Set Fire to the Rain (Part I)
Title: Set Fire to the Rain
Category: Drama/Horror
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Prentiss/Doyle, Morgan/Prentiss (if you squint)
Summary: Emily Prentiss has done the unthinkable - a Capitol girl who volunteered to compete in the annual Hunger Games to save her best friend from a sure death.
Author's Note: AU. Based on The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, though not technically a crossover. Written for the cm_bigbang.
Emily met Matthew’s eyes among the sea of children anxiously hoping not to hear their name called. Wordlessly, they reassured each other that it wasn’t going to be his name called; she had a feeling it was more for her benefit than his...for all the opulence she was entitled to, he was really all she cared about in the world.
Her mother liked to reach to the very bottom of the glass ball to fish out a name - God forbid gravity help out someone. Really, it was just because she liked to do things differently than the other escorts, to stand out, that’s why she always went with the boys first. Emily didn’t complain about that because once she knew Matthew was safe, she was free to breathe again.
She could feel her heart hammering uneasily in her throat as her mother finally selected a name and her golden fingernails sliced through the seal on the slip of paper. There was a brief moment of calm before the storm as her mother’s lips moved, but the words didn’t seem to materialize.
There was an automatic shuffling as the crowd parted to allow the unfortunate chosen one access to the stage. From her periphery, she saw no movement and she could feel her mother starting to get impatient.
“Matthew Benton,” she repeated. And that time Emily heard it. But she refused to believe it.
Jaw agape, she glanced from Matthew to her mother and back. There was no way; this simply couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t going to let it.
Matthew looked as disbelieving as she felt. He made no move to approach the stage until someone behind him shoved him forwards and the peacekeepers caught him by the arms and frogmarched him towards them.
Finally, she found her voice. She leapt forwards and attempted to swat the slip of paper out of her mother’s hands as if that would somehow make it untrue. “No!” she cried, “You have to pick someone else! Anyone but him!”
Her mother’s eyes turned to her and a switch controlling her artificially cheerful face was flicked, changing her expression into the cold, unfeeling glare she usually wore. “Emily, sit down,” she hissed. She was to be seen and not heard, that was the lesson that had been drilled into her since she was very young, when her mother had first inherited the position as escort and refused to leave Emily alone in the Capitol, knowing her penchant for getting into trouble.
“No! Not until you choose someone else!” She attempted to push Matthew back down the steps leading up to the stage, but she wasn’t quite quick enough and a peacekeeper caught her by the scruff of her neck and restrained her.
Her mother continued to ignore her pleas and ushered Matthew to the centre of the stage. She asked him a question, but Emily wasn’t listening, she was too busy desperately trying to figure out some way to save her best friend.
She wasn’t great at spur of the moment planning - which was part of the reason she tended to get into trouble - she instead tended towards making it up as she went along.
With all the force she could possibly muster in her small frame, she pivoted around on her heel and let her elbow make contact with the peacekeeper’s solar plexus, stunning him enough to release his grip on her as he doubled over trying to catch his breath.
She took off across the stage and pushed her mother out of her path where she was making her way to the glass ball holding the names of every eligible girl in the district. Her mother toppled slightly on her six inch heels, but managed to retain her balance, but the slight detour was enough to give Emily the advantage.
She reached the reaping ball first and shoved it off its pedestal. It seemed to shatter in slow motion as it met the metal stage, shards reaching all the way to the closest rows of assembled spectators. As one, the crowd seemed to gasp in shock and disbelief.
The wind picked up, as if on cue, and blew the paper slips every which way. Emily knew there was no way her mother would be running after them - certainly not in those heels.
“If Matthew’s going, I’m going with him,” she declared. She turned to meet her mother’s eyes, daring her to refuse to let her go.
It was a suicide mission, she knew. But she wasn’t planning on going home - she was going to make sure Matthew survived because he was the only person in the world that meant anything at all to her.
******
Her mother had refused to speak to her the entire first night on the train to the Capitol - to be honest, Emily hoped the silent treatment might last the entire period leading up to the Games...it would be the best gift she could possibly receive in her last days.
Unfortunately, the next morning, it became clear that her mother had no such plans to leave Emily to her own devices. By first light, she was already whisking her daughter up and out of bed for what she called a ‘thoroughly exciting day of studying and preparation’. Hardly Emily’s idea of excitement, but she went along with it because she couldn’t escape her mother’s clutches on a moving train.
“Where’s Matthew?” she asked as her mother sat her down before the screen in the train’s viewing room where they’d watched the other eleven reapings the night before.
“Never you mind,” her mother snapped. “He’ll take care of himself.” And before she could further protest, the footage of the reapings was being replayed, but with a running commentary of what her mother called the ‘best possible Capitol intel’ on the other tributes.
According to her mother, Mick Rawson and Megan Kane from District One were both extremely charming and used their sex appeal to their advantage. Mick was an expert sharp shooter with a blow gun, but was extremely skilled with just about anything that could be used to kill someone. Megan, on the other hand, preferred hand-to-hand combat and was known to play with her victims like a cat with a mouse until they begged for death, which is when she would snap their neck.
District Two, of course, were the tributes she needed to truly worry about. Ian Doyle and Elle Greenaway were already being widely acclaimed as the winners and the Games hadn’t even started yet. Ian’s weapon of choice was the spear, which he was deadly with both at short and long range. Elle, it was rumoured, was mentally unstable and had once killed a man. She relied on stealth and sharp, short-bladed knives to approach victims from behind and slit their throat.
From District Three, Frank Breitkopf and his beloved Jane Hanratty, both of which were a little ‘odd’. But then again, most people from District Three were thought of as being different. Frank was an inventor, like most of the citizens of the District, specializing specifically in medical innovations. Jane, however, seemed woefully unprepared, perhaps even unaware of the danger she was in...but Frank was her sworn protector so it didn’t really matter
District Four, the last of the ‘career districts’ would be sending Clyde Easter and Tsia Mosely. Clyde was kind of an egotist, not to mention an insufferable show off. His sword was like an extension of his body, wielded with ease and dexterity...not to mention he touted it as if it were a metaphor of his sexual prowess. Tsia was a well-known knife-throwing prodigy, though with a much smaller ego than her companion.
The male tribute from District Five, her mother warned her, was not to be underestimated. George Foyet had, reputedly, once survived a stabbing attack by a thus unknown murderer who had killed his girlfriend; according to rumours, though, Foyet had committed both attacks himself, though they had never been proven. He and the female tribute, Haley Brooks, already seemed to be sworn enemies. Though she looked harmless enough, she was a good shot with a bow.
