Chapter Text
Fitz Vacker is seventeen years old when he hears his name the second time.
He was fourteen when he heard it the first time, except now, there is no one to volunteer for him. Keefe Secen saved him three years ago, maybe not out of friendship, he understands now, but out of obligation.
Well. His father had always been insistent on the training for a reason. He walks, almost in shock. Just almost. He throws on a cheery smile, his stomach twisting into knots as he takes his place on the podium. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have longer. just a little bit longer.
But because he already had his chance at longer, no one speaks up.
He sees his slip of paper thrown away, discarded as it flies through the air and lands on the floor, somewhere out of his line of sight.
---
Keefe Sencen was thirteen years old when he volunteered for the hunger games
To this day, he is unsure what made him do it. But, no... He does, doesn't he?
Maybe it's because they were- are- best friends and Fitz would have done the same thing for him. He wouldn't.
That is because Fitz is a coward. And Keefe knew this. He knows this. But that's Fitz Vacker for you. A massive coward. A maybe unknowable coward to anyone but him, but he was Keefe’s coward nonetheless.
Or, maybe it's the look his father gave him as Fitz walked up there. It's been years now, and Keefe has forgotten what kind of look it was. But, whatever the glance felt like, it was enough. It was look that Keefe tries to ignore altogether. But Keefe has always been disobedient. He is not going take that road. And so he volunteers.
But then, maybe it's nothing.
It's just another reckless decision of his, just some desperate plea to get people to love him and not lose the one who pretends to.
That's Keefe for you. Funny. Likeable. Friendly. (Reckless, very smart, not very careful, not very lovable, not really real.)
They don’t talk about it. Not really. What’s there to talk about? Keefe went there, killed people, and came back the exact same. Maybe it was an interesting topic to the press, and they found the idea of the youngest victor in over fifty years a rather fascinating topic, but to him?
In truth, it’s like he never left. Not the arena, but their district. They asked and poured themselves asking questions like ‘Was it hard?’ or ‘How does it feel like being the youngest victor since forever?’ To which he would’ve scoffed. How do you think?
However, Fitz and Keefe now are different people. they are not thirteen and fourteen anymore but sixteen and seventeen.
And maybe Fitz was supposed to have one more year before he volunteered. So what? Keefe isn’t allowed to give a third chance.
—
When Sophie’s name is called, it is straight after Fitz Vacker and her heart sinks.
Both Grady and Edaline are in hysterics as they plead and beg and scream for someone to do anything, anyone to volunteer and save her. It’s okay. It’s fine. There always is a volunteer.
But no one calls out, and maybe it’s her. Maybe she’s so unlovable that not even the careers want to save someone like her. The freak. Don’t think that way. Her mind begs. She’s been over this.
But it really sinks in as she starts her way to the podium. She can see her parents screaming in the background. She can hear the despair on their faces and she thinks. Not again. They’re going to lose yet another daughter.
Her heart pangs as she takes her place next to the man with teal eyes. He turns to her and gives her a reassuring smile as if that is supposed to soothe her. She is still too shocked, too scared to process everything happening. She’s overwhelmed.
So when Fitz asks for her hand to take the photo that will get sent to the capitol, she doesn’t know why. Not really. But she does it.
Maybe it’s because inside her shoe, her sock is slipping off, or maybe it’s the fact that she’s wearing this frilly dress and she hates dresses, even if they look pretty on other people and she’s got sweat on the back of her neck that she can’t wipe off, her eyebrows are twitching and she can’t pull it and she is thinking too hard about the fact that she’ll never see her families again.
But maybe it’s the fact that she’s going to die anyways, because who is she really? Just some silly homeschooled girl.
And it’s not even intentional, but she doesn’t do anything to stop it.
So, for one reason or another, as Fitz takes her hand to pose, she slips, her hand falling right into his face, as she gasps in horror. She slaps him.
And that slap is the one that gets sent all over Panem.
—
“She slapped me!” Fitz yells as soon as they have their illusion of privacy. “Keefe, how am I supposed to work with this? My whole face is bruised!”
