A/N: Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, my first fic after a dry spell of years, and my first foray into The Hunger Games fanfiction! Hope you enjoy! This is a combination of book and movie canon. It's written in present-tense as a nod to the original author's style.

Gratitude

He barely knows her before the Reaping. She works in the orchards, floating up in the trees picking fruit from the highest branches. He's been on the plows and the heavyweight harvesters since he was younger than her. The biggest boys rarely get near the fruits of their labor - their job is to push, pull, dig and carry. They live in the dirt of District 11.

They don't talk much. Most of them can't read. All the districts have the government schools that are technically mandatory for the kids, but attendance doesn't get taken, and if you're not in the fields and the processing plants, you don't get paid. You don't get paid, you don't eat. Not that a single person, even a child, can really eat from the pay they get in the fields. It takes a week to earn a coin, and even half an afternoon missed means you get docked the whole day.

They know in some of the districts the kids get to learn to read and write. Really read and write, not just the bare minimum that gets taught here by candlelight after hours. Sometimes the Peacekeepers and the foremen even complain about that - you should be sleeping. Tomorrow's another long day.

So Thresh knows his alphabet and can write his name, and he's memorized most of the instructions on the earth movers and harvesters. If he had the time, he could probably sit with his alphabet and really work out how the letters and the words come together, but he's never had it.

He remembers her doing that, years ago. She was sitting with a group of the under-tens after they came in with the last truck, loaded with oranges. The under-tens get the most indulgence; the Peacekeepers and supervisors don't care if they sing or chant their lessons while they work. It keeps them focused. He's seen tapes of the men on the ships of District 4, chanting and singing as they haul nets. It has to be hard work, but their songs make it seem almost romantic.

The plowmen and threshers of District 11 don't sing. It's too hot, too hard to keep breath or time.

When he was younger, the under-tens annoyed him. What'd they have to sing about or giggle about? Even if he wanted to sing, something told him he'd get a gloved fist on the back of his neck for not paying attention to the plow or the thresher.

Then came the night five years back or so when the sun was still setting, and she was leading the little kids in the alphabet song. It was still early spring, not so blistering hot yet as citrus rolled in orange, yellow, and green rows down the conveyors into the processors from the kids on the truck. They finished yet another verse and paused, hopping down from the truck...

The song started up again, just the melody, from a thousand avian throats. The kids and the adults alike gasped softly, then there were giggles. The mockingjays were singing the alphabet.

Even in those younger days, he didn't smile much. But that night he couldn't keep the grin of his face.

When she was called in the Reaping, it was the first time he had seen her without her smile. He must have heard her name before but hadn't really registered it.

His sister's older than Rue, fifteen. With their tesserae, she has fifteen entries in the Reaping Ball that year. He has thirty-two. He's always worried about her being picked. The thought of being picked himself doesn't bother him much; Flox can handle supporting Gram on her own. They'll do better without him than they would without her, and he has a better chance of coming back alive. He's a plowman and a thresher. He can dig and he can swing. He can wrestle and brawl. He can scare people if he needs to. Flox is smart, quick, and light on her feet, stronger than she looks, but a direct blow would crack her spine. She's still good in the trees, but up against one of those hulking Careers, she wouldn't stand a chance.

Now he thinks her twelve-year-old self is next to him on the Reaping Stage. He swears he even saw her move when the call went up for female volunteers. Don't you dare, Flox. Don't you dare.

She probably didn't. Probably just flinched like all the unchosen do every year, seeing themselves on that stage, hearing a condemnation in that horrible silence when no one steps forward. It could be any of them.

He's thinking he'd volunteer for her if he could. He wonders idly what would happen if a boy volunteered for a girl. Would they laugh, thinking he's confused? Would Bassanius, the escort, smile indulgently and explain that this wasn't allowed, that every district must send a boy and girl? Would the Peacekeepers just gun him down on the spot?

