he pauses for a second, searching for the right words to say, "because, because..." and hesitates, trying to find the words to describe what Conner means to him in the short time they've known each other "...you're the best friend anyone could have asked for. You're so brave and kind, you listen and always look out for me and you're so funny and smart, and you're not afraid of anything. You are fearless, but also loving and compassionate. I know Darla felt the same way, and she went peacefully knowing you were going to be okay."

Tim's voice trembles as he continues, "Please don't ever doubt yourself, Conner. I'll never forgive myself for Darla, but if I let something happen to you, something bad, I don't think I could live with it."

A tear slips down Conner's cheek and Tim wipes it away with his thumb, not wanting to let go just yet.

"Thanks Tim," Conner smiles softly.

"No problem," Tim replies, "You should get some sleep, I'll take the first round." 

Conner agrees, because he is indeed tired from not having rested all day, but since the night is freezing cold and they are both shivering, Tim convinces him to share the sleeping bag. 

As they lie down Conner pulls Tim's head down for him to use his arm as a pillow, while he puts his other arm on top of him, as if to protect him, even in his sleep. 

With the help of the glasses, Tim stares at the drops of water falling on the cavern floor. It's rhythmic and soothing, and he gives a few snoozes that wake him with a start, yet he holds on until the wee hours of the morning and wakes Conner, because his eyes are closing. 

"Tomorrow, when everything is drier, I'll find a place high up in the trees so we can both sleep in peace" Tim promises him just before he falls asleep.

However, the weather does not improve. The pouring rain keeps on, as if the Gamemakers are trying to drown them all. The thunder is so loud that it seems to shake the ground, and Conner weighs the idea of going out for food, anyway, but Tim tells him that, with this storm, there's no point. They wouldn't be able to see what's right under their noses, and they'll end up dripping as a reward. Although it's the sensible thing to stay inside, as the hours pass their stomachs begin to ache.

Day creeps into night and time goes on just the same. Jean-Paul or Conner's mentor are their only hope, but nothing reaches them surely for lack of money (everything will cost an exorbitant sum by now). 

Tim thinks for a few minutes to act something to catch the audience's attention, his Tragic Lovers Show can surely bring them a couple of sponsors, because with all the rain it is sure that the games must be very boring, especially with them starving, tired and cold. 

They are both huddled together, wrapped in the sack, yes, but mostly for warmth. The most exciting thing they've done is sleep. Tim doesn't quite know how to nudge the romance along, perhaps because he's never been in a relationship. 

But if he can't give them something physical, he can give them something personal. 

"Conner...how did you start liking me?"

When they had planned their farce of tragic lovers they hadn't planned more than a few details, they had never talked about what they would say when they had to answer something deeper than saying they loved each other or looking into each other's eyes and sighing like they were in love. But Tim is confident that Conner can come up with something. 

Although he's not sure what he's hoping for, but it certainly wasn't what happens next.

"It was a few years ago, when your dad adopted you" Conner pauses for a second, thinking about what he wants to say. "I remember they did this whole story about your family and their new member, but every time the camera pointed at you you just tried to run away and one of your brothers had to stop you from escaping. It was hilarious to watch and I remember my family laughing about it." Conner says with a smile on his face. "You had this face of bitterness and suffering, even though I was just watching you on TV I was really sorry you were forced to show up there."

Tim didn't expect it. He is touched that Conner remembers him, but doesn't understand why.

He asks anyway, "What made you like me, besides my face?"

"There was nothing special about your face, just a pale boy with the biggest, bluest eyes I'd ever seen in my life. There was nothing memorable about you, but the moment your little brother came on screen it was like the whole world made sense to you, like he was the moon and the stars." Conner pauses for a few seconds, thinking over his next words. "I was so jealous of him, I could only think how much I wanted someone to look at me with that kind of love. So I kept seeing your face every time they replayed the report, and when your sister went to the games I watched every interview with your family, wishing you would show up and I could see that look on your face one more time."

For a moment Tim feels an almost absurd joy, and then he doesn't understand anything, because they're supposed to be making this stuff up, pretending to be in love, not really being in love.

"You have an amazing memory," he comments, hesitantly.

Conner shrugs.

"I guess I do. Some things just stick with you, you know." Conner replies, staring at him as he speaks. "But that was the moment I realized there was more to you than the weird guy on TV. You had genuine love and you cared about your family, especially your little brother. It made me see you through different eyes."

Tim can't help but feel a mixture of emotions: surprise, confusion and a strange warmth inside. He hadn't expected such genuine feelings to arise during his farce. It becomes clear to him that Conner's words go beyond acting to get sponsors. There is something real, something unwritten at the moment.

He wants to run away from it, to forget Conner's words, but a voice in the back of his head (voice that sounds like Jean-Paul) is screaming at him to do something. 

So it's Tim who leans in to kiss him.

Hardly have their lips touched when the din from outside startles them. Tim grabs his knife, ready to get up and attack, but nothing else is heard.

Conner peeks out between the rocks and takes a leap; before Tim can stop him, he steps out into the rain and hands him something, a silver parachute attached to a basket. Tim immediately opens it and inside is a feast: freshly baked rolls, goat cheese, apples and, a tureen full of lamb stew.

"I guess they've finally had enough of watching us starve to death," Conner comments as he steps into the cave, his face lit up like the sun.

"I guess."

Tim knows, however, that his plan has succeeded.

Chapter Text

"We haven't eaten in a while; we should take this slowly, or we'll end up throwing up."

"But I'm so hungry," Conner says. "I could swallow it all in one bite!"

Still, both of them behaved sensibly; they each took a roll, half an apple, and a portion of stew and rice the size of an egg. They force themselves to eat the stew in tiny spoonfuls (even been sent cutlery and plates), savoring each bite. When they finish, both of them look at the plate wistfully.

"I want more," Tim says. One disadvantage of the games is that he wasn't used to going hungry, so now it's his greatest weakness. How he missed Alfred's food.

"Me too. Let's do this: we wait for an hour, and if we don't throw up, we serve more."

"Agreed. It's going to be a very long hour."

"At least we have food," Conner replies. "Come here, I'm freezing."

Tim makes room inside the sleeping bag, and they both sit with their backs against the cave wall, Tim resting his head on Conner's shoulder, and Conner wrapping his arms around him. Tim knows he should keep up the act, but he doesn't feel up to anything romantic.

"What will be the first thing you do when you get back home?" he asks calmly, eyes closed.

"Move out," Conner answers without hesitation. "I'll have my own house in the Victor's Village."

"But you'll still be neighbors with your family."

"Yes, but I'll have more independence. And you, will you stay with your family or live alone?"

"Hmm, each of my siblings has a house in the Village, but we all live together. I don't know, maybe I'll stay at home."

"The good thing is that you'll still be neighbors with your mentor. Maybe I can come to visit you often. Ah, it will be wonderful," Conner says, hugging him tightly. "Jean-Paul, some of your siblings, you, and me. It will be very cozy: picnics, birthdays, long winter nights by the fire, reminiscing old stories of the Hunger Games..."

"You're a dreamer," Tim replies, amused.

"Only sometimes. When it's about you."

Tim feels the blood rush to his cheeks, and he knows the cameras have captured this moment. People in the Capitol must be glued to their TV's.

"Anyway," Tim says, trying to ignore the last words, "we'll be able to see each other when we become mentors."

Because if they win the games, that will be their job: trying to help the tributes, guiding two children, and watching them die, year after year. The idea is so repulsive that Tim shakes his head to get rid of it.

Half an hour passes, and Tim decides he has to eat again. Conner is so hungry that he can't resist. As Tim serves himself two more small portions of lamb stew and rice, they hear the anthem. Conner peeks through the crack in the rocks to look at the sky.

"There won't be anything tonight," Tim says, more interested in the stew than in the sky. "If something had happened, we would have heard a cannon shot."

"Tim," Conner says in a low voice.

"What?"

"The boy from District 11 is dead."

"That can't be."

"They must have fired the cannon during the thunder, and we didn't hear it."

"Are you sure? I mean, it's pouring rain, I don't know how you can see anything."

Tim pulls him away from the rocks and looks up at the dark, rainy sky. For ten seconds, he catches a glimpse of the boy's picture, and then it's gone. That simple.

"We're one step closer to home." They both sit back down next to the sleeping bag in silence.

Tim takes his plate of food and takes a bite of the stew, but recent events make it feel like he's eating glue. There are only four people left.

Two more deaths, Tim thinks, two more deaths, and I'll go home.

He knows he'll have to kill Cato, but he hopes he won't have to kill Foxface; she hasn't done anything to him.

"Cato must be looking for us."

"And he probably has provisions again," Conner adds.

"Surely, he's injured."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because the boy from District 11 wouldn't have given up without a fight. He was very strong. And they were in his territory."

"Good. The more injured Cato is, the better. I wonder how Foxface is doing."

"She's probably doing well," Tim says while trying to continue eating.

"Maybe they'll hunt each other, and we can go home," Conner says, "although we should be extra careful with the guards. I've dozed off a few times."

"Me too, but not tonight."

They finish eating in silence, and Conner offers to take the first watch. Tim lies down in the sleeping bag next to him and falls asleep within a few minutes. He escapes to the world of dreams with the comfort of a full stomach and Conner's warm presence by his side.

When he wakes up later, the first thing he notices is the smell of goat cheese. Conner has half a roll in his hand, spread with creamy cheese and topped with apple slices.

"Don't be mad," he says. "I had to eat again. Here, take your half."

"Oh, alright," Tim responds immediately, taking a big bite. The apples are sweet and crunchy, reminding him of home. "Mmm."

"We have an apple tree at home. It's in the backyard; I still don't know how they got the seeds to plant it. But Ma makes the best apple pie in all Panem."

"I know someone who will definitely want to compete for that title." Tim immediately thinks of Alfred and his wonderful cooking.

"We'll have to introduce them."

Tim smiles amusedly but nods in agreement.

Conner fell asleep almost the second he lay down in the sleeping bag. Tim watches his chest rise and fall for a few seconds, making sure he is having good dreams. His breathing is steady; Tim hopes Conner is having pleasant dreams or, with any luck, not dreaming at all.

At some point during his watch, the rain abruptly stops, not gradually, but all at once. The downpour ends, leaving only the residual drops from the branches and the rush of the nearby stream, which must be overflowing. A beautiful full moon emerges, and Tim sees the outside clearly without needing his glasses. He wonders if the moon is real or a projection from the Gamemakers; he remembers there was a full moon just before he left home because he had stayed up late telling stories to Damian, both gazing at the moon, trying to relax and forget that the next day would be the Reaping.

Then he wonders, how long have they been outside? They've been in the arena for about two weeks, not to mention the preparation week in the Capitol. Perhaps the moon has completed its cycle. For some reason, he desperately wishes to be his moon, the same one he sees from his window in District 12; that would give him something to hold onto in the surreal world of the battleground, where they must doubt the authenticity of everything.

"We're down to four," he whispers to himself.

He allows himself to seriously consider the possibility of going back home, becoming famous and wealthy in his own house in the Victor's Village. No longer feeling like the Wayne who doesn't belong.

He had told Conner that he didn't know if he would move out, but he knows he must stay with his family; he can't abandon them. But maybe he can convince Steph and her mother to move in with him and take care of the house. Stephanie's mom knows about medicine; maybe she can work part-time with Bruce, so they won't have to go hungry anymore.

Finally, the sun rises, and its light filters through the cracks, lighting Conner's face. Who will he become if they make it back home? What will this incredible guy, who lies so convincingly that all of Panem believes he's madly in love with Tim, be like? Even Tim has to admit there are moments when he believes it too.

At least, we'll be friends, he thinks.

After a few more minutes lost in thought, he approaches Conner and shakes his shoulder. Conner opens his eyes with a drowsy air, and when it settle on Tim, he leans in for a long kiss.

"Let's go hunting," Tim says when they finally part.

Conner gets up and stretches eagerly.

"So, do we hunt on empty stomachs to stay more alert?"

"No. We're going to stuff ourselves to have more energy."

"Count on me," Conner replies, though Tim notices that he seems surprised when Tim divides the remaining stew with rice and passes him a full plate. "All of this?"

"We'll replenish it today," Tim assures him, and they both dig into the food.

Even though it's cold, it's still one of the best recipes they've ever tasted. Tim sets aside the fork and savors the last drops of sauce with his finger. "I can imagine Effie Trinket being scandalized by my manners, as well as Alfred, and my mother," Tim says playfully.

After storing everything and leaving the cave, they both become serious. It's as if the past few days, sheltered by the rocks, rain, and Cato's obsession with the boy from District 11, have been a respite, a sort of vacation. Now, even though it's sunny and hot, they both feel like they've returned to the Games. Tim hands Conner his knife, as he lost any other weapons he had, and Conner tucks it into his belt. Tim carries the bow with him, although mainly for practice, and makes sure to have his spear with him.

"He must be looking for us," Conner says. "Cato is not one to sit and wait for the prey to appear."

"Even if he's injured..."

"Doesn't matter. If he can move, he'll be on his way."

With the rain, the stream has overflowed several foot on both sides. They stop to replenish water, and Tim checks the traps he set a few days ago: empty. Not surprising, considering the weather. Besides, Tim hasn't seen many animals or their tracks around here.