Benjamin Cyrus from District Six, Emily was already quite familiar with. When Emily’s mother was training to become a mentor and Emily was too young to be left on her own, they’d travelled to District Six in order to observe the Reaping first-hand. Cyrus had cornered Emily while she was playing with a stray kitten, he himself not yet twelve, and had beaten her until she went crying to her mother with a black eye and a split lip. She was planning on keeping her distance from him after experiencing just how skilled he was at hand-to-hand combat. Ashley Seaver, she had never met, but she’d heard the other children whispering about her father who had been hung at the gallows by the Peacekeepers after murdering several women. Emily didn’t care to find out whether she had inherited her father’s skill with a blade.
As always, the District Seven tributes, John Blackwolf and Amber Canardo, were expectedly skilled with axes. Blackwolf was reported as being an excellent tracker who reputedly knew every plant and animal native to the District. Amber was a hunter who was good with wire traps, which translated into being a skilled garroter.
District Eight's Nathan Harris was reportedly a very troubled young boy who fantasized about killing women. This was his first year being eligible for the reaping; he was small and physically weak, but still somehow frightening. Sarah-Jean Dawes had married young to a much older man because she'd gotten pregnant. And while she stayed home raising their son, her husband had committed multiple murders for which he was later hanged. And though many people from the district pitied her, no one had been willing to step up and take her place, but she took her punishment with a steadfast quiet graciousness.
Though District Six was known for its abundance of morphling addicts, Tobias Hankel from District Ten had gotten addicted at a young age to dull the suffering his strict father inflicted upon him. No one expected much from someone whose mind was so dulled by drugs. Sydney Manning had caused quite a stir at the reaping and her mother was already fretting over the stir she was going to cause among the Capitol viewers and sponsors. They loved a good love story, she warned. While rather unassuming in and of herself, when her name was called, her long-time boyfriend Raymond became hysterical, desperately pleading to let him go with her and protect her, but he'd turned eighteen a week previously and was ineligible. Then, he'd taken a swing at one of the peacekeepers and was shot in the back, causing Sydney to be lead off the stage screaming.
Her mother bothered little with Districts Eleven and Twelve since she was certain that neither of them were likely to pose any sort of threat, considering the history of the Districts' performance. Jennifer Jareau and William LaMontagne from Eleven were a young married couple and Derek Morgan and Cindi Burns from Twelve were cousins. She did warn, though, that they would have the viewers' sympathy because both male tributes had volunteered to protect those important to them.
By the time her mother released her from the impromptu 'study session', Emily was feeling overwhelmed and was starting to doubt whether her decision was wise - how could she possibly protect Matthew against so many well-prepared tributes?
She fled to Matthew's room and, though he wasn't there, she didn't have the energy to go in search of him, instead she curled up in his bed. Weary and stressed, she felt slightly better as she inhaled his scent - like warm wheat - and cuddled deep in his still-warm bedding.
When he later found her in his bed, fast asleep, he couldn't help but laugh. He had been rather upset with her after the reaping, but she knew he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. It wasn’t as if things could be changed at this point, they were going into the Arena together and only one of them was going to make it out alive.
When he asked her why she’d done it, why she’d thrown away her life like that, she’d lied and told him it was because she wasn’t thinking clearly, she was too upset to act rationally. She knew that if she told him she had done it so that she could sacrifice her life for him, he would never let her go through with it.
That was the kind of friendship they had - both of them too stubborn to let the other do something foolish without trying to do something even more foolish to counteract it. Emily had a feeling he had feelings for her that ran deeper than friendship and maybe, if things had been different, she might’ve had feelings for him too, but she refused to let her only real friendship be ruined on the off chance that there might be something more between them.
Sighing, he brushed her hair from her forehead, then poked her sharply, waking her up. Chuckling at her confusion and alarm, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her cheek. “Time to be 'mentored', Sleeping Beauty.”
******
Emily groaned audibly and pulled the blankets up over her head as her mother came bustling into her room and changed the window to ‘ridiculously sunny’ setting.
“I had a little chat with your stylist because obviously we don’t want you dressed like some District Nine charity case when you should be dressed in proper Capitol finery...”
“Go away,” Emily mumbled from underneath her fortress of bed clothes.
Her mother continued on as if she hadn’t heard her. “But honest to goodness, it was like talking to a wall - I swear, she acted as if she didn’t even hear me. The nerve. Apparently the costumes are already made up and it’s too late to change anything. Well, you can rest assured that this will be her last Games if I have anything to say about it.”
“Go away,” Emily repeated, using her pillows to cover her ears.
The blankets slipped out of her grasp as her mother grabbed the opposite ends and tugged them off of her. “Get up, get up. We’ve got lots of work ahead of us. We’re already at a disadvantage; the other children have been preparing for this their whole lives.”
Emily let out a small scream and threw the nearest pillow in the direction of her mother’s voice. “Get out!” Hopefully her mother would be affronted enough to give her a few more minutes of sleep.
Unfortunately, that didn’t go quite as she’d hoped because almost immediately thereafter, Matthew came and sat on the end of her bed, laughing. “You should have seen the look on your mom’s face - she is pissed, muttering to herself about your bad manners and how she should leave you to your own devices to teach you a lesson... It was hilarious.”
“Matthew, I swear, if you don’t let me go back to sleep, I will hit you so hard your whole family will feel it...”
He just laughed harder and she was very seriously considering killing everyone if it meant getting another hour’s rest. Then, as if on cue, her door burst open yet again and, with a frustrated shriek, she rolled out of bed, kicking Matthew onto the floor as she did so.
“You, get out,” the newcomer demanded of Matthew, “Girls only.”
“Good luck,” he chuckled as he picked himself up, though which one of them he was speaking to wasn’t clear.
“Emily, warrior princess” the woman grinned, smiling widely as she shooed her towards the bathroom to shower. “I’m Penelope, your stylist...but you can just call me Garcia.” She winked conspiratorially, since the two had been friends since her mother has first taken the job as district escort and Garcia had taken pity on the sullen, lonely girl being dragged along everywhere. “Not that you need to worry about having people forget you - the little Capitol girl that could - but I’m here to give you that ‘wow’ factor that will make sure everyone is talking about you!”
Emily had always known Garcia was a ridiculously overly cheerful woman, but as of this moment, she decided she was far too cheerful for so early in the morning and she couldn’t help but hate her just a little.
******
Emily was used to being dressed up and shown off like a doll, it was a routine she was good at after years of practice. The night of the tribute parade, she was dressed in a long gold gown that shimmered in the light in a way reminiscent of a gust of wind blowing through a field of wheat. A circlet of wheat stalks rested up on perfectly curled and coiffed hair, making her head itch.