Probably not the last one - everyone's nice on Reaping Day. The same supervisors who cuff you for pausing too long in the fields pat you on the shoulder as you head into the staging area. They murmur, "Good luck, son," as if you're a family friend, and rush to console and encourage the families of the tributes. From all the recaps of Reapings he's seen all his life, all the Capitol liaisons to the districts are the same personality in a different, insane costume - sweet, generous, encouraging. Patting heads, occasionally wiping tears, tugging sleeves. It's easy to like them if you get past how strange they are. And what their job actually is.

He meets Rue's eyes for the first time when they're on the train with Bass. He doesn't smile and neither does she, but they sit close together. By rights he should be planning to break her neck. She should be looking for ways to dodge his arms long enough to stick a knife in him. In the Career districts, no doubt that's what the tributes are doing. It's what they've trained to do. In other districts, some of the tributes fall naturally into that mindset. They don't look at each other as anything other than rivals, maybe even more so than the ones from other districts. After all, sometimes your district companion knows more about you - your weaknesses. That's a danger in the arena.

Chaff and Seeder arrive, the District 11 mentors. Thresh and Rue have seen this pair before at previous Games, mentoring their tributes. They spend a lot of time coaching Thresh on strategy, and a lot of time comforting and reassuring Rue. They both know why. Soon he finds himself joining in.

"The little girl's got no chance, Thresh," Chaff finally voices it. "You think we haven't seen this before?"

"She's smart. She's quick." He actually makes a token protest. Seeder drops her eyes. In fifty years, Rue would look like her. Flox will. Flox might live that long. The women of his family are strong, long-lived. They get through, as long as they can avoid the injuries and massive infections like the one that killed his mother.

"She'll last longer than anyone expects," Seeder finally agrees. "Longer than that poor little thing from Twelve would have if her sister hadn't volunteered." He saw that recap. He agrees. District 12 is the miners. The kids are no good in the mines, so they're allowed to actually go to school. Maybe they actually get to learn to read, but that little girl from Twelve didn't look like anything had ever made her strong. The big sister wasn't much compared to the Career girls, but she'd exchanged a likelihood of death for certainty of it.

"They'll force all of you into head-on confrontation eventually," Chaff explains. They chivvy him into a chair; they're good at this. He scowls at the floor. "In a way, she'll have a mixed blessing if she lasts - greater chance the end will be ugly. The weaklings who die on the first day are the lucky ones. Less suffering."

"She's not a weakling," he growls.

"No, she's not," Seeder agrees. "But the more the field narrows, the more they'll force you together. Head-on with a Career, it'll be over. If she's lucky, it'll be over fast."

Suddenly, he realizes where they're heading. His head jerks up to glare at them, and they both step back. He can make Peacekeepers do that at home if he's in the mood. Nobody wants to take him one-on-one. He might have a chance in this thing if he stays healthy.

Don't say it. Don't you dare.

They know he knows where they were going, and by silent assent, they drop the subject. If he comes home, he'll come home still part of his district.

If she doesn't, it won't be by his hand. Not even for mercy.

Seeder turns to go, then looks back. "If she asks you?"

Tributes do that sometimes to their fellows. One courtesy, one honor for your shared heritage. A quick and merciful end when you know your hope is dead.

There was an unofficial custom in the Games for several years called the boon. In a heavy fracas or even just a one-sided fight, the losing tribute would shout to their would-be killer for the boon, the right to take their own life quickly. It got to be a big honor thing - the Capitol audiences loved it. So dignified, when the even the most frenzied Career would stay his hand and let their competitor end it on their own terms. A few times, the winner would even toss over a spare weapon.

That ended eventually when some smart tributes got the idea of calling for a boon as an advantage, only to throw a quick knife or give an unbalancing kick during that pause. No rules in the Hunger Games. The Capitol audience applauded their ingenuity.