"If we want food, we'd better return to my previous hunting ground."

"You decide; just tell me what to do."

"Stay alert," Tim tells him. "Stay on the rocks as much as possible; there's no point in leaving a trail. And listen for both of us."

At this point, Tim is already aware that the explosion left him deaf in his left ear.

Tim would walk on the water to completely erase their tracks, but he's not sure if Conner's leg can handle the current. Although the medicine has cured the infection, he's still quite weak.

As they advance upstream, they pass by the spot where Conner camouflaged himself among the weeds and mud. Fortunately, due to the downpour and the flooded banks, there's no trace of his hiding place. That means they can return to the cave if needed; otherwise, Tim wouldn't risk it with Cato still looking for them.

The pebbles turn into rocks, which slowly become gravel and then, to Tim's relief, pine needles and the gentle slope of the forest floor.

For the first time, Tim realizes they have a problem: walking on rocky terrain with a bad leg... Well, you have to make noise; but Conner is making noise even on the soft pine needle bed. And Tim means real noise, as if he were stomping around or something. Tim turns to look at him.

"What?" Conner asks.

"You have to be quieter. Forget about Cato; you're scaring all the rabbits within 30 feet."

"Really? I'm sorry, I didn't know."

So they start again, and Conner does a little better, but even with only one working ear, Tim startles.

"Can you take off your boots?" he suggests.

"Here?" Conner asks, not believing it, as if Tim had asked him to walk barefoot on hot coals or something.

Tim has to remind himself that Conner doesn't have the same training as him, that Conner didn't have a father making him walk on rocks and underbrush to toughen his feet and get used to the pain and walking on any terrain. He thinks of Cass and her velvet feet. It's eerie how silent she can be, even when the garden is full of fallen leaves and it's difficult to move without making a sound. Surely, his family is laughing at home.

"Yes," Tim patiently explains. "I'm taking mine off too, so we'll both be quiet," he says, as if he were making noise too.

So the two of them remove their boots and socks, and although it helps a little, Tim swears Conner is deliberately breaking every branch they find. Needless to say, despite taking several hours to reach Darla's old campsite, Tim hasn't find any prey. If the stream calmed down, they could try fishing, but the current is still too strong. When they stop to rest and drink water, Tim tries to think of a solution. Ideally, he'd leave Conner with an easy task of gathering roots and go hunting himself, but that would leave Conner alone and armed only with a knife to defend himself against Cato's physical strength and spears.

"Tim, we need to split up. I know I'm scaring away the animals."

"It's just because of your injured leg," Tim says generously.

"I know, but why don't you go ahead? I know some plants, show me the rest to collect, and then we'll both be useful."

"No, if Cato comes and kills you."

Tim tries to say it in a friendly tone, but it comes out sounding like he thinks Conner is weak.

"I can handle Cato," Conner replies, surprising Tim with his laughter. "I've fought him before, right?"

Tim wants to tell him that his fight with Cato went so well that he ended up half-dead and needing medicine. But bringing up that topic would lead to Darla's death, and Tim isn't in the mood to talk about it without saying something hurtful or crying. So he tries another approach.

"What if you climb a tree and act as a lookout while I hunt?" he asks, trying to make it sound like a very important task.

"What if you show me what can be eaten around here, and you go get some meat?" Conner responds, imitating him. "But don't go too far in case you need help."

Tim sighs and shows Conner which roots he can dig up, the same ones Darla showed him. It's clear they need food because an apple, two rolls, and a piece of cheese the size of a plum won't last long.

He teaches Conner to whistle (not a melody, like Darla's, but a simple two-note whistle) so they can let each other know they're still alive. Luckily, he's good at it, so Tim leaves him with the backpack and goes off.

Tim feels like he's out for a walk with Damian; he can't stay too close, but he can't be on top of his brother all the time because Damian needs freedom. So he allows himself a hunting range between twelve and twenty feet. However, as he moves away from Conner, the forest becomes filled with animal sounds. With the comfort of hearing him whistle occasionally, Tim goes a bit further and manages to catch two rabbits with his spear (directly in the head to avoid losing meat) and even hunts a fat squirrel with his bow after losing a few arrows. Tim decides that's enough; he can set some traps and maybe catch something while adding Conner's roots, which will enough for now.

As he goes back in his footsteps, Tim realizes that it's been a while since they exchanged signals. When he whistles and receives no response, he starts running and reaches the backpack and the pile of roots in a second. Conner has placed the plastic square on the ground and, on top of it, under the sun, a layer of berries.

But where is Conner?

"Conner!" Tim shouts, panicking. "Conner!"

Tim turns around when he hears a rustle in the bushes and is about to throw his spear. Fortunately, he stops at the last second. Conner appears among the bushes with his hands raised and drops a handful of berries.

"What are you doing?" Tim exclaims. "You're supposed to be here, not running around the forest!"

"I found some berries downstream," Conner replies.

"I whistled. Why didn't you respond?"

"I didn't hear it; I guess the water makes too much noise."

He approaches and places his hands on Tim's shoulders. Then Tim realizes that he's trembling.

"I thought Cato had killed you!" Tim tells him, almost shouting.

"No, I'm fine." Conner wraps his arms around Tim, but he doesn't respond. "Tim?"

"If I ask you to do something and you agree to do it, you have to keep your promise. If I tell you to stay close, you have to stay close," he insists, stepping back, trying to sort out his feelings.

"Okay"

"Okay, because that's what happened to Darla. I told her to stay back, and she didn't listen... and I saw her die!" Tim turns away, goes to the backpack, and opens a new water bottle, even though he still has some left in his. However, Tim isn't ready to forgive him. He looks at the food: the rolls and apples are untouched, but someone has nibbled at the cheese. "And you ate without me!"

Actually, that's not the important thing, but Tim needs to focus on something other than Darla's death.

"What? No, I didn't eat it."

"Oh, so I suppose the apples ate the cheese."

"I don't know what ate the cheese!" Conner replies "I've been down by the stream, picking berries. Want some?"

Tim leans down to look at it; he's never seen it before... Yes, he has, but not in the arena. Are not the berries he shared with Darla, no matter how much alike it may seem. The berries also don't match the ones it were taught about in training. He leans down, picks a few, and moves it between his fingers.

Immediately comes to his mind the first time Bruce scolded him, when he had only been living with him for a few weeks. Damian had wanted to go for a walk, it was berry season and thanks to Stephanie, Tim knew there were some berries near the wire fence, past The Seam. They had both picked a basket and gone home to wash and eat them, but Bruce had spotted them just before they had thrown a handful of berries in their mouths. He had slapped their hand and the berries ended up on the ground. Tim vividly remembers Bruce's serious and angry voice: "Don't ever take Damian out or feed him again without my permission. These are nightlocks, he'd be dead before it reached his stomach."

Just at that instant, the cannon sounds. Tim turns quickly, afraid to see Conner on the ground, but he merely arches his eyebrows. The hovercraft appears about two hundred yards away: it's taking what's left of the Foxface emaciated body. Tim sees a flash of red hair in the sunlight. 

I should have known when I saw the missing cheese....

Conner grabs his arm and pulls him towards a tree.

"Climb up, he'll be here in a second. We'll have a better chance fighting from above."

"No, Conner. You killed her, not Cato" Tim stops him, suddenly feeling very calm.

"What, I hadn't even seen her since the first day, how could I kill her?"

Tim shows him the berries by way of reply.

Chapter Text

Tim takes a while to explain the situation to Conner, that Foxface was stealing from the supply pile before he blew it up, that she had tried to take enough to survive without attracting attention, that she wouldn't have considered the safety of eating some berries they were preparing for themselves.

"I wonder how she found us," Conner comments. "It's probably my fault, I guess, if I'm as noisy as you say."

"And she's very smart, Conner. Well, she was, until you outsmarted her."

"It wasn't intentional. It doesn't seem fair. I mean, if she hadn't eaten the berries first, both of us would be dead." Then, he corrects himself. "No, of course not; you recognized them, didn't you?"

"Bruce calls them nightlock," Tim replies, nodding.

"Even the name sounds dangerous. I'm sorry, Tim, I thought they were the same ones you picked."

"Don't apologize. This means we're one step closer to home, right?"

"I'll get rid of the rest," Conner responds.

He gathers the blue plastic and ensures all the berries are inside before throwing them into the forest.

"Wait!" Tim exclaims. He searches for the leather pouch from the boy from District 1 and fills it with the berries. "If they fooled Foxface, maybe they can fool Cato. If he's chasing us or something, we can act like we accidentally dropped the bag, and if he eats them..."

"We'd be heading home."

"That's it," Tim replies, hanging the pouch from his belt.

"Now he'll know where we are. If he was close and saw the hovercraft, he'll know we killed her and will come after us."

Conner is right, Tim thinks. This could be the opportunity Cato was waiting for.

But even if they run now, they still need to cook the meat, and their campfire will be a visible sign.

"Let's make a fire right now," Tim says, starting to collect branches and shrubs.

"Do you think we're ready to face him?"

"I think we're ready to eat. We'd better cook while we can. Yes, he knows we're here, sure, but he also knows there are two of us, and he probably assumes we hunted Foxface. That means you've recovered, and the fire tells him we're not hiding, that we're inviting him to come. Would you come?"

"Maybe not."

Conner is a wizard at making campfires and manages to start a fire even with damp wood. In no time, they have the rabbits and squirrel roasting, and the roots wrapped in leaves and cooking in the embers. They take turns gathering vegetables and keeping an eye out for Cato, although, as Tim suspected, he doesn't show up. When the food is ready, Tim packs almost all of it, and they each keep a rabbit leg to eat on the go.

Tim wants to venture deeper into the forest, climb a good tree, and camp there, but Conner resists.

"I can't climb like you with my leg, and I don't think I could fall asleep 30 feet off the ground."

"It's not safe to stay out in the open, Conner."

"Can't we go back to the cave? It's close to the water and easy to defend."

Tim sighs. A several-hour trek through the forest to get back to an area they had to abandon this morning to hunt. On the other hand, Conner isn't asking for much; he has obeyed almost all of Tim's instructions throughout the day, and Tim is sure that if the situation were reversed, Conner wouldn't make him spend the night in a tree.

Tim realizes he hasn't been very kind to him today, complaining about his noise and yelling at him for disappearing. The playful romance in the cave has vanished when they step outside, under the hot sun, with the threat of Cato lurking.

The audience is probably sick of me, Tim thinks.

So, he approaches and kiss Conner.

"Sure, let's go to the cave."

"Well, it wasn't that hard," Conner replies, happy and relieved.

Conner adds a handful of firewood to keep the smoke going for a few more hours, although Tim doubts Cato would care at this point. When they reach the creek, Tim sees that the water has receded a lot and is moving at its slow, usual pace, so he suggests walking in it. Conner happily agrees, and since he makes much less noise in the water than on land, it turns out to be a good idea. However, the journey back to the cave is long, despite going downhill and having eaten the rabbit. Both of them are exhausted after today's excursion, and they still lack food. Tim carries his spear ready and makes Conner do the same with the knife, both for Cato and any fish they might spot, although, oddly, the creek seems empty.

By the time they reach their destination, they are shuffling along and the sun is low on the horizon. They fill their water bottles and climb the small hill to their den. It's not much, but out here in the wild, it's the closest thing they have to a home. Besides, it will be warmer than up in a tree, because it protects them from the wind that has started blowing hard from the west.

Tim prepares a hearty dinner, but, halfway through, Conner begins to nod off. After a few days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll, so Tim orders him to get into the sleeping bag and sets aside the rest of Conner's food for when he wakes up. Conner falls asleep in a second, and Tim covers him up to his chin and gives him a kiss on the forehead, not for the audience, but for himself, because he feels very grateful that Conner is still here and not dead by the creek, as he thought he was. Tim feels very grateful that he doesn't have to face Cato by himself.   

The brutal and bloodthirsty Cato, who can snap necks with a flick of his arm, who has the strength to take down the boy from District 11, who has had it out for Tim from the beginning.

He probably hates me since I outscored him in training, Tim thinks.

Tim thinks about his ridiculous reaction when he discovered the supplies had been blown up. The others were angry, of course, but he was completely unhinged. Tim wonders if Cato might be a bit crazy.

The sky is lit up with the Capitol's symbol, and Tim sees Foxface glow and disappear from the world forever. Although he hasn't said it, he believes Conner doesn't feel good about killed her, no matter how necessary it was. Tim can't pretend he misses her, but he does admire her. He thinks that if they had been put to some sort of test, she would have proven to be the smartest of all the tributes. Tim is sure that if they had set a trap for her, she would have sensed it and not eaten the berries. It was Conner's ignorance that led to her demise. Tim has spent so much time making sure not to underestimate his opponents that he has forgotten overestimating them can be just as dangerous.

That reminds him of Cato again, but while he believes he understood Foxface, who she was and how she operated, that boy seems more elusive. He is strong and well-trained, but is he smart? Tim doesn't know. Cato it's not as clever as Foxface and lacks the self-control that the she showed. Tim is certain that Cato could lose his cool in a fit of rage.

Despite his tiredness, Tim's mind is alert, so he lets Conner sleep a little longer than he should. In fact, the sky has begun to be tinted with a soft gray when he shakes his shoulder. Conner wakes up, almost startled.