She had tried to escape her stylist’s enthusiasm by hiding in the stables, in the lower reaches of the training centre. She loved horses - they were her favourite part of the Tribute Parade, possibly the Games as a whole - she’d always connected much more easily with horses than with people (her mother always said it was because she was anti-social, but in fact, it was much simpler than that...she just didn’t like other people).
Despite the glamourous gown she wore, she knelt down next to one of the horses and fed it bits of carrot and braided its mane with wheat stalks like her own. She laughed softly as the horse snuffled at her hand, grabbing the carrot from her palm with its dexterous lips. She could almost forget in that moment that she was about to be paraded for the world to see like a steer at auction.
It was a short-lived respite, though, because with uncanny skill Garcia soon tracked her down and insisted on attacking her ‘atrociously pale’ skin with make ups and powders Emily didn’t even know the name of until she didn’t recognize the face in the mirror. It wasn’t tacky like most women seen throughout the Capitol, but it wasn’t her - she wouldn’t be caught dead in make up if it were up to her.
When Matthew eventually found her later, looking like a cheap televangelist in his matching golden suit, she watched him try to contain his laughter upon seeing the layer of colours on her face. To his credit, he managed to contain it quite well, managing to keep a straight face as he told her that she looked stunning.
She flashed a fleeting smile, but it was overshadowed by the dread of being put on display, along with the rest of the Capitol’s collection of new toys.
******
When they got inside the training centre, Emily was starting to regret throwing herself into this death trap.
All the other tributes, even the ones from the non-career districts, had at least some skill with a weapon. The ones from Seven knew how to use axes from time spent in the forest, the ones from Three could turn just about anything into a weapon from sheer ingenuity.
And then there was her: the little Capitol girl who wouldn’t know how to use a weapon if - or rather, when - her life depended on it. She even managed to fail at the survival skills. She was starting to think her plan to protect Matthew was going to fail miserably - he was going to be the one taking care of her.
Three days was not enough time to perfect a skill others had spent a lifetime learning.
At the moment, she was trying her hand at archery, though she had yet to produce results even remotely respectable. Matthew was shooting at the next target over and the instructor was cooing over what she called his ‘natural skill’.
When she felt the hand on her shoulder, Emily whirled around and nearly punched the person who had snuck up on her. He laughed as he easily deflected her fist. “Calm down, Princess,” he said, flashing a charming smile.
Emily narrowed her eyes, frowning. ‘Princess’? What was that supposed to mean?
She was about to tell him to fuck off when he turned her to face the target again and wrapped his hands around hers on the bow. “You’re not pulling the string back far enough,” he told her, “That’s why you keep falling short - you aren’t getting enough power.”
He guided her hand back until she felt his fingers brush her ear and a shiver ran the length of her spine. “You want the string beside your ear to get enough tension.”
Her arm started to shake from the effort of keeping the string taut enough - if it hadn’t been for his hand keeping it steady, she was sure the arrow would’ve clattered to the floor.
She couldn't bring herself to keep her eyes open to watch and see whether she actually hit the target. Really, she was just hoping she didn't somehow manage to accidentally shoot her mysterious benefactor.
Still tensed, cringing, and sightless as the arrow escaped her grasp, she felt a strong clap on her shoulder, a hearty chuckle in her ear as she was told to relax. The look with which she turned to glare at him just caused him to laugh harder.
“Derek Morgan,” he introduced himself, fighting to keep a straight face. “Why don't we head over to edible plants and I'll teach you a few things.”
Her glare faltered momentarily. “Why?”
“Why what?” he grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to guide her.
“Why are you helping me? She bristled a little, feeling like a charity case.
He shrugged, but smiled in a mysterious way that somehow put her mind at ease and made her instantly feel she could trust him.
******
Emily didn’t cross paths with Derek again until the next day at lunch when he slid into the seat beside her with a tray full of food. He proceeded to steal a handful of grapes that tasted like strawberries from her plate. And when she started to protest, he flashed that smile and she could do nothing but glare at him.
Through his mouthful of pilfered fruit, he said, “I’ve been thinking you and I should make an alliance. Because, let’s be honest, you’re not exactly winning any prizes for your weapons skill.”
“Hey!” she started, indignant, but couldn’t exactly say that he was wrong, so she left it at that. She glanced towards where Matthew was sampling various fruits from the food carts with comical faces. She estimated she had enough time before he returned to his seat. “I can’t team up with you. You’re just one more person standing in the way of me sending Matthew home.”
“Hey, I get it,” she shrugged, “I’m here to make sure my cousin gets home safe. I promised her mama that I would look after her and I stand by that promise. It’ll break my Mama’s heart, but she’ll understand...besides, she’s got my sisters. All Auntie’s got is Cindi.”
Emily attempted a look of what she hoped was empathy. He was making it really hard for her to not think of the other tributes as real people.
“I was just thinking that we might stand a better chance of keeping them alive together...then you and I can off each other and leave them to fight it out between themselves. At least one of them could make it home and you and I will know we did all we could to keep them alive.”
She wrinkled her nose, thinking. She liked the idea of having someone else protecting Matthew, but at the same time, it wasn’t a guarantee for his survival. Not that she could do much better on her own, if she was completely honest...
But the time for discussing it was over because Matthew had finally finished sampling the delicacies and was setting a tray laden with food on the table. “You are such a pig,” Emily laughed, “You’re going to puke all over the training room floor when we run that obstacle course after lunch...”
******
David Rossi flashed a charming smile as he welcomed Emily onto the stage. “You all know and love her, the little Capitol girl who defied all expectations with her bleeding heart for the plight of our friends in the Districts...”
Emily teetered on the edge of the stage behind the sparkling purple velvet curtains, her head swimming with dizziness and anxiety. Maybe if she hoped long and hard enough, she thought, the ground would open and swallow her up. Except, she knew that wasn't about to happen because she never got what she wanted.
She wasn't nervous, per se; Emily Prentiss was never nervous. She'd just rather be anywhere else in that moment. Despite years of schmoozing, fake smiling, and feigning interest at her mother's ritzy Hunger Games viewing parties, this was the situation of her nightmares; more so even than actually entering the arena.
She was not charming. She was not personable. She was not known for her winning personality. She was sarcastic, self-deprecating, dark, and oh-so utterly socially awkward. Right now, all she was hoping for was not to immediately stick her foot in her mouth and try not to let her utter dread appear on her face as David Rossi once again called her name - her cue to come on stage - and she tried not to stumble in her sky-high heels.