Boons aren't requested anymore because nobody gives them. Thresh doubts he would. Too risky. But three years ago, he'd seen on the big screen opposite the fields when Cole Emerson had bludgeoned both of District 1's Careers to death at the cost a broken leg. He'd still been formidable enough to drive off the first couple of Careers that honed in on him, but when Lucia Jackson had come within his sights, he'd called her to him. Shock from his injuries was setting in, so he'd put aside his pack and remaining food and water for his fellow District 11 tribute and then tossed her both of his knives and his mace.

"Finish me," he'd said curtly. And she had. She'd made the cross sign from the old Christian religion as she'd left his body. District 11 had a fair number of holdouts who still followed those faiths despite the laws against it. Some of the men in the fields had echoed it and got themselves whipped for it. The Peacekeepers didn't like solidarity. Neither did the Gamemakers, as it turned out - Lucia was crushed to death by a boulder two days later.

"Only if she asks," he tells them. Maybe. He's not at all sure that if it comes down to it, he could do that. Not if he ever wanted to look Flox or Gram in the eye again.

She's definitely tougher than she looks. The day after the Tribute Parade, they're on the elevator heading down to training, and she looks at him. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to kill me."

He stares at her in surprise. She goes on, "I won't kill myself either. That's cowardly. If I go, it won't shame the district."

He wonders how much of Seeder and Chaff's training of her has been coaching her to die easily. She finally smiles, but there's a cynical quirk to it that wasn't there before. She sees and hears a lot with her quiet, hard-to-notice little self. He wonders if she eavesdrops. "That's nice of you, though. To not kill me. I'll try to stay out of your way."

Yeah, she definitely eavesdrops.

Suicide training stops for her, according to Chaff and Seeder. Bass sadly shakes his head. "I thought I'd hate Eleven, but you kids have such incredible pride for people poor as dirt. It's inspiring. We might actually get you some sponsors." He means for Thresh, of course. No one will sponsor Rue.

They go out of their way to make Rue happy during those last days. Anytime she expresses a liking for anything, be it a dish, clothing, a game, it's ordered by somebody from Eleven's team. Her favorite dessert is the creme brulee, and it's on the table every night, garnished with fruit. Every room has a selection of music that can be programmed to play. They always let her pick. She's fascinated by the different genres, the voices in so many elaborate harmonies, the instruments she's never heard of. Bass even hires a group of musicians to come play for them. They teach her some of their songs and let her sing while they play. They demonstrate their instruments, even let her have a go. They're playing in the sitting room every evening during the last few days of training. Sometimes Thresh even enjoys it, finding it soothing. Other times, it's torture, and he goes to bed early.

The stylists adore her, and dress her to indulge her fancies, not their own like most. She's fascinated by the fabrics and the artistry of designing her costumes, so the design teams bring her into the workrooms at every opportunity, letting her pick the fabrics and the colors she wants to wear and the sketches she likes best. She wants to be a bird. So for her interview, they make her wings.

She gets daring in the training center. There's no reason not to; nobody takes her seriously and really watches, but they still praise her. She hears Twelve's girl on fire is good with a bow, so she tries it. It's much too long and taut for her, and she misses the whole range, but even one of the Careers joins in a little round of applause.

The Careers cluster in the training and at lunch, measuring everyone else with their eyes when they're not showing off. Declining their invitation makes him a major target. Thresh isn't bothered by them except when he sees them look at Rue. The dismissive glances aren't so bad, but a few of them gaze at her with a gleam in their eyes, as if savoring the terror that will come when they meet. He knows he should be thinking of his own game, but a dark voice inside him vows that anyone who causes her pain will learn a lesson in agony and helplessness.

Chaff and Seeder are right: she's not likely to make it. The non-Careers look at her with pity and dismay. One of them might do it. Most of them have a reason to want to go home beyond just staying alive. They've all got families, people who want them back. In the heat of the Games, one of them might be desperate enough. But they won't revel in it.

He can probably live with that. If he does live.