"I slept through the whole night. It's not fair, Tim, you should have woken me up."

"I'll sleep now. Wake me up if something interesting happens," he replies, stretching and slipping into the sleeping bag.

It seems that nothing interesting is happening because, when he opens his eyes, the blazing afternoon light is shining through the rocks.

"Any sign of our friend?" Tim asks.

"No, he's not showing himself, and that's unsettling."

"How much time do you think we have until the Gamemakers force us to meet?"

"Well, Foxface died almost a day ago, so the audience has had plenty of time to place their bets and get bored. I suppose it could happen at any moment."

"Yes, I have a feeling it will be today," Tim replies. Then he sits down and gazes at the peaceful landscape. "I wonder how they will do it." Conner falls silent. There's really no possible answer. "Well, until they do, it doesn't make sense to waste a day of hunting, although we should eat as much as possible, just in case we get into trouble."

Tim packs up their gear while Conner prepares a large meal: the rest of the rabbits, roots, vegetables, the rolls with the last bit of cheese. The only thing left aside is the squirrel and the apple.

When they finish, only a pile of rabbit bones remains. Tim's hands are greasy, adding to his general feeling of dirtiness. A layer of grime covers his entire body, except for his feet, which have walked through the creek.

Leaving the cave is like closing a chapter; Tim doesn't know why, but he doesn't think they'll spend another night in the arena. In one way or another, alive or dead, he has the feeling they'll be leaving here today. He bids farewell to the rocks with a pat and they head to the creek to wash up. He wonders if they can quickly scrub their clothes when they get to the creek... or what used to be the creek. It is now a completely dry bed. Tim touches it.

"Not even a little wet, they must have drained it while we were sleeping," he says.

Tim begins to feel scared at the thought of his parched tongue, sore body, and foggy mind from his previous dehydration. They have their water bottles filled, but with two people and the intense heat, they won't last long.

"The lake," Conner says. "That's where they want us to go."

"Maybe there's some water in the ponds."

"We can check," he replies, but Tim knows he says it to give him hope. Tim does the same for him because he knows what they'll find when they return to the lake where he soaked his leg: a dusty, empty hole. However, they go there anyway, just to confirm what they already knew.

"You're right, they're leading us to the lake," he admits. A place where they can't hide, where they're guaranteed a bloody fight to the death with nothing obstructing their view. "Do you want to go straight there or wait until we run out of water?"

"Let's go now while we're rested and well-fed. Let's finish this once and for all."

Tim nods. It's funny, it's like going back to the first day of the Games, as if he were in the same position again. Despite twenty-one tributes having died, he still has to kill Cato, and truth be told, hasn't he always been the target? Now the other tributes seem like minor obstacles, distractions that kept them away from the real battle of the Games: Cato and him.

However, there's also the boy waiting by his side, the one who wraps his arms around him.

"Two against one. It should be a piece of cake," he says.

"The next time we eat, it'll be in the Capitol."

"Sure it will."

Both stand still for a moment, embracing each other, feeling their bodies, the sun, and the rustle of the leaves beneath their feet. Then, without saying a word, they apart and head to the lake.

Tim no longer cares that Conner's footsteps scatter rodents and send birds flying, because they have to fight Cato, and it doesn't matter if it's here or in the open plain. On the other hand, he doubts they have an alternative: if the Gamemakers want them in the open, they will be there.

They stop for a moment under the tree where Cato caught him. The empty shell of the tracker jacker nest, shattered by the rain and dried by the scorching sun, confirms their situation. Tim touches it with the tip of his boot, and it crumbles into dust that the breeze quickly carries away. Tim can't help but look up at the tree where Darla hid, waiting to save his life.

Tracker jackers; Glimmer's swollen body, the terrifying hallucinations...

"Let's keep going," Tim says, wanting to escape the darkness that surrounds this place.

Conner doesn't object.

Since they set off late, they arrive at the plain in the early evening. There's no sign of Cato, nor anything else except the golden Cornucopia shining under the last rays of the sun. Just in case Cato decides to pull a Foxface-like trick on them, they surround the Cornucopia to ensure it's empty. Then, obediently, as if following instructions, they approach the lake and fill their containers with water.

"Fighting him in the dark won't do us any good," Tim comments, frowning. "We only have a few night-vision goggles."

"Maybe he's waiting for that," Conner replies, carefully adding drops of iodine into the water. "What do you want to do? Go back to the cave?"

"Either that or climb up a tree, but let's give it another half-hour or so. Then, we'll hide."

They sit by the lake, in plain sight; there's no point in hiding now. In the trees at the edge of the plain, they see mockingjays fluttering about; they send melodies back and forth like colorful balls. Tim opens his mouth and sings Darla's four-note song. He notices they fall silent, curious to hear his voice, and they wait for him to sing more. He repeats the notes.

A mockingjay imitates the melody, then another, and finally the whole forest is filled with the same sound.

"It's Darla's song," Tim says, touching the pin he wears on his shirt. "I think they remember it."

For a moment, Tim just closes his eyes and listens, mesmerized by the beauty of the song. Then, something interrupts the music; the melody breaks into irregular and imperfect lines, and discordant notes mingle with it.

The mockingjays' voices turn into a screech of warning.

Both stand up in an instant, Conner with the knife in his hand and Tim ready to attack, and Cato emerges from the trees and runs toward them. He doesn't have a spear; in fact, his hands are empty, but he's heading straight for them. It's a direct shot, so Tim swaps his spear for his bow; he knows he can't miss at this distance. And he doesn't; his first arrow hits Cato in the chest, but inexplicably, it bounces off him.

"He's wearing some kind of armor!" Tim shouts to Conner.

And he yells it just in time because Cato is upon them. Tim readies himself, but Cato crashes into them without attempting to slow down. From the gasps and sweat pouring down his bruised face, Tim knows he's been running for a long time, but not toward them, but away from something.

Tim scans the forest just in time to see the first creature leaping into the plain. As he turns, he sees six more joining it. Then he grabs Conner's arm, and they run without thinking of anything else but saving their lives.

Chapter Text

Mutations, no doubt. Tim had never seen these mutts before, but they aren't natural animals. Although they look like massive wolves, what wolf lands on its hind legs and stays that way? What wolf calls the rest of the pack by waving its front paw like it's a doll? Tim sees all of this from a distance, but he's sure to discover more threatening features when they get closer.

Cato has taken off towards the Cornucopia, so Tim follows without thinking, dragging Conner with him because even if they could reach the trees, Conner wouldn't be able to run faster than the mutts with his injured leg.

Midway, Conner let him go because he can't keep up, limping as fast as he can, but the mutts are closing in.

"Go, Tim, go!" he yells, pointing at the horn.

Tim wants to protest, but Conner is right, Tim can't protect them from the ground. He runs up to the Cornucopia and starts climbing, climbing with feet and hands, though it is more than difficult carrying his spear in his hand. The pure gold surface has been designed to look like the woven horn that fills during harvest, so there are little ridges and seams to hold onto, but, after a day in the battlefield sun, the metal is so hot that Tim gets blisters on his hands.

Cato is lying on his side at the top of the horn, about twelve feet above the ground, gasping for breath as he peers over the edge. Tim knows this is his chance. He's not great with a bow and arrow, but as he's proven before, he can hit the mark as long as the target is close. However, using the bow means he has to let go of his spear, and he can't afford to lose that advantage in a fight against Cato. Just then, Conner yells. Tim turns and sees that Conner has just reached the tip of the horn, but the mutts are hot on his heels.

"Climb!" Tim shouts.

Conner starts climbing with difficulty, not only because of his leg but also because of the knife he's holding. One of the mutts is about to reach him, so Tim has no better idea than to throw the bow to distract it and give Conner time to climb. The creature breaks loose from the structure and falls backwards, taking some of its companions with them. Then Tim gets a good look at the nails: four inches long and razor sharp.

Conner reaches his feet, so Tim grabs him by the arm and pulls him up. Then he remembers that Cato is waiting above and quickly turns around. But Cato is still lying on the ground, convulsing and seemingly more concerned about the mutts than them. He utters something unintelligible; the noises of snorting and growling mutts make it difficult for Tim to hear.

"What?" he shouts.

"He asked if they can climb," Conner replies, redirecting Tim's attention to the base of the horn.

The mutts begin to regroup. As they come together, they rise up on their hind legs easily, giving them a human-like appearance. They all have thick fur, some with smooth and soft hair, and others with curls; colors range from jet black to something that can only be described as blond. There's something more about them, something that makes Tim's neck hairs stand on end, although he can't quite identify it.

They nuzzle the horn, sniffing and licking the metal, scratching the surface with their paws and emitting high-pitched whines. Tim thinks this must be their means of communication because the pack backs away as if to make space. Then, one of them, a large mutt with silky blond fur, takes a running leap and lands on the horn. Its hind legs have incredible strength because it lands only seven feet away from them and bares its pink lips to show its teeth. It stays there for a moment, and at that precise moment, Tim realizes what unsettles him about the mutts: the green eyes that watch him with rage aren't like those of wolves or dogs, not like any canine he knows; they are unmistakably human.

Just as he begins to comprehend, he sees the collar with the jewel-encrusted number 1 and understands the whole horrifying situation: the blond hair, green eyes, the number... It's Glimmer.

"Tim?" Conner notices him grabbing his arm.

"It's her!"

"Who?"

He shakes his head from side to side to survey the pack, taking note of sizes and colors. The redhead, with amber eyes, is Foxface. He recognizes some of the tributes who died in the bloodbath and the one he killed with his spear. And, worst of all, he sees the smallest mutt, the one with shiny dark fur, huge blue eyes, and a dark collar with chunks of coal that reads 12; she bares her teeth, furious.

Darla...

"What's happening, Tim?" Conner insists, shaking him by the shoulders.

"It's them, all of them. The others. Darla, Foxface, and... all the other tributes," Tim responds, his voice choked.

"What have they done to them?" Conner asks, horrified as he recognizes them. "Do you think... do you think those are their real eyes?"

Their eyes are the least of his concerns.

And their brains? Do they have any memories of the original tributes? Have they been programmed to hate our faces especially because we survived and they died mercilessly? And the ones we actually killed... do they think they're avenging their own deaths?

Before he can say anything, the mutts launch a new assault on the horn. They've split into two groups on the sides and are using their strong hind legs to leap at them. A pair of teeth close just inches from Tim's hand, and he hears Conner scream. He feels the tug of his body, his weight, and the mutt dragging him towards the edge. Tim has to let go of his spear because, if it weren't for his arm, he would have ended up on the ground. He needs all his strength to keep both him and Conner at the curved end of the horn, and more tributes are coming.

"Kill them, Conner, kill them!" Tim yells, and although he can't see exactly what's happening, he knows it must have gone through the creature because they aren't being pulled as hard.

Tim manages to pull Conner back onto the horn, and they both crawl to the top, where the least of their problems awaits.

Cato still hasn't gotten up, though he's breathing more calmly and will soon be recovered enough to attack them and throw them to the ground to be killed. Without his spear or bow, Tim only has Conner's knife for defense, so he grabs the knife to be ready. Conner is bigger and stronger than Tim, so he knows that the two of them may not be able to kill Cato, but they might injure him enough to make it easier to push him over the edge.

Still, Tim feels a brief moment of relief because it seems they are finally out of reach of the mutts. He's about to turn to face Cato when someone pulls Conner away from his side; Tim is convinced the pack has got him until blood splatters on his face.

Cato is in front of him, almost at the edge of the horn, and he has Conner in a chokehold, strangling him. Conner scratches Cato's arm, but with no strength, torn between deciding whether to breathe or try to stop the blood flowing from the hole one of the mutts has opened in his left arm.

Tim holds his knife. He knows he can throw it hard enough to embed it in Cato's face, and he has the precision to hit one of his eyes, knowing it wouldn't have any effect on the trunk or limbs. Now he sees that Cato is wearing a tight-fitting flesh-colored mesh, some high-quality Capitol armor. That must be what his backpack at the feast contained.

"Hurt me, and he falls with me," Cato says, laughing.

He's right, Tim thinks. If I hit him, I'll knock him down, and he'll fall onto the mutts, and Conner will die with him.

They are both between a rock and a hard place. Tim can't hurt Cato without killing Conner as well, and Cato can't kill Conner without getting a knife in the eye. They are so close that Tim knows he won't miss.

Both stand frozen like statues, searching for a way out.

Tim's muscles are so tense they could snap at any moment, and his teeth are clenched so tightly they could break. The mutts remain silent, and all he can hear is the blood pounding in his good ear.

Conner's lips turn blue; if Tim doesn't do something soon, Conner will suffocate, and he will lose him, and then Cato will use his lifeless body as a weapon against him. In fact, Tim is sure that's Cato's plan because, although he's stopped laughing, he sports a triumphant smile.

As if in a last-ditch effort, Conner raises his fingers, dripping with blood, to Cato's arm. Instead of trying to free himself, he shifts his index finger and draws an X on the back of Cato's hand. Cato realizes the meaning a second after Tim does, he knows by the way he loses his smile. However, he's one second too late because by then, Tim has already stabbed his hand with the knife.

Cato screams and lets go of Conner, who lunges at him. For a horrible moment, Tim thinks they will both fall to the ground, so he jumps and grabs Conner just before Cato slips off the bloodied horn and onto the ground.