The stage lights were overwhelmingly bright and radiated heat like direct sunlight and a fine sheen of sweat immediately permeated the layer of makeup on her face. She felt like every sound came from underwater and her vision swam as she somehow found her seat on the stage.
Rossi was saying a lot of things and she couldn't quite piece enough words together to form a logical sentence. The only word that stuck in her mind was mother and after a long moment of anticipatory silence from the audience, she realized he meant her mother.
“Oh, well, she...umm...” She was pretty sure she sounded like a complete idiot in that moment.
“I'm sure she was quite upset - I know I'd be absolutely devastated if I had a daughter who was going to compete in the Games.”
Okay, now she understood the question. And it made her want to laugh out loud, but she managed to contain it long enough to sort of form an answer. “Well, I guess...I think she was mostly mad at me.”
He quirked a brow and she was starting to think that maybe she should be telling a little less of the truth. “I'm sure that's not true - she's probably just masking her sadness. I imagine she's incredibly proud of you for your caring, selfless spirit; I don't know anyone else that would volunteer the way you did. It's an inspiring example of the Capitol's kindness towards the Districts.”
“Yeah, I don't think that's it either,” she said slowly. “That's not her style.”
“Well, what is she like? How would you describe her as a mother?”
Emily shut her eyes tightly and silently cursed, wishing she could just die in that moment. This was the worst torture ever, in her mind. “She's...devoted to her job,” she shrugged, finding a perfect political answer. “But I'd really prefer not to talk about her - this is my battle and mine alone.” She winced internally; she wasn't going to have a single sponsor after tonight. “I think she gets enough publicity already as District escort...it's my turn.”
Rossi chuckled. “Fair enough. What about your fellow District Nine tribute? Is he a special friend of yours?”
She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “No, no, definitely not, we're just best friends. And that's hard enough to manage when I only get to see him once or twice a year. But he's the most important person in the world to me.” The audience gave a prolonged sad sigh, won over instantly by her devotion.
******
It was the middle of the night when Emily went in search of Derek to tell him that she needed him as her ally.
It was a little late and probably not the best idea at this time of night, especially on the night before they were launched into the arena. But she had a feeling that he was a lot like her and would be unable to find sleep, overwhelmed by the obligation in which he would shortly be face-to-face with.
She found him on the roof, staring off into the perma-daylight of the city, back to her. “Are they still screaming your name?” she asked quietly, so as not to spook him, not sure if he'd heard her approach.
“Are you making fun of me, Princess?” He wasn't facing her, but she could tell from his voice that he was smiling.
She rolled her eyes. “I'm pretty sure I saw a girl in the audience with a 'Marry me, Derek Morgan!?' sign. You're the Capitol's new sweetheart...you're too damn good looking.”
He laughed and turned around to tip her a wink. “You're not so bad on the eyes either.”
“Shut up.” She punched him in the shoulder as she came to sit down next him. “Can we be serious for a minute?”
He sighed exasperatedly, sitting down beside her, still grinning. “What's on your mind, Princess?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I know I don't have a single useable quality that would make you want to team up with me - the only reason I got a score higher than a two was because the Gamemaker's all want the Capitol girl to win - but I need you on my side. Please, help me keep Matthew alive.”
He pressed a kiss against her temple. “I already promised I would. You should be sleeping, you look like a wreck.”
She mashed her lips together. “Gee, thanks...”
He ushered her back onto the elevator before she could say anything more and she was still a little confused about what had just happened when she stepped off onto her floor and ran straight into her mother.
She winced immediately, anticipating the verbal assault to come. But instead of the shouting she expected, her mother in a cold, slow voice, demanded, “Get into bed. Now.”
“I was just...” she started to explain that she'd needed fresh air.
“I said now.”
Suddenly in a bitter mood, she huffed and shot her mother a frosty glare, turning on her heel to stomp off to her room.
As she disappeared behind her door the elevator once again opened onto their floor, this time admitting the boy from District Two whom her mother greeted with her most charmingly political smile.
“Can we make this quick?” the boy drawled immediately. “If they notice I'm gone, I will be in severe trouble and I won't hesitate to point the blame squarely in your direction.”
Elizabeth smiled. “That's just the fighting spirit I need. And I have something you need as well... I can make life in the arena for you very easy or very difficult. You won't survive two days without sponsors and I can get them for you, assuming you agree to help me. If not, I'll make sure you don't see a single gift.”
Ian's attention was piqued. This woman clearly knew how to play ball. “What are your terms?”
“As I'm sure you've guessed, my daughter has a mind of her own and I can't have her running around in the arena like some District brat - no offence - blindly trying to survive. And as I'm also sure you've guessed, she won't last one hour on her own...she scored a five for crying out loud. What she needs is someone looking out for her, someone who scored an eleven. That someone will be you, understand?”
Ian smiled, charming yet dangerous. “As you wish, ma'am.”
“And make sure you get rid of that boy she volunteered for - maybe then she'll get a brain and start thinking about her own survival.
******
Emily wasn't a morning person, even less so after a night of fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep - and she was never shy about letting everyone know. But this morning, during the hovercraft ride to the arena, she remained thoughtfully silent.
Garcia knew well how to read her by this point and she knew better than to disrupt Emily's overwhelmed brain. She said nothing the entire ride to the arena. She said nothing as she dressed Emily in the tribute uniform of loose durable pants - reinforced in the knees and stretchy enough to allow for easy climbing, a breathable form-fitting tank top for hot afternoons, and a plush down-filled jacket with a hood - capable of folding down into a built-in pocket - with the number nine stitched in orange on the back, and flexible rubbery soled shoes.
“I'm sorry the shoes are so ugly” she finally broke the silence. “I didn't have any say in the matter despite my numerous vociferous protests on the grounds of hideousness.”
“They hurt my feet,” Emily said quietly, thoughtfully.
Leaning close to whisper conspiratorially, Garcia told her, “You'll need them where you're going. Think about it.”
Without another word, Emily sat down on the uncomfortable stone bench and scuffed her toe against a stone stuck in the hard-packed dirt floor.
Garcia sighed, then reached out to clasp Emily's hands. “Come home,” she murmured softly, “I know how scared you must be, how you're going to somewhere dark, somewhere you're all alone...but you're not alone. We're all there with you and we're going to bring you home. That's all we care about. We're going to bring you home.”
She was getting teary and Emily opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water several times, struggling to find something to say. Before she could, a mechanical overly pleasant female voice announced that it was time to get into the tube that would launch her into the arena.
Garcia gave her a too-tight hug that forced the air out of her lungs in a comforting sort of way and Emily never wanted her to let go.