Once, the fox-faced girl from District 5 sits down near her to get at the platter of fruit. She gives Rue the same enigmatic half-smile as everyone else, but when they're down to the last strawberry and she sees Rue eyeing it, she pushes the platter towards her. Rue beams, "Thanks!"

"Welcome." For just one moment, Five's smile seems genuine. "It's Rue, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I didn't see your Reaping - what was your name?"

"Keen." She smirks. "Nice stunt with Cato's knife. He never did catch on."

Rue shrugs, but smirks back. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."

Five nods. "That's the only way anybody's going to get the jump on that Career."

The hair on the back of Thresh's neck rises, and he slides toward them, on the pretense of grabbing a slice of melon off the platter. But as he bites into it, he meets the red-haired girl's eyes. She's away from the table quick.

She's good at evasion. It takes him three tries to catch her alone in the hall. "I'm not after her," she says hastily and backs away.

"Good." That's all he needs. She relaxes a little and turns to go, then looks back.

"I'll have no body count, Eleven. None. So you don't need to worry about me."

She's a pacifist? The Games get those on occasion - tributes who vow not to kill, usually from the poor districts where there are still pockets of the old religions and superstitions. This girl doesn't seem like the type - they tend to proclaim it in the interviews and rebel against every part of the training and prepping. They tend to die ugly too. The Gamemakers don't like declarations of principle, especially principles in opposition to the Games.

But he doesn't have the chance to question her on it - she's gone. At least he senses she seems to be telling the truth.

He's watching Rue follow Girl on Fire from Twelve around a day or two later when Keen sidles past him again to the edible plants. "Twelve's okay. Worry about Two and Four. And the boy from One and the girl from Six."

"That few?" he murmurs.

The plant screen buzzes in protest as she picks something poisonous, and she scowls, frustrated. Foraging obviously isn't something they learn in Five. She replies, "Most of 'em could kill her. But those would enjoy it."

Warning received: You may not be able to save her life, but maybe you can spare her from torture. Yes, he gets that. Maybe that is what he should concentrate on.

Later, when Keen aces the obstacle course, he grunts, "Good name, Five," as he waits his turn.

His plan is to stay close to Rue from the start, but in the chaos of the bloodbath, there's just one problem: she vanishes. He's been busy keeping an eye on all the other tributes, figuring out who's the biggest threat and who're the sadists, to the point that he forgot just how quick and elusive she can be. Granted, she did just what Chaff and Seeder urged her to do: get out of there as fast as possible and find cover. He doesn't have much time for decisions at the Cornucopia. In the end, he heads for familiar turf: a grain field.

He hopes she'll find him, but she doesn't. But each evening, her face isn't in the sky. That's it, little girl. Nobody's counting you out.

He has his pack, with a thermal blanket against the cold, and a small knife. He knows how to move amid the high grass and grain so he's not heard. Anyone who approaches him - other than Rue - won't. The rustling and movement will give them away, and he'll be ready. Sometimes he hears the Careers laughing as they return to the Cornucopia. He's not sure what they do to booby-trap the supplies, and decides not to risk finding out. He's got all the food and water he needs. He picks up a heavy tree branch on the edge of the woods at one point. With that and his knife, he's about as armed as he needs to be.

Once they see him filling his canteen at the lake, but after a few stuttering strides in his direction, they back off. Glimmer and her bow are gone - dead two days before, and even with a sword, Cato's not willing to close with Thresh until he has to.

When the mines go off, the shock wave makes the wheat ripple like a pond, and the ground shakes under him. He's lucky he wasn't at the lake at the time; the blast must have been huge. He runs to investigate, keeping to the brush, and sees the Girl on Fire crawling back into the woods. She's got the bow, the only good distance weapon apart from Clove's throwing knives, but she's in no shape to use it. He can see the blood from here. He can't figure who blew the Careers' mines, or how, and thinks of little Rue. Would she have dared it? Maybe if she was out of food or water wherever she'd gone, if she was desperate...