They both hear the impact, the air rushing out of his body upon impact, and the sounds of the creatures' attack. Conner and Tim hold each other, waiting for the cannon to sound, waiting for the gamesto end, waiting for them to be released, but nothing happens, not yet.

Because this is the climax of the Hunger Games, and the audience wants a spectacle.

Although he doesn't look, Tim hears the growls, barks, and howls of both humans and animals as Cato faces the pack. He doesn't understand how Cato can still be alive until he remembers the armor that protects him from ankle to neck and realizes that tonight could be very long. Cato must also have a knife, a sword, or whatever hidden under his clothes because, from time to time, there's the last cry of a mutt or the sound of metal against metal as the blade hits the golden horn. The fight moves around the Cornucopia, and Tim knows that Cato is trying the only maneuver that might save his life: getting back to the pointed end of the horn and rejoining them. However, in the end, despite how remarkable his strength and skills are, there are too many mutts for him.

They don't know how much time has passed, maybe an hour, when Cato falls to the ground, and they hear how the mutts drag him inside the Cornucopia.

Now they'll finish him off, Tim thinks, but there's no cannon shot.

Night falls, and the anthem plays, but Cato's image doesn't appear in the sky. They hear his faint groans through the metal underneath. The cold air blowing across the plain reminds him that the games aren't over, and it may take a long time to finish. They still don't have victory guaranteed.

Tim turns to Conner and sees that his arm is bleeding more than ever. All their supplies and backpacks are still by the lake where they left them when they fled from the pack. They don't have bandages or anything to stop the bleeding. Although Tim is shivering from the cold, he tears off his jacket, removes his shirt, and puts the jacket back on as quickly as possible. It's only been a few seconds, but the cold makes his teeth chatter uncontrollably.

Conner's face turns gray in the pale moonlight. Tim forces him to lie down before touching the wound. He may not know how to treat infections, but he knows how to stop bleeding. He starts by tearing his shirt into several strips and presses it onto the wound. Blood quickly soaks the fabric, so he presses another piece until the bleeding seems to have stopped a bit.

Conner's labored breathing reflects his pain, but he silently appreciates Tim's effort to stop the bleeding. Tim knows that every second counts, so he tries to stay calm and focus on the task at hand. Despite the cold and darkness, there's no time to worry about his own comfort. His survival instinct has kicked in, and all that matters is keeping Conner alive.

He wraps another piece of cloth to hold the rest of the blood-soaked cloth and rips what's left of the left sleeve of Conner's jacket and shirt. He's seen Bruce put tourniquets on, but he knows that's the last measure because it could mean losing the limb. So he locates the artery supplying his limb, it's near his armpit, and, with an apologetic look at Conner, puts pressure on his arm.

"This is going to hurt and be uncomfortable," Tim tells Conner. "But I won't let you lose your arm. So don't fall asleep; we need to stay here for a while."

"Do you feel cold?" Conner asks.

Conner unzips his jacket with his good arm, and Tim doesn't hesitate to lie down next to him and practically crawl inside with him, all while keeping pressure on the injured arm. They're a bit better like this, sharing the warmth of their bodies within the double layers of jackets, but the night is young, and the temperature will continue to drop. Tim can still feel the Cornucopia freezing, despite it being hot when they climbed up.

"Cato might still win," Conner whispers.

"Don't say that," Tim replies, even though he feels Conner trembling, not only from the cold but also from the loss of blood.

After 20 minutes Tim moves his hand away from the pressure point and removes some of the cloth covering the wound. The blood has stopped a little, but there is still some bleeding. Tim knows this is temporary, his trick only serves to coagulate the blood until help arrives. Still he covers the wound again with the cloths and ties them tightly. It's the best he can do for the moment, so they can only wait.

The following hours are the worst of their lives. The cold alone is torturous enough, but the real torment is hearing Cato moan, beg, and finally whimper as the mutts have their way with him.

After a while, Tim no longer cares who he is or what he's done; he just wants the suffering to stop.

"Why don't they kill him already?" he asks Conner.

"You know why," Conner responds, moving closer to Tim.

And it's true: now no viewer can tear themselves away from the screen. From the Gamemakers' perspective, this is the ultimate entertainment.

It goes on and on, and eventually, Tim's mind starts to erase all hope of survival, leaving only the present, which begins to feel eternal. There will never be anything else but this cold, this fear, and the horrendous sounds of the boy dying inside the horn.

Conner starts to doze off, and when he nods, Tim wakes him by shaking his shoulder and shouting his name louder each time. They haven't come this far, sacrificed so much, to die now.

The only sign of the passage of time is in the sky, in the subtle movement of the moon. Conner points it out and insists that Tim watches its progress, and sometimes, for a moment, Tim feels a spark of hope before the despair of the night envelops him again.

At last, he hears Conner whisper that the sun is rising. Tim opens his eyes and sees the stars fading in the pale light of dawn. He also sees how pale Conner's face is, how little time he has left, and Tim knows that his trick has only bought him a few hours. He has to get Conner back to the Capitol before blood loss kills him.

In any case, neither of them hears the cannon shoot. Conner puts his ear to the horn and can make out Cato's weak voice.

"I think he's closer now. Tim, do you have anything to kill him with?"

At this point, it would be an act of mercy.

"My knife stayed with Cato, and my spear fell."

"The mutts are busy with Cato," he replies, unzipping his jacket so Tim can get out.

And with that, Tim knows what Conner wants him to do. He's right; the mutts are preoccupied, and the longer they wait for Cato's death, the farther they are from home. There's only one thing left to do.

Descending the Cornucopia takes him twice as long as climbing it, maybe because his fingers weren't nearly frozen at that point. Still, Tim manages to get down from the Cornucopia, retrieve his spear, and return to safety before the mutts notice, although it's almost impossible for them to do so while they're having so much fun with Cato.

He returns to Conner, and they both crawl to the edge of the Cornucopia, afraid to take a misstep and fall. Tim stands up, and Conner holds his legs so he won't fall.

It takes Tim a few seconds to find Cato in the gloom, in the blood. Then, the flayed piece of meat that used to be their enemy makes a sound, and Tim can see where his mouth is. He's almost certain that the words Cato is trying to say are "please."

"Don't miss, don't miss, don't miss..." he whispers to himself.

Compassion, not vengeance, guides his spear to Cato's head. Conner hauls him up again, and they both stand there.

"Did you get him?" Conner whispers. The cannon answers him. "Then we've won, Tim," he adds, without emotion.

"Good for us," Tim manages to say, although there's no joy in his voice for the victory.

At that moment, a hole opens in the plain, and as if following orders, the mutts that are still alive jump into it, disappear inside, and the earth closes again.

They wait for the hovercraft to take away Cato's remains, for the victory trumpets to sound, but nothing happens.

"Hey!" Conner shouts to the air. "What's going on?" The only response is the chirping of birds waking up. "Maybe it's because of the body, maybe we have to move."

Tim tries to remember if they need to move away from the last dead tribute. His brain is too scrambled to be sure, but what else could it be?

"Okay, can you make it to the lake?" he asks Conner.

"I think I'd better try."

With his arm injured, it is almost impossible for Conner to get down without falling, yet Tim helps him as much as possible to avoid falling from too high, yet Conner ends up on the ground with a blow that knocks the wind out of him. As he catches his breath Tim approaches Cato's mangled body to take one last look at it and remove the spear from his head. He throws the spear as far away as possible, retrieves Conner's knife and returns to him.

When he gets to his side he realizes that with the blow his wound is bleeding more than before, much more than before, so he is forced to turn the bandage into an improvised tourniquet. With the help of the knife he cuts a piece of his jacket and ties it over the bandages, avoiding looking at Conner's pained face when his bleeding arm starts to turn purple because of the tightness of the tie.

"If it becomes unbearable, cut the tourniquet," he hands his knife to Conner with a determined look. He hopes that help will come for them soon. They don't have much time left.

Afterward, they manage to reach the lake, and Tim scoops up some cold water for Conner; he drinks some as well. A mockingjay emits a long whistle, and tears fill Tim's eyes as the hovercraft appears and takes Cato away.

They'll come for us now, he thinks. We can finally go home.

However, there is still no response.

"What are they waiting for?" Conner weakly asks.

"I don't know."

Neither of them knows the reason for the delay, but Tim doesn't like how pale Conner looks and how he seems to have hurt his right ankle in the fall. When he sees Conner wince in pain as he puts weight on his injured foot, Tim decides to go find his spear so Conner can use it as a makeshift crutch. When he returns and is about to hand Conner the spear, Claudius Templesmith's voice resounds in the arena.

"Greetings, finalists of the 74th Hunger Games. The last rule change has been revoked. After further examination of the rules, it has been concluded that only one victor can be allowed. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

There's a small burst of static, and it's over. Tim stares at Conner in disbelief until he comprehends the truth: they never intended to let both of them live. The Gamemakers have orchestrated everything to ensure the most dramatic ending to the story, and they, like fools, fell for it.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," Conner says in a low voice.

Tim watches him struggle to stand. He moves toward him in slow motion, taking his knife from his belt...

Tim knows he has to go home; he promised Damian, he promised Darla... but he can't and doesn't want to have another friend's blood on his hands.

Before Conner takes another step, Tim grabs his spear and, with all his strength, hurls it into the lake. When he turns to look at Conner, he realizes that Conner's hands are empty; he has done the same with his knife.

"You shouldn't have done that," Conner says. "You should have killed me."

Conner hobbles over to the arrow that had bounced off Cato earlier and the bow he had thrown to the mutts, and he hands it to Tim.

"I'll be nearby, so you won't miss," Conner says.

"I can't. I won't."

"Do it, before they send those creatures or something else again. I don't want to die like Cato."

"But you can't just... you can't kill yourself!"

Tim desperately tries to rebandage Conner.

"Tim, it's what I want. Ever since Darla gave her life for me, I've only been living on borrowed time. You have to win the Games and go home. It's always been you."

"You can't leave me alone," Tim insists because if Conner dies, Tim will never truly go home; he'll spend the rest of his life on this battlefield, trying to find a way out.

"Listen," Conner says, putting his uninjured arm on Tim's shoulder. "We both know they need their victor. Only one of us can be that. Please, accept it. Do it for me."

Tim hears Conner speak, mentioning his family, his siblings and friends, he hears him mention Jean-Paul and how he would feel about losing the person he promised to protect, but Tim doesn't really hear him anymore because his earlier words have become stuck inside his head, swirling around.

Both know they need their victor. Yes, Tim thinks, they need him. Without a victor, the Gamemakers would face a disaster: they'd disappoint the Capitol, and they might even face a slow and painful execution, broadcast live for the entire nation.

If Conner and I die, or if they think we're going to...

Tim reaches for the pouch on his belt and unclasps it. Conner watches and grabs his wrist.

"No, I won't let you."

"Trust me," Tim whispers. Conner stares into his eyes for a long moment but eventually lets go. Tim opens the pouch and takes a handful of berries into his hand, then picks out some for himself.

"On three?" Tim suggests.

"On three," Conner agrees, leaning in for a sweet kiss. They both stand back to back, and Tim firmly grasps Conner's bloodied hand. "Show them, I want everyone to see."

Tim opens his fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sunlight. He gives Conner's hand one last squeeze, a farewell, and they begin to count.

"One."

Maybe I'm wrong.

"Two."

Maybe they don't care if we both die.

"Three!"

It's too late to turn back. Tim brings his hand to his lips and gives one last look to the world. Just as the berries enter their mouths, the trumpets begin to sound.

The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes above them:

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present to you the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games: Timothy Drake-Wayne and Conner Kent! I present to you... the tributes from District 9 and 12!"

Chapter Text

Tim spits out the berries and wipes his tongue on the edge of his shirt to make sure nothing remains. Conner pulls him towards the lake, where both of them rinse their mouths and embrace, weakly.

"Didn't you swallow any?" Tim asks.

"And you?" Conner replies, shaking his head.

"I guess not, because I'm still alive."

Tim notices Conner moving his lips to respond, but he hears nothing but the roar of the Capitol crowd broadcasting live through the speakers.

The hovercraft appears above them and two ladders fall from it, only Tim doesn't plan to let go of Conner, no way. He puts an arm around him to help him up, and the two of them set foot on the first traverse. The electric current paralyzes them, which Tim is glad of, because he's not sure Conner could hang on for the whole trip. As he climbs up he is looking down, which is how Tim notices that although Conner's muscles are immobile, his arm is still bleeding, much more than before. As expected, Conner passes out as soon as the door closes behind them and the electric current stops.

Tim still has such a tight grip on the back of Conner's jacket that, when he is taken away, it tears, leaving him with a handful of black cloth. Medics dressed in sterilized white gowns, masks and gloves are already ready for work, ready to spring into action. Conner is so pale and still on the silver table, full of tubes and wires everywhere, that, for a moment, Tim forgets they've left the games and sees the medics as just another threat, another pack of mutos designed to kill him. Petrified, he rushes in to save him, but they hold Tim back and push him into another room, with a glass door between them.

No one pays him any attention except for a Capitol assistant who appears behind him and offers him a drink.