Category: Drama/Horror
Rating: FRT
Pairing: Prentiss/Doyle, Morgan/Prentiss (if you squint)
Summary: Emily Prentiss has done the unthinkable - a Capitol girl who volunteered to compete in the annual Hunger Games to save her best friend from a sure death.
Author's Note: AU. Based on The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, though not technically a crossover. Written for the cm_bigbang.
Emily met Matthew’s eyes among the sea of children anxiously hoping not to hear their name called. Wordlessly, they reassured each other that it wasn’t going to be his name called; she had a feeling it was more for her benefit than his...for all the opulence she was entitled to, he was really all she cared about in the world.
Her mother liked to reach to the very bottom of the glass ball to fish out a name - God forbid gravity help out someone. Really, it was just because she liked to do things differently than the other escorts, to stand out, that’s why she always went with the boys first. Emily didn’t complain about that because once she knew Matthew was safe, she was free to breathe again.
She could feel her heart hammering uneasily in her throat as her mother finally selected a name and her golden fingernails sliced through the seal on the slip of paper. There was a brief moment of calm before the storm as her mother’s lips moved, but the words didn’t seem to materialize.
There was an automatic shuffling as the crowd parted to allow the unfortunate chosen one access to the stage. From her periphery, she saw no movement and she could feel her mother starting to get impatient.
“Matthew Benton,” she repeated. And that time Emily heard it. But she refused to believe it.
Jaw agape, she glanced from Matthew to her mother and back. There was no way; this simply couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t going to let it.
Matthew looked as disbelieving as she felt. He made no move to approach the stage until someone behind him shoved him forwards and the peacekeepers caught him by the arms and frogmarched him towards them.
Finally, she found her voice. She leapt forwards and attempted to swat the slip of paper out of her mother’s hands as if that would somehow make it untrue. “No!” she cried, “You have to pick someone else! Anyone but him!”
Her mother’s eyes turned to her and a switch controlling her artificially cheerful face was flicked, changing her expression into the cold, unfeeling glare she usually wore. “Emily, sit down,” she hissed. She was to be seen and not heard, that was the lesson that had been drilled into her since she was very young, when her mother had first inherited the position as escort and refused to leave Emily alone in the Capitol, knowing her penchant for getting into trouble.
“No! Not until you choose someone else!” She attempted to push Matthew back down the steps leading up to the stage, but she wasn’t quite quick enough and a peacekeeper caught her by the scruff of her neck and restrained her.
Her mother continued to ignore her pleas and ushered Matthew to the centre of the stage. She asked him a question, but Emily wasn’t listening, she was too busy desperately trying to figure out some way to save her best friend.
She wasn’t great at spur of the moment planning - which was part of the reason she tended to get into trouble - she instead tended towards making it up as she went along.
With all the force she could possibly muster in her small frame, she pivoted around on her heel and let her elbow make contact with the peacekeeper’s solar plexus, stunning him enough to release his grip on her as he doubled over trying to catch his breath.
She took off across the stage and pushed her mother out of her path where she was making her way to the glass ball holding the names of every eligible girl in the district. Her mother toppled slightly on her six inch heels, but managed to retain her balance, but the slight detour was enough to give Emily the advantage.
She reached the reaping ball first and shoved it off its pedestal. It seemed to shatter in slow motion as it met the metal stage, shards reaching all the way to the closest rows of assembled spectators. As one, the crowd seemed to gasp in shock and disbelief.
The wind picked up, as if on cue, and blew the paper slips every which way. Emily knew there was no way her mother would be running after them - certainly not in those heels.
“If Matthew’s going, I’m going with him,” she declared. She turned to meet her mother’s eyes, daring her to refuse to let her go.
It was a suicide mission, she knew. But she wasn’t planning on going home - she was going to make sure Matthew survived because he was the only person in the world that meant anything at all to her.
******
Her mother had refused to speak to her the entire first night on the train to the Capitol - to be honest, Emily hoped the silent treatment might last the entire period leading up to the Games...it would be the best gift she could possibly receive in her last days.
Unfortunately, the next morning, it became clear that her mother had no such plans to leave Emily to her own devices. By first light, she was already whisking her daughter up and out of bed for what she called a ‘thoroughly exciting day of studying and preparation’. Hardly Emily’s idea of excitement, but she went along with it because she couldn’t escape her mother’s clutches on a moving train.
“Where’s Matthew?” she asked as her mother sat her down before the screen in the train’s viewing room where they’d watched the other eleven reapings the night before.
“Never you mind,” her mother snapped. “He’ll take care of himself.” And before she could further protest, the footage of the reapings was being replayed, but with a running commentary of what her mother called the ‘best possible Capitol intel’ on the other tributes.
According to her mother, Mick Rawson and Megan Kane from District One were both extremely charming and used their sex appeal to their advantage. Mick was an expert sharp shooter with a blow gun, but was extremely skilled with just about anything that could be used to kill someone. Megan, on the other hand, preferred hand-to-hand combat and was known to play with her victims like a cat with a mouse until they begged for death, which is when she would snap their neck.
District Two, of course, were the tributes she needed to truly worry about. Ian Doyle and Elle Greenaway were already being widely acclaimed as the winners and the Games hadn’t even started yet. Ian’s weapon of choice was the spear, which he was deadly with both at short and long range. Elle, it was rumoured, was mentally unstable and had once killed a man. She relied on stealth and sharp, short-bladed knives to approach victims from behind and slit their throat.
From District Three, Frank Breitkopf and his beloved Jane Hanratty, both of which were a little ‘odd’. But then again, most people from District Three were thought of as being different. Frank was an inventor, like most of the citizens of the District, specializing specifically in medical innovations. Jane, however, seemed woefully unprepared, perhaps even unaware of the danger she was in...but Frank was her sworn protector so it didn’t really matter
District Four, the last of the ‘career districts’ would be sending Clyde Easter and Tsia Mosely. Clyde was kind of an egotist, not to mention an insufferable show off. His sword was like an extension of his body, wielded with ease and dexterity...not to mention he touted it as if it were a metaphor of his sexual prowess. Tsia was a well-known knife-throwing prodigy, though with a much smaller ego than her companion.
The male tribute from District Five, her mother warned her, was not to be underestimated. George Foyet had, reputedly, once survived a stabbing attack by a thus unknown murderer who had killed his girlfriend; according to rumours, though, Foyet had committed both attacks himself, though they had never been proven. He and the female tribute, Haley Brooks, already seemed to be sworn enemies. Though she looked harmless enough, she was a good shot with a bow.