“They’ll cover it with makeup.” Keefe takes the ice pack and presses it to Fitz's cheek gently, cupping his face in the palm of his soft hands. The boy watches as Fitz scoffs and rolls his eyes, before knocking it out of his hands. Keefe picks it up without speaking.
“I just- I was supposed to have more time.” He whispers, his eyebrows squeezing together. “You made sure of that.”
Keefe frowns, but doesn't say anything. Again, he cups his hands against Fitz's cheeks and holds the ice pack to it. Fitz lets out a soft exhale.
“You have your familial meetings,” The boy says eventually. “I'll leave you to it.”
Fitz doesn't answer, doesn't turn around. Keefe leaves without a sound. He lies there, still, on the elegant couch while the creaky door knob turns slowly.
Biana is wearing a black dress, as if she has already dressed up for his funeral. Fitz has the urge to scream at her for not believing in him. His father enters the room and sits down. His mother follows.
They, he doesn’t know if he’s surprised, don’t carry Biana’s black. The pair are clad in white, and he feels like he’s burying them. He himself is just in a simple button-up. Biana sits next to him, and his parents, they take the opposite couch.
The room is silent at first. Too silent. There’s not really anything much to be said. Stay alive. Get home. Biana gives him a hug and that’s it. They leave.
That’s supposed to be just it. But words like ‘I love you.’ and ‘What if I don’t make it back’ slip out of his mouth far too easily and the reply is the same, is it not? Even if she’s in black and they’re in white. She has full confidence that he’ll make it and why wouldn’t he? Every Vacker has since the past fifty years.
He’s the golden boy in a family of golden people. The cream of the crop and really, he doesn’t know what he thinks. He will make it. He will win, this has been a fact. He just doesn’t know if he can survive it, but he nods and Biana gives him another hug.
“Fitz.” She breathes. “You have nothing to worry about. Keefe will make sure of it.”
And that was that.
—
Her parents are crying and Sophie just hopes that they’ll be able to move on. With a pang, she realizes she won’t get to say goodbye to Amy. She wasn't allowed to come and... now she's never going to see her little sister ever again. They haven't even gotten under the same roof yet. Edaline was weeks away from getting a permit to foster Amy. She left when Amy was eight, and now she's twelve when they get in contact again.
Grady and Edaline had lost their daughter, Jolie to the arena years before Sophie was fostered and then adopted by the pair. It’s complicated, and she loves her biological parents. However, Grady and Edaline were family and they truly were her parents now.
She swallows her spit. “I love you guys.” She tells them.
“We love you too, sweetheart.” Edaline replies, trying to keep her trembling voice steady for her sake and Sophie buries herself in her mother’s arms. Grady holds them together and it’s nice. It’s warm and in this world, even if no where else is, here is safe.
The time is up and they have to leave, but Sophie sinks further into the hug. “I don’t want to say goodbye.” She whispers.
“This can be a see you later,” Grady tells her lightly, but her expression sinks, pinched. He looks rabid. Both of them know she isn’t coming back.
Sophie hasn’t been trained for this kind of combat. They aren’t those families that train victors and volunteers.
The time given is far too short, and the goodbyes are far too long.
Dex, her best friend is next in the list of people visiting.
She can see the tears held back and she wants to tell him; Hey, don’t cry. Please. Not for me. It’ll be alright.
They sit in silence. It’s too loud, too suffocating, and Dex clears his throat. “Here,” He presses a small pin into her hand.
“Is that a moonlark?” She asks him.
“Was my aunt’s.” Her best friend tells her, sniffing. “Token district. Might give you luck.”
“Thank you,” She replies softly, fidgeting with the bird before slipping it into her pocket.
“Please come back.” Dex begs, reaching for her hand. “I can’t watch you die.”
She doesn’t know what to tell him.
And so, she’s led onto the train, sitting next to the boy with the stupidly cute eyes, and the handsome mentor who will surely save him over her.
The odds were never really in her favor.