Tim plops down on the floor, face against the door, staring at the crystal glass in his hand blankly. It's ice cold, filled with orange juice, with a decorated rim straw. It looks completely out of place in his dirty, bloody hand, next to the scars and dirt-covered fingernails. His mouth waters at the smell, but he sets it down carefully, not trusting anything so clean and pretty.

Through the glass he sees how the doctors work non-stop on Conner; they frown, concentrating. He sees the flow of fluids pumping through tubes, and a wall full of dials and lights that mean nothing to him, he's used to Bruce's old-fashioned medicine, no gadgets or tubes . 

Tim isn't sure, but he thinks Conner's heart stops twice. 

Tim jumps when he notices someone staring at him just inches away, and realizes it's his reflection in the glass: bright eyes crazed, hollow cheeks, tangled hair; raging, wild, mad. No wonder everyone keeps a safe distance from him.

Next thing he knows, they've landed on the roof of the Training Center and they're taking Conner, though he's left where he is. So Tim throws himself against the glass, shrieking, and thinks he can make out a glimpse of pink hair (it has to be Effie, Effie comes to the rescue), when someone pricks him from behind with a needle.

When he wakes up he is afraid to move. The entire ceiling glows with a soft yellow light, allowing him to see that he is in a room with only his bed; no doors or windows in sight. The air smells of something strong and antiseptic. Several tubes come out of his right arm and go into the wall behind him.

He is naked, but the bedclothes comfort him. He gingerly pulls his right hand out of the quilt: not only is it clean, but the nails have been arranged into perfect ovals and the burn scars are less noticeable. Tim touches his cheek, his lips, and as he begins to run his fingers through his silken hair, he freezes. He moves his hair apprehensively above his left ear; he can hear again.

Tim tries to sit up, but some kind of restraining strap wraps around his waist and only lets him rise a few inches. The physical restraint causes him to panic, and he starts pulling and twisting his hips to get free of the strap; then a part of the wall slides open, as if it were a door, and through it comes the red-haired avox girl, that Darla knew, with a tray. Tim calms when he sees her and stops struggling. He wants to ask her a million questions, though he's afraid that overconfidence will get him into trouble, because it's clear he's being watched closely. The girl sets the tray down on Tim's thighs and squeezes something that puts him in a sitting position. As she arranges the pillows for him, he dares to ask her something; he says it out loud, as clearly as his rusty voice will allow, so it doesn't sound like he's telling her little secrets.

"Has Conner survived?"

She nods and Tim can breathe easy again. 

The girl hands him the spoon and leaves not before giving his hand a squeeze, the door closes soundlessly behind her and Tim turns, hungry, to the tray: a bowl of clear broth, a small serving of applesauce and a glass of water. 

He was expecting something more ostentatious, given the delicacies the Capitol can afford. But in the end he discovers that he is barely able to finish what little he has been put on. It's as if his stomach has shrunk to the size of a chestnut, and he wonders how long he's been unconscious, because the last morning he spent at the stadium he had no trouble at all eating a sizable breakfast. Usually a few days pass between the end of the competition and the presentation of the winner, so that they can turn a starving, injured and broken tribute back into a person. 

Tim thinks Cinna and Conner's stylist will be around, creating their wardrobes for public appearances. Jean-Paul, Effie and Conner's mentor and escort will be arranging the banquet for the sponsors and reviewing questions from the last interviews. Tim wonders if back home, in District 12, they will be immersed in the chaos of organizing the welcoming celebrations for him.

Home, Tim thinks, I'll see Damian again soon. Steph and my family. 

After a few moments, Tim decides he can't stay in bed any longer. He wants to see Conner, Jean-Paul and Cinna, and find out what's been going on. However, as he starts to get out of the strap, he notices a cold liquid pouring out of one of the tubes and into one of his veins; he loses consciousness almost immediately.

The same thing happens over and over again for an indefinite period: he wakes up, is fed, and although he resists the urge to try to escape from the bed, he is knocked out again. It's like being in a strange continuous twilight. He takes note of only a few things: the avox girl hasn't returned since she fed him the first time, his scars disappear, and he's heard the screams of a man...the voice too much like Jean-Paul. He can't help but get the feeling that someone is looking out for him, and that comforts him.

Then, at last, there comes a moment when he wakes up and there is nothing nailed to his right arm. The leash has also been removed from his waist and he is free to move as he pleases. He starts to get up, but is stopped by the sight of his hands: the skin is perfect, smooth and gleaming. Not only have the scars from the battlefield disappeared without a trace, but also the scars he had accumulated from training. When he tries to look for the burn on his calf, he finds nothing.

He pulls his legs out of bed, nervous that he won't be able to support his weight well, and checks that they are strong and ready. At the foot of the bed he finds a suit that makes him shudder, the same one that all the tributes wore in the stadium.

He stares at it until he remembers that it's obviously what he has to wear to greet his team.

He gets dressed in less than a minute and touches the wall, where he knows the door is even though he can't see it, until, suddenly, it opens. He steps out into a wide, empty hallway that doesn't seem to have any other doors. However, there must be, and behind one of them must be Conner. Now that Tim is conscious and moving, his concern for his friend increases by the second. He knows he's alive, but he needs to see him for himself.

"Conner!" he calls out to him, as there is no one to ask.

He hears someone shouting his name back, although it's not Conner's voice, but a higher-pitched voice that makes him smile: Effie.

Tim turns and sees them all waiting in a large room at the end of the hall: Effie, Jean-Paul and Cinna. He runs out to them without hesitation. The victors may need to be more restrained, more arrogant, especially when they know they're being watched, but Tim doesn't care. He runs towards them and without thinking throws himself into Jean-Paul's arms. 

"You did good," Jean-Paul whispers in his ear. "I'm proud of you." 

Effie is a little teary-eyed and keeps patting his hair and talking about how she was telling everyone that Tim was a pearl. Cinna just hugs him tightly and doesn't say anything. Then he sees that Portia is gone, and realizes that even though everyone is congratulating him there is still an aura of sadness in the air. 

"I swear I did everything I could for Darla" Tim says to Cinna in a whisper. 

"We know" he replies. "We know."

Tim wipes away the tears that had begun to form in the corners of his eyes and turns to look at the rest of his team. 
 

"Conner's okay, right?"

"He's fine, but they want you guys to meet live during the ceremony" Jean-Paul replies.

"Ah" reply Tim "I guess that's what I'd want to see."

"Go with Cinna. He has to make you pretty" says Jean-Paul.

Tim is relieved to be alone with Cinna, to feel his protective arm around his shoulders and away from the cameras, to walk down some hallways and reach an elevator that leads to the lobby of the Training Center. That means the hospital is in the basement, even underneath the gym where the tributes practiced tying knots and throwing spears. The lobby windows are blacked out and a handful of guards keep an eye on everything. No one else sees them arrive at the tribute elevator. Their footsteps echo in the void. As they ascend to the twelfth floor, the faces of all the tributes who will never return flash through his mind and Tim feels a lump in his throat.

Darla should be by his side, they should be walking down this hallway together. They should be the champions, the boy and the girl on fire. 

Then the doors open, and Venia, Flavius and Octavia storm him talking so fast and with such joy that Tim doesn't manage to understand what they're saying, though the meaning is clear: they're really thrilled to see him, and so is Tim with them, though he was much more excited to see Cinna. It was like seeing Damian's pets again, or one of the strays he used to feed before moving in with the Waynes. 

They take him to the dining room and feed him a real meal (roast beef with peas and rolls), though the portions are still portion controlled, because, when he repeats, they tell him no.

"No, no and no. They don't want you to throw it all on the stage" Octavia replies, but gives him one more bagel out of sight, under the table, to let him know she's on his side.

He goes back to his room and Cinna disappears for a while as the prep crew fixes him up.

"Oh, they did a nice polishing job on you," Flavius says enviously. "You don't have a blemish on your skin."

However, when Tim looks at himself naked in the mirror all he sees is how skinny he is. 

Well, I sure was worse when I left the battlefield, he thinks. But now he can count his ribs with no problem.

They select the shower settings for him and start doing his hair, nails and makeup when he's done. They chatter nonstop, so Tim hardly has to say anything; that's good, because he doesn't feel very talkative. It's funny because even though they chatter about the games, their comments are about where they were, what they were doing, or how they were feeling when something in particular happened.

"I was still in bed!" 

"I had just dyed my eyebrows!" 

"I swear I almost fainted!" 

It's all about them, it has nothing to do with the kids who were dying in the stadium.

Tim thinks about his district, and how they don't gloat like that at games, but grit their teeth, watch out of obligation, and try to get back to their stuff as soon as possible as soon as they're done. To avoid hate on the prep team, he manages to block out most of their chatter.

Cinna walks in wearing what appears to be yellow pants and a very simple white t-shirt. 

"Are you bored with the whole boy on fire thing yet?"

"You tell me," Cinna replies, and helps him get dressed. Tim instantly notices how the shirt seems to have a double layer that seems to fill in the fat and muscle he's lost, so that his ribs or bones don't stick out. He can't help but frown. 

"I know," Cinna says before he can ask. "But the Gamemakers wanted to surgically modify you. Jean-Paul had a big fight with them and this was the trade-off." Cinna stops him before Tim can look in the mirror. "Wait, don't forget the shoes."

Venia helps him into a pair of flat leather shoes that remind him of something Damian would wear, and Tim turns back to the mirror.

It's still him on fire: the thin fabric of the pants gives off a slight sheen and the fabric of the shirt has small patterns of a light but bright yellow; the slightest movement of the air creates ripples. Compared to this one, the suit in the car looks garish, and the one in the interview, too artificial; now Tim gives the impression of having dressed by candlelight.

"What do you think?"

"I think it's the best you've done so far."

When Tim manages to look away from the flashes of fabric, he finds a surprise: his somewhat long hair after his weeks in the arena hasn't been trimmed as much as he thought, in fact only the battered ends are gone and somehow it now looks longer than it should. Tim wears it loose to almost shoulder length, but they've done something to make it look neither flat nor stuck to his skull, but full of life but retaining a tender, boyish touch. All this goes perfectly with his makeup that rounds out and fills in his now angular features, and they've also put clear polish on his nails instead of the designs the Capitol people like to wear so much. All in all, Tim looks like a kid, a young boy, fourteen at the most, innocent and harmless. 

Yes, he is surprised that Cinna decided to pull this out, especially considering he just won the games. This is a very studied image, because Cinna never leaves anything to chance. Tim bites his lip, trying to figure out his motives.

"I thought it would be something more...sophisticated," he tells him.

"I figured Conner would like this better" he replies, cautiously.

Conner? No, it's not about Conner. Tim realizes right away; It's about the Capitol, the Gamemakers and the audience.

Although he doesn't yet understand Cinna's design, he reminds him that the games are not yet completely over. Furthermore, he notices a warning underneath his benevolent response. It warns him about something he can't mention even in front of his own team.

They ride the elevator down to the floor where Tim was trained. The custom is for the victor and his prep team to walk out onto the stage on a raised platform. First the prep team, followed by the escort, the stylist, the mentor and finally the winner. Since this year there are two victors with different teams, they have had to rearrange everything. 

Tim is in a poorly lit area under the stage. They've installed a new metal platform to elevate it; there are still little piles of sawdust and it smells like fresh paint. Cinna and the prep crew leave to put on their costumes and get into place, so Tim is left alone. In the gloom he sees a makeshift wall about 15 feet from him; he assumes Conner will be behind it.

The roar of the crowd is so deafening that Tim doesn't notice Jean-Paul's arrival until he taps him on the shoulder and Tim bounces, startled.

"Easy, it's me. Are you okay?" Tim nods and Jean-Paul takes his hand to spin him around a couple of times to get a detailed look at his outfit. "Red is your color, but yellow doesn't look bad on you at all" he smiles at him with one of those smiles that manage to reassure Tim even if the world were ending. 

Jean-Paul opens his arms for a hug and Tim doesn't hesitate to throw himself into his arms as he is so used to. However, when he wraps his arms around his neck Jean-Paul begins to speak very quickly and very softly into his ear, his lips hidden by his now long hair.

"Listen, you're in trouble. Rumor has it that the Capitol is furious at the way you made fools of them at the stadium. If there's one thing they can't stand, it's being laughed at, and now they're the laughing stock of Panem," Jean-Paul tells him.

Tim feels fear coursing through his veins, but he laughs as if he's telling him something charming, because even though Jean-Paul's hair is much longer than his, it's tied back in a simple ponytail that pushes all hair away from his face and does nothing to hide Tim's mouth. 

"So what?"

"Your only defense would be if you were so crazy in love that you weren't responsible for your actions." Jean-Paulsteps back and brushes a few strands away from his eyes. "Okay, Timmy? Don't get nervous up there."

"Okay. Have you told Conner? Have you been able to see him?"

"His mentor tells me he's fine." 

Tim nods and straightens the deep red bow tie Cinna must have forced Jean-Paul to wear.

"We'd better take our places." Jean-Paul leads him to the metal circle. "It's your night Tim, enjoy it."

He kisses him on the forehead and disappears into the gloom.

Tim wants to tremble, out of fear, out of worry of what the Capitol might do to him or his family. But Tim is not a coward and he is not going to let them see him as one. He's keeping his cool as he waits for his time to shine. It's his night, and he's not going to let anyone forget that. 