Benjamin Cyrus from District Six, Emily was already quite familiar with. When Emily’s mother was training to become a mentor and Emily was too young to be left on her own, they’d travelled to District Six in order to observe the Reaping first-hand. Cyrus had cornered Emily while she was playing with a stray kitten, he himself not yet twelve, and had beaten her until she went crying to her mother with a black eye and a split lip. She was planning on keeping her distance from him after experiencing just how skilled he was at hand-to-hand combat. Ashley Seaver, she had never met, but she’d heard the other children whispering about her father who had been hung at the gallows by the Peacekeepers after murdering several women. Emily didn’t care to find out whether she had inherited her father’s skill with a blade.
As always, the District Seven tributes, John Blackwolf and Amber Canardo, were expectedly skilled with axes. Blackwolf was reported as being an excellent tracker who reputedly knew every plant and animal native to the District. Amber was a hunter who was good with wire traps, which translated into being a skilled garroter.
District Eight's Nathan Harris was reportedly a very troubled young boy who fantasized about killing women. This was his first year being eligible for the reaping; he was small and physically weak, but still somehow frightening. Sarah-Jean Dawes had married young to a much older man because she'd gotten pregnant. And while she stayed home raising their son, her husband had committed multiple murders for which he was later hanged. And though many people from the district pitied her, no one had been willing to step up and take her place, but she took her punishment with a steadfast quiet graciousness.
Though District Six was known for its abundance of morphling addicts, Tobias Hankel from District Ten had gotten addicted at a young age to dull the suffering his strict father inflicted upon him. No one expected much from someone whose mind was so dulled by drugs. Sydney Manning had caused quite a stir at the reaping and her mother was already fretting over the stir she was going to cause among the Capitol viewers and sponsors. They loved a good love story, she warned. While rather unassuming in and of herself, when her name was called, her long-time boyfriend Raymond became hysterical, desperately pleading to let him go with her and protect her, but he'd turned eighteen a week previously and was ineligible. Then, he'd taken a swing at one of the peacekeepers and was shot in the back, causing Sydney to be lead off the stage screaming.
Her mother bothered little with Districts Eleven and Twelve since she was certain that neither of them were likely to pose any sort of threat, considering the history of the Districts' performance. Jennifer Jareau and William LaMontagne from Eleven were a young married couple and Derek Morgan and Cindi Burns from Twelve were cousins. She did warn, though, that they would have the viewers' sympathy because both male tributes had volunteered to protect those important to them.
By the time her mother released her from the impromptu 'study session', Emily was feeling overwhelmed and was starting to doubt whether her decision was wise - how could she possibly protect Matthew against so many well-prepared tributes?
She fled to Matthew's room and, though he wasn't there, she didn't have the energy to go in search of him, instead she curled up in his bed. Weary and stressed, she felt slightly better as she inhaled his scent - like warm wheat - and cuddled deep in his still-warm bedding.
When he later found her in his bed, fast asleep, he couldn't help but laugh. He had been rather upset with her after the reaping, but she knew he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. It wasn’t as if things could be changed at this point, they were going into the Arena together and only one of them was going to make it out alive.
When he asked her why she’d done it, why she’d thrown away her life like that, she’d lied and told him it was because she wasn’t thinking clearly, she was too upset to act rationally. She knew that if she told him she had done it so that she could sacrifice her life for him, he would never let her go through with it.
That was the kind of friendship they had - both of them too stubborn to let the other do something foolish without trying to do something even more foolish to counteract it. Emily had a feeling he had feelings for her that ran deeper than friendship and maybe, if things had been different, she might’ve had feelings for him too, but she refused to let her only real friendship be ruined on the off chance that there might be something more between them.
Sighing, he brushed her hair from her forehead, then poked her sharply, waking her up. Chuckling at her confusion and alarm, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissing her cheek. “Time to be 'mentored', Sleeping Beauty.”
******
Emily groaned audibly and pulled the blankets up over her head as her mother came bustling into her room and changed the window to ‘ridiculously sunny’ setting.
“I had a little chat with your stylist because obviously we don’t want you dressed like some District Nine charity case when you should be dressed in proper Capitol finery...”
“Go away,” Emily mumbled from underneath her fortress of bed clothes.
Her mother continued on as if she hadn’t heard her. “But honest to goodness, it was like talking to a wall - I swear, she acted as if she didn’t even hear me. The nerve. Apparently the costumes are already made up and it’s too late to change anything. Well, you can rest assured that this will be her last Games if I have anything to say about it.”
“Go away,” Emily repeated, using her pillows to cover her ears.
The blankets slipped out of her grasp as her mother grabbed the opposite ends and tugged them off of her. “Get up, get up. We’ve got lots of work ahead of us. We’re already at a disadvantage; the other children have been preparing for this their whole lives.”
Emily let out a small scream and threw the nearest pillow in the direction of her mother’s voice. “Get out!” Hopefully her mother would be affronted enough to give her a few more minutes of sleep.
Unfortunately, that didn’t go quite as she’d hoped because almost immediately thereafter, Matthew came and sat on the end of her bed, laughing. “You should have seen the look on your mom’s face - she is pissed, muttering to herself about your bad manners and how she should leave you to your own devices to teach you a lesson... It was hilarious.”
“Matthew, I swear, if you don’t let me go back to sleep, I will hit you so hard your whole family will feel it...”
He just laughed harder and she was very seriously considering killing everyone if it meant getting another hour’s rest. Then, as if on cue, her door burst open yet again and, with a frustrated shriek, she rolled out of bed, kicking Matthew onto the floor as she did so.
“You, get out,” the newcomer demanded of Matthew, “Girls only.”
“Good luck,” he chuckled as he picked himself up, though which one of them he was speaking to wasn’t clear.
“Emily, warrior princess” the woman grinned, smiling widely as she shooed her towards the bathroom to shower. “I’m Penelope, your stylist...but you can just call me Garcia.” She winked conspiratorially, since the two had been friends since her mother has first taken the job as district escort and Garcia had taken pity on the sullen, lonely girl being dragged along everywhere. “Not that you need to worry about having people forget you - the little Capitol girl that could - but I’m here to give you that ‘wow’ factor that will make sure everyone is talking about you!”
Emily had always known Garcia was a ridiculously overly cheerful woman, but as of this moment, she decided she was far too cheerful for so early in the morning and she couldn’t help but hate her just a little.
******
Emily was used to being dressed up and shown off like a doll, it was a routine she was good at after years of practice. The night of the tribute parade, she was dressed in a long gold gown that shimmered in the light in a way reminiscent of a gust of wind blowing through a field of wheat. A circlet of wheat stalks rested up on perfectly curled and coiffed hair, making her head itch.