He comes a little further out once the Careers have stormed off. He can't see any human remains at the blast site, other than the boy from Three, and he saw Cato do that. But if the condition of Girl on Fire is any indication, there might not be much left.

Had the cannon gone off? Would it have been heard if it did, during those blasts?

He waits and watches from his cover.

Then Keen is back, picking over the wreckage once the Careers have stormed off. He's too far to hear, but can see she's laughing. The food is a write off, but she finds a knife and a reasonably usable pot. He considers going himself to see if there's anything he wants, but decides against it. The plentiful seeds and soaked wheat are feeding him well, and he has his blanket and little first aid kit. There'll be nothing worth the exposure left at the Cornucopia.

Five's Keen Girl isn't doing well. She's lost weight already. His mind goes back to Rue. In that brief moment of inattention, Five spots him. He doesn't move, and she relaxes from her initial flinch. Then she looks around and shakes her head at him.

No Rue. So who was it?

Again, she senses his question. As she scurries back into the woods, she pauses and pantomimes shooting an arrow at the wreckage. He smirks. Well done, Fire Girl. It'll speed the day he finally tangles with the Careers, but he can't deny feeling a little smug that they no longer have it easy.

The following day, the Careers still aren't back, so he picks over the debris himself. He spots Keen watching him from a thicket on the edge of the woods. He lets her be - even if he was inclined to chase her, he has a feeling she'd get away with that much distance on him, despite her condition. He finds nothing of use except a bit of scorched wire and heads back to the grass.

Then he hears a distant scream.

Keen's face betrays the first fear he's seen in her, and she ducks into the undergrowth as he bursts out of his hideaway, club and knife in hand. She's still there, under a log as he passes. He hears her get up and start following, but he can't worry about her now.

There's one more shout, then nothing. Then a cannon. It takes him a long time to find the place. There's another cannon, but he arrives before the hovercraft, and finds what he already knows he'll find. In his heart of hearts, he recognized her voice in those cries for help. That's why he came looking.

It's his district partner, the little girl who sang in the trees and on the fruit trucks. She's laid out as if for a funeral, her face peaceful in death, her body covered in flowers. The breath leaves him.

This never happens in the Hunger Games. Nobody shows respect like this. But someone has arrayed little Rue with as much love and care as his gran had arrayed his mother. He can't even tell what killed her. He can only hope she didn't suffer.

He hears someone else's breath catch behind him. It's Keen, as shocked as he is by the sight. They exchange bewildered stares, then she circles at a distance, as though seeking an explanation. She spots the boy from One, dead but disregarded, and not far from him, the spear. Thresh silently joins her.

The spear didn't end One, he can tell by the wound in the boy's neck. It's too small. The spear is Rue's murder weapon. Whoever took him out must have also seen to Rue in this extraordinary way. Assuming this boy was the only one who hunted Rue down. He was from the Career pack, Thresh recalls. There might have been more. The thought makes his heart race a little. He'll deal with them. If any one or all of them took part in this, they'll answer for it.

"Arrow," murmurs Keen, regarding the dead boy dispassionately. "He was shot after he got her." She takes a deep breath. "The girl from Twelve. I've seen her with your girl. Thought they might have allied."

That baffles him too. Why would anyone have allied with Rue who wasn't from her district and had nothing to gain?

Then he remembers District 12's Reaping, and the other twelve-year-old who was luckier than Rue, who had someone to speak up for her. He saw Rue watching Fire Girl during the training. He saw Fire Girl with that bow.

There are two mockingjays on the low branches, and one of them calls a warning. Over Rue's body, Five's Keen looks at Thresh with bleak eyes. Then she's gone.

He knows he has to go too. It's over. He can't do anything for her now. Someone else has done more for her than even he'd have imagined. He owes them, he realizes, since they did what he should have done for the little girl from his district.