Still he can't help but think that after he left the battlefield, after the trumpets, he was supposed to be safe forever, for the rest of his life. However, thanks to Jean-Paul, he knows that he have never been in as much danger as he is now.

It is not fair. 

It's much worse than the stadium hunt, because there he could die and that's it, end of story. Here they could punish Damian, his family, Stephanie, the people of District 12, all the people he cares about, if he doesn't manage to make the boy-crazy-in-love scenario Jean-Paul has suggested believable.

Well, thinks Tim, I still have a chance. The Hunger Games are the Capitol's weapon and you're not supposed to be able to beat them, so now the Capitol will act like it's been in control of the situation from the beginning, like it's running the whole thing, double suicide included. Of course, for that to work, Tim has to play along.

And with Conner's help, he knows they can both do it, they can pretend for as long as it takes. For their lives and their families. Because now the most dangerous part of the Hunger Games is about to begin.

Chapter Text

The anthem booms in his ears and then he hears Caesar Flickerman greet the audience. 

The crowd breaks into applause as he introduces the prep team. Conner's team appears on stage first since his district is first, and when Caesar introduces Tim's team he can't help but imagine Flavius, Venia and Octavia prancing and bowing ridiculously; he knows he can safely say they have no idea what's going on.  

Caesar then introduces the escorts: Lotus, a tall, dark woman with straight, silver hair that Tim had only seen a few times during training, and then he introduces Effie. He really hopes she enjoys it, because, clueless as she is, she has a good instinct for some things and, at the very least, she must sense that something is wrong.  

When it's the stylists' turn, the stylist from District 9 gets a dying display of applause that even then Tim manages to hear more than well, but when Cinna makes his entrance he gets huge cheers and deafening applause, of course, as he's been great, after such a dazzling debut. Now Tim understands why Cinna chose that outfit for him: he has to look as innocent and childlike as he can. 

Then it's the mentors' turn, and as Tim expected everything turns into chaos. When Conner's mentor shows up, a victor from more than five years earlier named Karen Denver, the crowd goes wild with applause, but none of it compares to Jean-Paul's entrance, which is greeted with big stomps on the floor for at least five minutes. 

Then his platform rises to the stage. 

Blinding lights. A deafening roar that vibrates the metal beneath his feet. Then he sees Conner a few steps away from him. He looks so clean, healthy and handsome that Tim barely recognizes him. Yet his smile is the same, whether he's covered in mud or on the Capitol, and, upon seeing him, Tim takes about three steps and throws himself into his arms. Conner receives him and squeezes Tim tight against himself, his grip tighter than Tim is used to, but so warm that he feels the corners of his eyes water.   

Yet something about Conner feels different, his touch feels different. His eyes are the same as always, as sincere and loving as when they first spoke sincerely on the rooftop so many weeks ago. The audience goes wild at the sight of them, Conner kisses him and Tim can't help but wonder if he even knows, if he even knows the danger they're in. 

After ten minutes like this, Caesar Flickerman taps Conner on the shoulder to get on with the show, but Conner pushes him away without even looking at him. The audience loses their heads. 

At the end, Jean-Paul interrupts them and gives them a loving push towards the victors' chair. Normally, it's a single overstuffed armchair from which the winning tribute watches the highlight film of the games, but since there are two of them, the Gamemakers have set them up with a plush red velvet confidant couch. Tim sits so close to Conner that he's practically on his lap, though one glance at Jean-Paul is enough to know it's not enough, so Tim takes off his shoes, puts his feet up on the couch and rests his head on Conner's shoulder. He automatically puts an arm around him, and Tim feels like he's back in the cave, curled up next to him, trying to get warm. His shirt is made of the same yellow fabric as Tim's pants, but Conner's stylist has put him in long black pants. He's also not wearing shoes, but a pair of sturdy black boots that he doesn't lift off the ground. 

Caesar Flickerman makes a few jokes and moves on to the show. It will last exactly three hours and is required viewing for all of Panem. When they dim the lights and the seal appears on the screen, Tim realizes he's not ready for this, that he doesn't want to see his twenty-two companions die. He saw enough the first time. 

His heart starts pounding and he feels the urge to run away. 

How could the rest of my family have faced this alone, Tim thinks to himself.  During the best moments they usually show the winner's reaction in a little box in the corner of the screen. Think back to previous years... Some looked delighted, raised their fists and pounded their chests. Almost everyone looked stunned. All he knows is that the only thing keeping him in this confidant is Conner: his arm over his shoulder, his other hand between his. 

Still, something about his grip feels different. 

Summing several weeks into three hours is quite a feat, especially considering the number of cameras that were running at the same time. Whoever puts this together must be clear about what story they want to tell. This year, for the first time, they are telling a love story. Tim knows he and Conner have won, but they spend a disproportionate amount of time on them from the beginning. Anyway, he's happy about that, because it supports the excuse of the madness of love as a defense for defiance of the Capitol, as well as sparing him from wallowing in the deaths.

The first hour or so focuses on the events leading up to the arena: the reaping, the carriage ride through the Capitol, the training rankings, and the interviews. An upbeat soundtrack makes it seem twice as awful because, of course, almost everyone on screen is dead.

Once on the battlefield, detailed coverage of the bloodbath is provided and then, basically, the filmmakers alternate images of the tributes dying and images of Tim and Conner. But mostly footage of Conner from the beginning of the games.

Tim now sees what the audience saw, how he tricked the careers tributes about Tim, how he stayed up all night under the crawler tree, how he fought Cato to let Tim escape... And even though Tim knew it was all pretend, his heart couldn't help but skip a beat when he heard Conner mumble his name in his sleep. In comparison, Tim looks like an iceberg (dodging fireballs, dropping nests and blowing up supplies) until he finds Darla. 

Show their first dinner together sharing the meager food they had, how they made the trees their safe place, and how they slept in each other's arms to avoid getting cold. The images of the two saying Conner's name when it is announced that two tributes will be able to survive draws a sigh from everyone in the audience, and even Tim feels Conner squeeze his shoulder a little at that. 

After that it's footage of the two looking for Conner and helping him get to safety, healing his leg and trying to keep him calm. There are some scenes of the kissing in the cave that are intercut with scenes of Darla and him thinking about what to do. Until the banquet is announced and they both trick Conner into going. 

They show Darla's death in full, the fight over the backpacks, Clove's murder, Tim carrying Darla in his arms through the woods trying to escape danger, the moment he realized something was wrong, Darla's last breath in his arms, and the song.

Tim sings each and every note of the song. Something inside him shuts down and he becomes too numb to feel anything. It's like watching complete strangers in another Hunger Games, though Tim notices that they omit the part where he covered her in flowers.

Although the scenes that follow are ones of sadness from remorse and mourning Darla's death, somehow the person crafting the presentation knew how to pick the perfect moments to show the audience that Conner and Tim together could get through anything. 

Tim sees the mutos and Cato's death from an objective point of view; he knows they're as horrible as ever, but again, it's as if it's happening to people he doesn't know.

Then it's time for the berries. Tim hears the audience ask for silence: they don't want to miss anything. He is filled with gratitude to the filmmakers when he sees that they end not with the announcement of their victory, but with him pounding on the glass door of the hovercraft, shouting Conner's name as they try to revive him.

It's his best moment of the entire night.

The anthem plays again and everyone rises to their feet as President Al Ghul himself comes on stage, followed by a little girl with the cushion holding the crown. However, there is only one wreath, and the crowd's puzzlement is noted (who will it be for?), until President Al Ghul turns it around and divides it in two. The first half he places on Conner's forehead with a smile. He is still smiling when he places the second on Tim's head, but in his eyes, which are just inches from his own, he sees that it will be relentless as a snake.

Then Tim knows that, even if the two had eaten the berries, he is the one to blame, because he had the idea. He is the instigator, he who must take the punishment. 

Then there is a lot of bowing and cheering. Tim's arm is about to fall off from all the waving when Caesar Flickerman finally says goodbye to the viewers and reminds them to come back tomorrow for the last interviews. As if they have any choice.

He and Conner are taken to the President's mansion for the victory banquet, where they have very little time to eat as Capitol officials and generous sponsors scramble to have their picture taken with them. Past them passes one smiling face after another, getting drunker and drunker as the night progresses. Occasionally Tim catches a glimpse of Jean-Paul, which is comforting, or President Al Ghul, which is terrifying, but he keeps laughing, thanking everyone and smiling to get his picture taken. The one thing he doesn't do for a moment is let go of Conner's hand.

The sun begins to peek over the horizon as they return to the training center. Tim thinks about inviting Conner to his floor so he can finally talk to him privately, but Jean-Paul immediately pulls him aside and tells him that Conner needs to talk to his prep team. So Tim gives him a small smile and rides up in the elevator with his mentor at his side. 

"Why can't I talk to him?" he asks.

"You'll have plenty of time to talk when we go home on the train. You should rest now because you're on TV in a few hours, Cinna will kill me if you have dark circles under your eyes" Tim lets out a small amused laugh and lets Jean-Paul walk him to his door. 

"I'm tired, very tired. But I know that if I lie down I won't be able to sleep." 

"A lot to think about?" asks Jean-Paul as he pulls something out of his pocket. 

"A lot to remember." 

Jean-Paul nods in understanding, after all he has been through the same thing. 

"I got this for you, it will help you sleep. But just for today, understand?" Tim nods and his mentor drops a small white pill in his hand. Tim needs no further prompting to swallow it. 

It will only be one night, when he returns home everything will be back to normal.

The next morning he is awakened by the booming voice of Effie Trinket coming to warn him that another "very, very, very important!" day is beginning.

He is given about five minutes to eat a bowl of hot cereal and stew before the prep team comes down. All he needs to say so he doesn't have to speak again for the next two hours is, "The audience loves you guys!". When Cinna enters, he kicks them out and puts Tim in a white chiffon suit and red shoes. Then he personally makes him up until Tim seems to radiate a soft, rosy glow. They chat about everything a bit, but Tim doesn't dare ask him important questions because he can't shake the feeling that he's constantly being watched.

The interview takes place a little way down the hall, in the living room. They have cleared a space and set up the confidant, surrounded by vases of red roses. There are only a handful of cameras to record the event. Caesar Flickerman gives him a warm hug when Tim enters.

"Congratulations, Tim, how are you feeling?"

"Fine. Nervous about the interview."

"Don't be, we're going to have a wonderful time," he replies, giving him a reassuring pat on the cheek.

"I'm not good at talking about myself."

"Nothing you say can be wrong."

If only that were true. 

Then the elevator opens and Conner appears, very handsome dressed in red and white, and pulls Tim aside.

"I've hardly had a chance to see you. Jean-Paul seems to want you all to himself" he says amused.  

Indeed, Tim thinks, Jean-Paul seems determined to keep me alive. But there are too many people listening to them, so Tim merely says:

"Jealous?" he asks in a mocking tone. 

"A little, but it doesn't matter. There's only this left to go home and I can have you to myself for the whole trip."

Tim notices an electric current running through his whole body, but he doesn't have time to analyze it, because they are already set up to be interviewed. They both sit somewhat formally on the confidant, but Caesar says:

"Oh, go ahead and snuggle up next to him if you want. It looks very sweet."

So Tim puts his feet up on the seat, off to the side, and Conner pulls him close to him. Someone starts the countdown and, without further ado, they go live for the whole country.

Caesar Flickerman is great; he's cracking jokes, throwing out barbs and choking up with laughter when the occasion arises. He and Conner already had their dynamic from the night of the first interview, those easy jokes, so Tim just smiles and tries to talk as little as possible. He has to talk a little, but, as soon as he can, he turns the conversation to Conner.

Eventually, however, Caesar starts to raise questions that demand fuller answers.

"Well, Conner, from your days in the cave we already know that for you it was love at first sight from the moment you saw it on TV a few years ago."

"From the moment I saw it." confirms Conner.

"But, Tim, what an experience for you. I think the real thrill for the audience was watching you fall in love with him. When did you realize you loved him?"

"Oh, that's a tough question..."

Tim thinks about it for a few seconds, looking up to meet Conner's eyes. He just needs that to know. 

Not the moment he knew he was in love with him, because he doesn't love him that way, but the moment he realized that Conner meant more to him than he thought. 

"It was when we found him in the creek, all covered in leaves and mud. He looked so bad...but I could swear I felt my heart beating again when he said my name."

"The look of hope on your face was so authentic, infingible" adds Ceasar. 

Thanks, Caesar! thinks Tim, and continues with his idea.

"Yeah, I guess it was. I mean, up until that point I was trying not to think about my emotions, really, because it was so confusing, and having feelings for him only served to make things worse. The rules had changed and I had someone on my team..." Tim is silent for a few seconds, not daring to say Darla's name. "But, then, at the creek, everything changed. I knew Conner had to go all the way, he had to survive... Maybe a little part of me had hope that we could go home together" he adds after a moment, though he hates himself for that because he knows it's not true. 

Tim sees Jean-Paul snort with relief behind a camera and knows he's said the right thing. Caesar pulls out a tissue and takes a moment, because he's touched.

Conner rests his forehead on Tim's temple and asks:

"So, now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?"

"Keep you by my side," Tim replies this time truthfully, turning to face him. When Conner kisses him, the people in the room let out a gasp.