She had tried to escape her stylist’s enthusiasm by hiding in the stables, in the lower reaches of the training centre. She loved horses - they were her favourite part of the Tribute Parade, possibly the Games as a whole - she’d always connected much more easily with horses than with people (her mother always said it was because she was anti-social, but in fact, it was much simpler than that...she just didn’t like other people).
Despite the glamourous gown she wore, she knelt down next to one of the horses and fed it bits of carrot and braided its mane with wheat stalks like her own. She laughed softly as the horse snuffled at her hand, grabbing the carrot from her palm with its dexterous lips. She could almost forget in that moment that she was about to be paraded for the world to see like a steer at auction.
It was a short-lived respite, though, because with uncanny skill Garcia soon tracked her down and insisted on attacking her ‘atrociously pale’ skin with make ups and powders Emily didn’t even know the name of until she didn’t recognize the face in the mirror. It wasn’t tacky like most women seen throughout the Capitol, but it wasn’t her - she wouldn’t be caught dead in make up if it were up to her.
When Matthew eventually found her later, looking like a cheap televangelist in his matching golden suit, she watched him try to contain his laughter upon seeing the layer of colours on her face. To his credit, he managed to contain it quite well, managing to keep a straight face as he told her that she looked stunning.
She flashed a fleeting smile, but it was overshadowed by the dread of being put on display, along with the rest of the Capitol’s collection of new toys.
******
When they got inside the training centre, Emily was starting to regret throwing herself into this death trap.
All the other tributes, even the ones from the non-career districts, had at least some skill with a weapon. The ones from Seven knew how to use axes from time spent in the forest, the ones from Three could turn just about anything into a weapon from sheer ingenuity.
And then there was her: the little Capitol girl who wouldn’t know how to use a weapon if - or rather, when - her life depended on it. She even managed to fail at the survival skills. She was starting to think her plan to protect Matthew was going to fail miserably - he was going to be the one taking care of her.
Three days was not enough time to perfect a skill others had spent a lifetime learning.
At the moment, she was trying her hand at archery, though she had yet to produce results even remotely respectable. Matthew was shooting at the next target over and the instructor was cooing over what she called his ‘natural skill’.
When she felt the hand on her shoulder, Emily whirled around and nearly punched the person who had snuck up on her. He laughed as he easily deflected her fist. “Calm down, Princess,” he said, flashing a charming smile.
Emily narrowed her eyes, frowning. ‘Princess’? What was that supposed to mean?
She was about to tell him to fuck off when he turned her to face the target again and wrapped his hands around hers on the bow. “You’re not pulling the string back far enough,” he told her, “That’s why you keep falling short - you aren’t getting enough power.”
He guided her hand back until she felt his fingers brush her ear and a shiver ran the length of her spine. “You want the string beside your ear to get enough tension.”
Her arm started to shake from the effort of keeping the string taut enough - if it hadn’t been for his hand keeping it steady, she was sure the arrow would’ve clattered to the floor.
She couldn't bring herself to keep her eyes open to watch and see whether she actually hit the target. Really, she was just hoping she didn't somehow manage to accidentally shoot her mysterious benefactor.
Still tensed, cringing, and sightless as the arrow escaped her grasp, she felt a strong clap on her shoulder, a hearty chuckle in her ear as she was told to relax. The look with which she turned to glare at him just caused him to laugh harder.
“Derek Morgan,” he introduced himself, fighting to keep a straight face. “Why don't we head over to edible plants and I'll teach you a few things.”
Her glare faltered momentarily. “Why?”
“Why what?” he grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulder to guide her.
“Why are you helping me? She bristled a little, feeling like a charity case.
He shrugged, but smiled in a mysterious way that somehow put her mind at ease and made her instantly feel she could trust him.
******
Emily didn’t cross paths with Derek again until the next day at lunch when he slid into the seat beside her with a tray full of food. He proceeded to steal a handful of grapes that tasted like strawberries from her plate. And when she started to protest, he flashed that smile and she could do nothing but glare at him.
Through his mouthful of pilfered fruit, he said, “I’ve been thinking you and I should make an alliance. Because, let’s be honest, you’re not exactly winning any prizes for your weapons skill.”
“Hey!” she started, indignant, but couldn’t exactly say that he was wrong, so she left it at that. She glanced towards where Matthew was sampling various fruits from the food carts with comical faces. She estimated she had enough time before he returned to his seat. “I can’t team up with you. You’re just one more person standing in the way of me sending Matthew home.”
“Hey, I get it,” she shrugged, “I’m here to make sure my cousin gets home safe. I promised her mama that I would look after her and I stand by that promise. It’ll break my Mama’s heart, but she’ll understand...besides, she’s got my sisters. All Auntie’s got is Cindi.”
Emily attempted a look of what she hoped was empathy. He was making it really hard for her to not think of the other tributes as real people.
“I was just thinking that we might stand a better chance of keeping them alive together...then you and I can off each other and leave them to fight it out between themselves. At least one of them could make it home and you and I will know we did all we could to keep them alive.”
She wrinkled her nose, thinking. She liked the idea of having someone else protecting Matthew, but at the same time, it wasn’t a guarantee for his survival. Not that she could do much better on her own, if she was completely honest...
But the time for discussing it was over because Matthew had finally finished sampling the delicacies and was setting a tray laden with food on the table. “You are such a pig,” Emily laughed, “You’re going to puke all over the training room floor when we run that obstacle course after lunch...”
******
David Rossi flashed a charming smile as he welcomed Emily onto the stage. “You all know and love her, the little Capitol girl who defied all expectations with her bleeding heart for the plight of our friends in the Districts...”
Emily teetered on the edge of the stage behind the sparkling purple velvet curtains, her head swimming with dizziness and anxiety. Maybe if she hoped long and hard enough, she thought, the ground would open and swallow her up. Except, she knew that wasn't about to happen because she never got what she wanted.
She wasn't nervous, per se; Emily Prentiss was never nervous. She'd just rather be anywhere else in that moment. Despite years of schmoozing, fake smiling, and feigning interest at her mother's ritzy Hunger Games viewing parties, this was the situation of her nightmares; more so even than actually entering the arena.
She was not charming. She was not personable. She was not known for her winning personality. She was sarcastic, self-deprecating, dark, and oh-so utterly socially awkward. Right now, all she was hoping for was not to immediately stick her foot in her mouth and try not to let her utter dread appear on her face as David Rossi once again called her name - her cue to come on stage - and she tried not to stumble in her sky-high heels.
The stage lights were overwhelmingly bright and radiated heat like direct sunlight and a fine sheen of sweat immediately permeated the layer of makeup on her face. She felt like every sound came from underwater and her vision swam as she somehow found her seat on the stage.
Rossi was saying a lot of things and she couldn't quite piece enough words together to form a logical sentence. The only word that stuck in her mind was mother and after a long moment of anticipatory silence from the audience, she realized he meant her mother.
“Oh, well, she...umm...” She was pretty sure she sounded like a complete idiot in that moment.
“I'm sure she was quite upset - I know I'd be absolutely devastated if I had a daughter who was going to compete in the Games.”
Okay, now she understood the question. And it made her want to laugh out loud, but she managed to contain it long enough to sort of form an answer. “Well, I guess...I think she was mostly mad at me.”
He quirked a brow and she was starting to think that maybe she should be telling a little less of the truth. “I'm sure that's not true - she's probably just masking her sadness. I imagine she's incredibly proud of you for your caring, selfless spirit; I don't know anyone else that would volunteer the way you did. It's an inspiring example of the Capitol's kindness towards the Districts.”
“Yeah, I don't think that's it either,” she said slowly. “That's not her style.”
“Well, what is she like? How would you describe her as a mother?”
Emily shut her eyes tightly and silently cursed, wishing she could just die in that moment. This was the worst torture ever, in her mind. “She's...devoted to her job,” she shrugged, finding a perfect political answer. “But I'd really prefer not to talk about her - this is my battle and mine alone.” She winced internally; she wasn't going to have a single sponsor after tonight. “I think she gets enough publicity already as District escort...it's my turn.”
Rossi chuckled. “Fair enough. What about your fellow District Nine tribute? Is he a special friend of yours?”
She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “No, no, definitely not, we're just best friends. And that's hard enough to manage when I only get to see him once or twice a year. But he's the most important person in the world to me.” The audience gave a prolonged sad sigh, won over instantly by her devotion.
******
It was the middle of the night when Emily went in search of Derek to tell him that she needed him as her ally.
It was a little late and probably not the best idea at this time of night, especially on the night before they were launched into the arena. But she had a feeling that he was a lot like her and would be unable to find sleep, overwhelmed by the obligation in which he would shortly be face-to-face with.
She found him on the roof, staring off into the perma-daylight of the city, back to her. “Are they still screaming your name?” she asked quietly, so as not to spook him, not sure if he'd heard her approach.
“Are you making fun of me, Princess?” He wasn't facing her, but she could tell from his voice that he was smiling.
She rolled her eyes. “I'm pretty sure I saw a girl in the audience with a 'Marry me, Derek Morgan!?' sign. You're the Capitol's new sweetheart...you're too damn good looking.”
He laughed and turned around to tip her a wink. “You're not so bad on the eyes either.”
“Shut up.” She punched him in the shoulder as she came to sit down next him. “Can we be serious for a minute?”
He sighed exasperatedly, sitting down beside her, still grinning. “What's on your mind, Princess?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“I know I don't have a single useable quality that would make you want to team up with me - the only reason I got a score higher than a two was because the Gamemaker's all want the Capitol girl to win - but I need you on my side. Please, help me keep Matthew alive.”
He pressed a kiss against her temple. “I already promised I would. You should be sleeping, you look like a wreck.”
She mashed her lips together. “Gee, thanks...”
He ushered her back onto the elevator before she could say anything more and she was still a little confused about what had just happened when she stepped off onto her floor and ran straight into her mother.
She winced immediately, anticipating the verbal assault to come. But instead of the shouting she expected, her mother in a cold, slow voice, demanded, “Get into bed. Now.”
“I was just...” she started to explain that she'd needed fresh air.
“I said now.”
Suddenly in a bitter mood, she huffed and shot her mother a frosty glare, turning on her heel to stomp off to her room.
As she disappeared behind her door the elevator once again opened onto their floor, this time admitting the boy from District Two whom her mother greeted with her most charmingly political smile.
“Can we make this quick?” the boy drawled immediately. “If they notice I'm gone, I will be in severe trouble and I won't hesitate to point the blame squarely in your direction.”
Elizabeth smiled. “That's just the fighting spirit I need. And I have something you need as well... I can make life in the arena for you very easy or very difficult. You won't survive two days without sponsors and I can get them for you, assuming you agree to help me. If not, I'll make sure you don't see a single gift.”
Ian's attention was piqued. This woman clearly knew how to play ball. “What are your terms?”
“As I'm sure you've guessed, my daughter has a mind of her own and I can't have her running around in the arena like some District brat - no offence - blindly trying to survive. And as I'm also sure you've guessed, she won't last one hour on her own...she scored a five for crying out loud. What she needs is someone looking out for her, someone who scored an eleven. That someone will be you, understand?”
Ian smiled, charming yet dangerous. “As you wish, ma'am.”
“And make sure you get rid of that boy she volunteered for - maybe then she'll get a brain and start thinking about her own survival.
******
Emily wasn't a morning person, even less so after a night of fitful, nightmare-ridden sleep - and she was never shy about letting everyone know. But this morning, during the hovercraft ride to the arena, she remained thoughtfully silent.
Garcia knew well how to read her by this point and she knew better than to disrupt Emily's overwhelmed brain. She said nothing the entire ride to the arena. She said nothing as she dressed Emily in the tribute uniform of loose durable pants - reinforced in the knees and stretchy enough to allow for easy climbing, a breathable form-fitting tank top for hot afternoons, and a plush down-filled jacket with a hood - capable of folding down into a built-in pocket - with the number nine stitched in orange on the back, and flexible rubbery soled shoes.
“I'm sorry the shoes are so ugly” she finally broke the silence. “I didn't have any say in the matter despite my numerous vociferous protests on the grounds of hideousness.”
“They hurt my feet,” Emily said quietly, thoughtfully.
Leaning close to whisper conspiratorially, Garcia told her, “You'll need them where you're going. Think about it.”
Without another word, Emily sat down on the uncomfortable stone bench and scuffed her toe against a stone stuck in the hard-packed dirt floor.
Garcia sighed, then reached out to clasp Emily's hands. “Come home,” she murmured softly, “I know how scared you must be, how you're going to somewhere dark, somewhere you're all alone...but you're not alone. We're all there with you and we're going to bring you home. That's all we care about. We're going to bring you home.”
She was getting teary and Emily opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water several times, struggling to find something to say. Before she could, a mechanical overly pleasant female voice announced that it was time to get into the tube that would launch her into the arena.
Garcia gave her a too-tight hug that forced the air out of her lungs in a comforting sort of way and Emily never wanted her to let go.