Caesar takes the moment to move on to the damage they suffered in the arena, from burns to stings to wounds. However, it's not until they get to the mutts that Tim forgets they're in front of the cameras. That's when Caesar asks Conner how his new arm is doing. 

"New arm?" he asks, and can't help but roll up Conner's jacket sleeve. "Oh, no," he whispers at the sight of the metal and plastic device that has replaced his flesh.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you?" asks Caesar politely, and Tim shakes his head.

"I haven't had a chance to," says Conner, shrugging.

"It's my fault, for using that tourniquet."

"Yeah, your fault I'm still alive," replies Conner.

"He's right," Caesar assures him. "I'm sure he would have bled out without the tourniquet."

Tim assumes it's true, but he can't help but be saddened by it to the point where he feels like crying; then he remembers that the whole country is watching, so he hides his face in Conner's shirt, which takes a couple of minutes to convince him to come out. When Tim finally raises his head, Caesar stops interviewing him until he recovers. In fact, he pretty much leaves him alone until the subject of berries comes up.

"Tim, I know you've had a shock, but I have to ask you. When you pulled out those berries, what was going through your head?"

Tim takes a long pause before answering, trying to organize his thoughts. It's the crucial moment when he decides whether to challenge the Capitol or went so mad with love at the thought of losing Conner that he can't be blamed for his actions. 

"I think of Conner, deciding that I'm the one who should live, following his heart. I am furious with his determination of purpose. At the same time, I envy him his purity of spirit. Most of my life I have lived in a world of gray, but for him it is black and white, right and wrong. For him it was right for me to live, for me to go back to my family...for him it was so natural that decision. And when I heard him talk, try to explain his reasons I knew, I couldn't let him make that decision alone. When I held those berries I knew without a doubt that I was going to die, that was better than being apart. I wasn't afraid of it. Well... maybe a little... But in the end I just wished I had the chance to talk to Conner one more time, to be able to hold him one more time."

"Conner, anything to add?"

"I couldn't bear the thought of living without him."

Caesar says goodbye and it's all over. People laugh, cry and hug, though Tim is still unsure until he reaches Jean-Paul.

"Okay?" he asks, whispering.

"Perfect."

Tim goes back to his room to get some things and discovers that the only thing he wants to take with him is the mockingjay badge Stephanie gave him. Someone put it back in his bedroom after the games. They are driven through the streets in a car with tinted windows and the train is waiting for them. Tim can barely say goodbye to Cinna, though he'll see him in a few months, when he and Conner tour the districts for a round of triumphal ceremonies. Thus the Capitol reminds the people that the Hunger Games never quite go away. They'll give them a bunch of useless plaques and the people will have to pretend to love them.

The train begins to move and pulls them into the night until they exit the tunnel, at which point Tim breathes free for the first time since the reaping. Effie and Lotus escort them, as do Jean-Paul and Karen Danvers, of course. They eat a huge dinner and stand silently in front of the television to watch the interview on tape delay. As they drive away from the Capitol Tim begins to think about home, Damian and the rest of his family.

Tim excuses himself to go take off his Capitol clothes, and change into a simpler shirt and pants. As he carefully wipes the makeup off his face and fixes his hair, he begins to transform back into himself, into Tim Drake, the son of a wealthy merchants who ended up being adopted by one of the most famous victors in history, a boy who likes playing with his younger brother, walking around the district with his best friend and older sister, a boy who enjoys staying hours in front of the fire listening to the quiet voice of his older brothers, a boy who hates hurting others. Tim looks in the mirror trying to remember who he is and who he is not. 

He realizes that maybe that Tim no longer exists. 

As he joins the others, the pressure of Conner's arm on his shoulders feels warm, needy. Tim settles back to let part of his body lean against Conner. If he closes his eyes for a few seconds it's just the two of them...but after a few moments it feels like being back in the cave, with the rain outside and the cold inside, with Darla's recent death hanging over them. Tim opens his eyes.

The train pauses briefly to refuel, and they are let out for a breath of fresh air. Conner and Tim walk down the platform hand in hand, and although they are both silent it is a quiet moment, one of the few Tim has had in a long time. 
Conner stops to pick a bouquet of wildflowers, these are red and white, and although these are pretty Tim can't help but laugh in amusement as he realizes what these are. 

"Do you think your escort likes these? Reminds me of her hair" Although Tim can imagine Effie accepting the flowers just because Conner gave it to her, he shakes his head in denial. 

"Maybe, but Conner, those flowers are the tops of wild onions." 

"Oh..." Conner dropped the flowers blushing with embarrassment, but seeing Tim's amused face they both started laughing together. "Can you believe" Conner said after a few moments. "That we're a few hours away from going home?" 

Tim shakes his head and they both keep walking until they leave the train queue behind, at a point where even Tim thinks there are no cameras hidden behind the bushes on the platform. He knows he wants to - should - say something, but doesn't know how to phrase it. 

"What's wrong?" asks Conner.

"I..." Tim sighs. "I'm just going to miss you...and it's weird to think about because we've both done everything we can to get home, but it's going to be weird not having you by my side." 

"Me too... Tim..." Conner replies. "...I guess we can see each other again in a few months, right? When the victory tour starts" Conner tries to sketch a small smile. Tim realizes it doesn't come from his heart, but tries to return it.

"Yeah," he nods. "I'm sure we'll see each other again."

They are interrupted by someone clearing their throat, and they turn around. Jean-Paul puts a hand on Tim's back, and even in the middle of nowhere, lowers his voice.

"Great job, guys. Keep it up all the way to District 9 until the cameras go away. Everything should be fine."

Jean Paul gives them a reassuring smile before turning around and heading back to the train. 

"The Capitol really didn't like our berry trick" Conner sighs. "At least I'm stuck in this with you."

"At least" Tim nods, smiling and squeezing Conner's hand.

The sun is barely rising when Conner sneaks into Tim's room. He opens one of his eyes as he feels a body next to him, the pills Jean-Paul gave him the night before leaving him somewhat dizzy and groggy even hours after waking up. 

"What are you doing here?" whispers Tim. His throat felt dry as did his tongue, he desperately needed a glass of water. 

"I'll be home soon...it's weird, I didn't think I'd be back" replies Conner in a whisper. "I don't know...maybe I just need to be in the company of someone who feels like me."

Tim approaches Conner and wraps his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Come here," he murmurs.

As soon as Conner's head touches Tim's shoulder, Tim closes his eyes and lets go.
He feels Conner fall asleep and then, Tim realizes he can no longer go back to sleep, but it doesn't matter, because only an hour later they are woken up for breakfast and a change of clothes. They are so close to District 9 that they only have time to eat some fruit and drink some coffee, which Tim is grateful for because he feels like he's going to pass out at any moment. 

They both stand near the gates, silently watching as they enter the district station. Through the window Tim sees that the platform is full of cameras. Everyone is eager to witness their arrival. 

Out of the corner of his eye Tim sees Conner offer him his hand.

"Are you ready?" 

Tim grips it tightly, bracing himself for the cameras and dreading the moment when he has to let Conner go.

Chapter Text

Bruce lingered in the shadows, watching the horizon with a gaze as sharp as a bird of prey. The last glimmers of the sun were fading behind the hills, painting the sky in shades of gold and orange. He was standing on the porch of his home in the Victors' village, watching as Damian told about the squirrel that lived in the tree in the garden to Tim, who seemed to be listening intently to it all. 

Tim had returned home from the Hunger Games. But it wasn't the same Tim that Bruce had seen leave. No, the young man had changed, and Bruce could feel it in the air, in every gesture, in every word.

It had been just three weeks since his victory, since he had been proclaimed the victor in that bloody televised spectacle, and now, at last, he was back in District 12. But something had changed in Tim during his time in the Arena. The spark in his eyes seemed to have faded, and the shadow of the violence he had witnessed had left an indelible mark on his soul.

Tim's innocence had vanished in the midst of that fierce fight.

Bruce grimaced and walked into his house. 

The memory of his conversation with Tim a few nights before was still present in his head. His own words echoed inside Bruce's mind: "You did it wrong."

Bruce sat heavily on the worn couch in his living room, his mind still swirling with confusion and disappointment. He couldn't shake the anguish he felt deep in his soul, and a surge of anger coursed through his veins.

As he stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace, memories of Tim's return from the Hunger Games flooded his mind. Bruce had expected Tim to return unharmed, but the reality was far from his expectations.

The disappointment was overwhelming. Bruce had always believed in Tim's strength and resilience, but seeing the dull spark in his eyes shattered his hopes. The violence and brutality of the Arena had taken its toll on Tim, leaving behind a broken boy.

Bruce clenched his fists tightly, feeling a mixture of frustration and helplessness. He wanted to understand what had happened to Tim, to break through the walls that seemed to have been erected around his son's emotions. The disconnect between them hurt him deeply, and Bruce longed for the bond they had once shared.

He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts and stood up, deciding that it was useless to dwell on these things any longer. He had more important things to do than sit around worrying about Tim. And besides, Bruce didn't even know where to begin.

Bruce walked briskly toward the dining room, where the table was set for dinner. The atmosphere was tense, as if the room was charged with the electricity of pent-up emotions.

Dick, Jason and Cassandra sat in silence, each immersed in their own thoughts. The scraping of chairs being moved echoed in the room as Bruce took his seat. He was silent for a moment, looking at his three children with a mixture of indecipherable feelings. Finally, he broke the silence.

"Will Stephanie be joining us for dinner?" 

Cass denied and the silence returned to the table until Damian's quick footsteps seemed to cut the tension. 

"Sorry I'm late," his youngest son said taking a seat next to him.  

"Did you wash your hands master Damian?" asked Alfred. 

"Yes, Alfred, we both did" It was Tim's voice that answered. "We've done all this before, we know what to do before dinner." There was a slight hint of annoyance in his tone. "I was only gone a few weeks" he whispered as he sat down across from Bruce. 

Bruce stifled a sigh and looked around the rest of the table. Tim's eyes met his briefly and then turned to Damian. The little boy looked at his older brother, who remained quiet and indifferent to the situation. 

Alfred, with his usual elegance, served dinner, but his worried look revealed that he was aware of the tension in the atmosphere. The clatter of dishes broke the silence at the table as Bruce tried to concentrate on his dinner. His eyes, fixed on the nearly untouched plate in front of him, barely looked up to glance around. Tim, he seemed immersed in a distant world, his movements calculated and his gaze lost.

"Aren't you going to eat, Master Tim?" Alfred broke the silence with his serene voice, though laden with concern.

Tim looked up at his plate, but his eyes seemed not to register what was in front of him. 

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled barely.

Bruce struggled to maintain his composure, but worry clung to him like a lingering shadow. He watched Tim, feeling the distance between them more abysmal than ever.

Discomfort filled the room, heavy as a blanket. Jason broke the silence, his raspy voice echoing through the room. 

"Maybe you should eat something, Tim. It's not good to skip meals," he suggested, trying to ease the tension. "Besides Alfred prepared your favorite food." 

"And I went for the berries myself for dessert" Dick added.  "You love it!"

Tim's eyes widened, his brows furrowed in anger and disbelief. He stared at his brother with his mouth practically open until he forced it shut, trying to contain his emotions. His face contorted with a mixture of shock, disappointment and pain. It was as if he had been left breathless, and he struggled to find words to express his disbelief at what he had just heard.

After a few seconds he put down the silverware, which he had just picked up. 

"...Berries...you want me to eat berries" whispered Tim, but the silence in the room was such that he seemed to be shouting. "They're poisonous.... you want me to die like her," whispered Tim. 

Alfred and Bruce looked at each other uneasily. The table fell silent again, everyone had been caught off guard by Tim's sudden outburst.

"...she must have known," Tim muttered, "Foxface must have known...she knew it was poisonous...but she still ate them..." he paused, his gaze unfocused. 

Tim continued without recognizing any of them. "I should have swallowed them." He said quietly.

His eyes met Bruce's briefly. Then he looked away, biting his lower lip so hard it looked like blood would start dripping from between his lips at any moment.

He looked completely lost for a few minutes until he finally shook his head and returned to his usual relaxed posture. Although the truth was that since his return Bruce could count on the fingers of his hands the times he could see again the relaxed and carefree Tim he knew, and that Tim never appeared in his presence, not anymore. 

"I don't have an appetite," he finally said. "Thanks for dinner Alfred, but I think I'll eat in the morning. I'll go and rest, with your permission."

"Yes, Master Tim," Alfred said softly "Sleep well."

Tim nodded, turned on his heel and hurried out of the dining room, without saying goodbye or looking at anyone. Jason sighed noisily as soon as Tim had disappeared down the hall, leaning back in his chair. He sighed in exasperation and looked at his brothers.

"What's gotten into him lately? The last time he acted like this he was at least three years younger," he complained. "We all go through the same thing and get on with our lives without treating others like this."

"I don't know, Jason," Bruce replied calmly, but there was nothing reassuring in his voice. He was worried. Worried about how estranged his youngest son was becoming; worried about the effects the trauma of the last few weeks was having on him; worried about whether he might come to.

That night Bruce found it almost impossible to fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes trying to rest his dreams were surrounded by memories from years ago. He remembered the feel of Tim's warm, tiny body the first night he moved in with them, how he'd had so many nightmares about his parents' death that he'd ended up crawling into Bruce's bed in the middle of the night to avoid waking Damian with his nightmares. But that boy was gone, his son seemed to have grown up overnight and become a man. Now his son had been thrown onto a battlefield, forced to survive and crawl through water, finding happiness temporarily only to have it threatened and taken from his life in the bloodiest way possible. 

The dreams were all too vivid: a constant replay of the moments when he had held Tim close to his heart, promising him that he would always protect him, that he would keep him safe. Those days were behind him, replaced by images of Tim's lifeless body lying in the mud, in a pool of his own blood, screaming for him, his blue eyes wide open, frozen forever as cold death descended upon him. Those images remained etched in Bruce's mind, making him wake up restless and uneasy, not knowing exactly what to do. The events that took place in the arena continued to haunt him....

Bruce was awake when the screaming began. 

It was not uncommon for his older children to wake up screaming from their nightmares, the memories of the games were worse at this time of year. Bruce already recognized Jason and Dick's voice, he knew it would only last a few minutes before they were done or one tried to calm the other. Cassandra was quieter, just a few moans before going back to sleep or quietly reminiscing. 

He hadn't heard Tim's voice for years during a nightmare. But, even nightmares about his parents didn't compare to these screams. 

Bruce didn't hesitate to get up and go see what was going on, by the time he got to his youngest children's room they were all there. The door was open and Dick was sitting on Tim's bed trying to calm him down, while Jason was holding Damian. His youngest son was freaking out, he had never seen his brother like that. And Bruce was now sure he couldn't stop it. All he could do was watch helplessly as his older son, who loved and cared deeply for his little brother, tried to help him through his nightmare.

"Let me go! LET ME GO!" shrieked Tim. Bruce couldn't imagine how horrible Tim must be right now. His stomach churned uncomfortably.

"Tim, it's okay!" pleaded Dick, trying to keep his voice low, "it's over, it's just a dream. You're all right..."

"NO, IT'S NOT OVER! IT HAS TO END NOW!" shouted Tim with his fists clenched tightly.

Dick stood still for a few moments, not knowing what else to do. He looked at Bruce desperately, hoping for some kind of response, but he too was speechless, not understanding what was going on.

Just as quickly as he had shouted, Tim stopped and his attitude changed completely. Bruce noticed that his eyes were slowly darkening with anger and he gritted his teeth.

"Why are you here?" asked Tim angrily. "I didn't ask for you. I never wanted this. I NEVER WANTED THIS! GET OUT OF HERE!" he shouted, his voice booming in the darkened room, his eyes shooting deadly daggers at them.

Dick visibly flinched at the violent look of fury he was directing at him. 

Out of the corner of his eye Bruce saw Cassandra run out of the hallway, noisily down the stairs, but he didn't think anything of it. He needed to sort things out. 

"Tim, relax, you're home," he said taking a step into the room. Dick moved away from the bed to give him room.

"I'm not here! I'm not here! I'll never be here! Get out!" Tim yelled, moving closer to Bruce with every word. He was almost screaming now, his voice cracking and breaking at times as his eyes filled with tears. His chest was heaving and he was breathing hard. "Get away...get away! Get away from me. I hate you. GET AWAY FROM ME."

"Calm down Master Tim!" Alfred exclaimed, reaching over and placing a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Take a deep breath...try to relax," he commanded in a gentle tone, "it will pass."

Tim ignored his advice and began to pull Alfred's arm away, shaking violently. 

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouted, slapping Alfred's hand, "LEAVE ME ALONE!".

"Hey! STOP!" shouted Dick, jumping forward and grabbing Tim's shoulders to keep him from hitting Alfred. 

Bruce looked around, trying to assess everything, trying to figure out what was going on. Jason, though clearly frightened by Tim's sudden outburst, seemed less disturbed by his behavior. Damian, on the other hand, was still shaking uncontrollably. 

Bruce felt caught in the middle of an emotional storm, not knowing how to calm Tim or fully understand what was happening. The violence in his son's words and actions was disconcerting and distressing. The scene had devolved into emotional chaos, and Bruce struggled to maintain his composure.

"Stop, Tim!" exclaimed Bruce, his tone laden with concern and frustration. "I can't leave you like this. I can't...understand what's happening to you if you don't tell me."

Tim looked beside himself, struggling with his own demons, his eyes desperately searching for some way out of the nightmare that engulfed him. The aggression and desire to push everyone around him away was as evident as the pain in his gestures.

"I don't want to talk! I don't want to be here!" cried Tim, his voice cracking with forceful crying. "You all...you all want me to be the same as I was before and I'm not like that anymore! You don't understand!"

Bruce's anger erupted at Tim's words. His concern for Tim had clouded his judgment and he reacted impulsively. "Don't I understand, after all I've done for you? I've been by your side every step of the way, I understand you're going through a difficult time, but we're here to help you.".

Tim glared at him, his eyes flashing with anger. "You don't understand anything! Nothing that happened in those damn games!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "You don't know what it's like to see the blood of your friends run down your hands, you don't know what it's like to watch people you care about die but be thankful it wasn't you who died."

"Of course I do! Everyone here knows," Bruce replied, his tone full of determination." You can't just shut down like that."

"No, none of you know, you don't know what it's like to take someone else's place and have your family be happy that you're the one who's going to die."

The room fell into a tense silence, interrupted only by Tim's choked sobs. Bruce realized that, for the first time since his return, Tim was openly expressing the emotional baggage he was carrying.

Tim looked up at Bruce, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and resentment. "You...you were so glad it wasn't Damian who had to go to those games," Tim whispered bitterly. "You were happy that I took his place and not him. You all were..."

The room was plunged into a dense, emotionally charged silence. Tim's words reverberated in the air, carrying with them a burden of uncomfortable and painful truth. Bruce felt caught between frustration and understanding, his heart heavy with the weight of his son's accusations.

"Tim..." Bruce tried to begin, but the words seemed to choke in his throat. He felt helpless in the face of the emotional storm that was battering his son.

"Don't you understand, Bruce?", Tim's voice trembled, drenched in a pain Bruce couldn't ignore. "You all...you were all glad it was me, that it wasn't Damian, how can I forget that? You promised to help me, but none of you showed up."

Tim's words echoed in the room like a bitter echo. Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mixture of anger and disappointment boiling inside him. He was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on Tim, trying to find the right words.

"That's not true," Bruce replied in a firm voice, but his tone carried with it a burden of regret. "It wasn't a matter of preference, Tim, I couldn't protect any of you like I wanted to."

Tim looked away, his eyes burning with resentment. "Protect us? From what?" his voice rose, imbued with a tone of reproach. " I was sent into an arena filled with death and agony, and you all...settled for me to be the one to fight."

"Tim..." Bruce began in a strained voice, his eyes locked on his son's, "Do you really think it's easy for me...for us...to have seen all that?"

Bruce stepped closer to Tim, his countenance reflecting a mixture of pain and frustration. "It wasn't like that, Tim. We couldn't stop you from going there, but we always wanted your return, your safety."

"Back? Safety?" Tim burst out, his voice echoing with an anger-filled echo. "How can I feel safe after I've seen darkness, after I've stained my hands with the blood of others for an audience thirsty for entertainment?"

"Do you really think it was necessary to stain your hands with blood to survive?" Bruce asked with barely concealed bitterness. "There were other ways, Tim. You didn't need to..."

"You didn't need to, you say," Tim interrupted with a tone full of sarcasm and resentment. "You think I had options? In the arena, the rules were written by those who enjoy death. I didn't have a choice, Bruce. It was survive or be forgotten."

"You didn't realize what choices you had," Bruce retorted in a firm but sympathetic voice. "No matter how desperate the situation was, there was always another way out. I was able to survive without killing. Dick was able to do it. I taught you better, prepared you to survive."

Tim looked up at Bruce, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and pain. "You really think it was as easy as that, it's not a game, Bruce! It wasn't training, it was real life. Not everyone can stand on principle in the midst of death and mayhem."

Bruce clenched his fists, feeling a growing frustration. "But there are lines you shouldn't cross, Tim. No matter what you were facing, you shouldn't have gone that far."

"Would you rather I had died?"

The tension in the room mounted, each word exacerbating the rift between father and son. The pain in Tim's eyes reflected his bitterness, his sense of abandonment at a crucial moment.

"No, of course not, but that doesn't justify...".

"Do you think I didn't try?" cut Tim off "That I didn't look for an alternative? Do you think I wanted to be someone who has the blood of others on his hands?"

"I hear you, Tim," Bruce insisted. "But there were choices, there always are. And I can't be blind to what you did, or ignore the consequences of your actions."

"Consequences!" burst out Tim, his voice cracking. "Consequences...I carry with me every day. I don't need you to remind me."

The room was filled with an emotionally charged silence, neither of them knowing how to break the cycle of disagreement and resentment. The tension was palpable, every word a blow in the emotional battle father and son were waging. Tim, agitated and desperate, looked around, feeling the overwhelming pressure of the situation.

At that moment, Cassandra walked in followed closely by Jean-Paul Valley. His presence startled everyone in the room.

Jean-Paul quickly assessed the situation and, without a word, he approached to Tim, his presence imposing but serene.

"Cassandra told me that you had a nightmare" Jean-Paul said in a calm tone, his eyes fixed on Tim. "Do you want to tell me about it?".

Tim shook his head, still seeming to feel a glimmer of confidence next to Jean-Paul. He looked at Bruce, his face full of mixed emotions, and then at the others, searching for something in their eyes. However, his gaze found comfort in Jean-Paul's understanding, someone who seemed to see the world from a similar perspective to his own.

"I understand, Tim," Jean-Paul began in a soft voice, his tone revealing genuine empathy. "The Arena is a dark and traumatic place. What you experienced there, what you saw...no one should have to go through something like that."

Bruce watched the interaction with concern, wanting to help his son, but feeling helpless at the difficulty of communicating with Tim at that moment. The atmosphere became more tense when Jean-Paul pulled a small bottle of pills from his pocket. Tim looked at it with a mixture of recognition and wariness, as if the pills were a tangible reminder of his time in the Arena.

"Would you like to take something, Tim?" asked Jean-Paul,

Tim took the bottle, his fingers trembling slightly as he held it. Bruce, feeling the uneasiness grow inside him, couldn't help but wonder what kind of pills they were and why Jean-Paul seemed so clear about their effect on Tim.

"What are those pills?" asked Bruce cautiously, his gaze fixed on the bottle.

Jean-Paul looked at Bruce. "They were prescribed for him at the Capitol to calm him down and help him sleep. Don't worry, it will only help Tim find some peace of mind."

Bruce frowned, still not completely convinced of the nature of those pills, but Tim seemed willing to accept whatever relief they offered. After a moment's hesitation, Tim took a pill and stood up, looking around as if searching for a way out.

"I can't..." muttered Tim, his voice breaking with pain. "I can't keep pretending it's all right when it's not. I can't..."

Bruce's heart contracted at the helplessness of the situation. He knew he couldn't force Tim to talk or heal at his own pace. The distance between them seemed to grow with each passing second.

"Tim, please..." Bruce tried again, but his words faded into thin air, not reaching his son.

Tim took a step back, his gaze charged with a mixture of pain and determination. "I need time...to understand, to process all of this," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Could I stay with you for the day?" he asked, looking at Jean-Paul. 

"You know you don't need to ask. It's time for you to rest, Tim," Jean-Paul said softly, giving him firm but gentle support. "You can come with me for a while if you need to. I'll be there for you."

Bruce and Dick exchanged looks full of concern, while Jason frowned.

"Tim, I don't think that's a good idea," Bruce interjected, his tone reflecting a mixture of fatherly concern and frustration. "You can't just walk away from everything without talking about what you're feeling."

Dick nodded in agreement, supporting his father's concern. "You have your family here, Tim. We're here to help you get through this together."

Tim, however, kept his gaze determined, resisting giving in to his family's pleas. "I need space, I need time. I can't deal with all this here."

At that moment, Jean-Paul stepped in "Bruce, Dick, I understand your concern, but Tim needs and wants this time apart. You can't force him to stay."

Bruce frowned, feeling the frustration grow inside him. "But we're his family. We should be there for him, help him through this."

"Jean is my family too," Tim said. looking at his family once again "I'm sorry, but I need to do this."

Bruce and Dick tried to intervene, but Jean-Paul acted quickly and decisively. With a gesture Tim followed him, and they both left the room before Bruce could stop them.

Bruce stood still, feeling helplessness and worry clinging to him. Dick placed a hand on his shoulder, sharing his grief. Jason frowned, visibly annoyed by the situation.

"Damn it, what are we doing here?" muttered Jason, expressing shared frustration.

Bruce turned toward the door, his gaze fixed on the space where Tim had disappeared with Jean-Paul. 

"Could we have made a mistake in trusting Jean-Paul?" wondered Bruce aloud, struggling with his own decisions.

Dick nodded silently, sharing his father's doubts. "I never trusted him completely, Bruce. And now...I don't know what to expect."

Bruce's mind flashed back to the day of the Reaping, he clearly remembered the moment Jean-Paul convinced him to take his place as Tim's mentor at the Games. At the time, it had seemed like the best decision, but now, with Tim walking away with him, doubts plagued Bruce mind. He wondered if things would have been different if he had turned down that offer.