He moves away and lets the hovercraft come for Rue. When it's gone, the mockingjays sing again. One of them gives a four-note song that he remembers from the orchards. Quitting time. The day's work is done.

Then the other bird answers, the song varying just the slightest, the note ending low instead of high. An answer to Rue's song.

That response song isn't from District 11. He'd know it if it was.

He feels sorry for Fire Girl when he sees her brought down by Clove at the feast. The girl from Two is crazy. The Careers from that district seem to have that problem a lot. He considers running them down and finishing off Fire Girl himself, just to give her an easier end, but decides against it. He'll wait, he thinks.

Then he hears Rue's name.

He's out of his cover before he knows what he's doing, tearing across the field to the Cornucopia, and tears Clove off Fire Girl by the scruff of the neck. The thought of Rue having been in the hands of this sadist in her last moments makes him want to roar down the Gamemakers. Bring them all into the arena. He'll take them all at once.

As it is, he barely hears Clove's babbled protests before he puts a rock into her skull. He knows Cato is coming; he should get his pack and get the hell out of there. But he wants to know.

Fire Girl is bleeding bad where Clove got her in the face. He's lost his knife from the initial scuffle with Clove, and has Fire down in case she tries for an arrow.

"What'd she mean? About you and Rue being allies?"

She tells him. And something slows his pounding heart and his raging mind.

So Keen was right. It was Fire Girl that took out Marvel and laid Rue down to rest. More than that... sang to her. Just as she sang to the other kids in the trees until a chorus of mockingjays and children and even a few adults' voices floated through the orchards with lighter hearts. Like she floated across the interview stage in shimmering blue with gossamer wings, her little chin lifted with the intense pride of District 11. She must have been nervous about the interview. Damned if she showed it. She had to be scared about the Games. But not a sign of it.

He should've talked to her more. He should have told her point-blank to stay with him. No one would see her in the field. She'd forage their food and help hone his weapons. They'd be allies now. That's what hits him still harder. If she'd just lived long enough, until Claudius Templesmith announced that rule change... He'd have had a real reason to ally with Little Rue, His Rue, his District 11 tribute, and no reason to fear the end of that alliance. They could both go home, her to her parents and brothers and sisters, him to Gram and Flox.

He regards Fire Girl. She's scared, and despairing. Her lover boy is still alive somewhere. District teams are dangerous once some are broken up. Rue is gone. Clove too. So Eleven, Two, Five, and Twelve remain, but only Twelve still has an intact team.

It was this girl who soothed a dying little girl who had no fucking business being in this sick, utterly SICK spectacle of bloodlust and government-approved murder.

He couldn't save her. Couldn't even comfort her. But Fire Girl did. And Eleven sent bread to the girl from District 12 who arrayed their daughter with respect. Rue's probably already on her way home in a wooden box. He wishes they left the flowers but probably not. They'll dress her well and she'll be buried in the Games District Vault. That's some consolation to their tributes and families. They get better graves than anyone who dies at home.

By rights he should kill Fire Girl now. According to the rules of the Games, he should finish her. If Lover Boy is hurt as bad as Clove implied, he won't last once Fire Girl is gone. That'll be three more down. Then just him and Cato and Keen left.

Keen's sworn not to kill. That means he or Cato will end her... unless he and Cato destroy each other. That'd be ironic. But if it does come down to Thresh and Keen, he won't torture the girl. He's not Clove. Not a sadist.

Fire Girl knows that too. "Do it fast, okay, Thresh?" She braces herself to die.

And suddenly he sees Flox. So close in age to this girl. And Rue, the little girl from his district that he should've protected but failed to. This girl succeeded where he failed.

He owes Fire Girl. All District 11 owes her.

He releases her. "Just this one time I let you go. For the little girl. You and me, we're even then. No more owed. You understand?"

She understands. He barely has to say it. Fire Girl gets it. They're a lot alike, the Tributes of Districts 11 and 12. Or at least he and Katniss Everdeen are. They know debts. They hate debts. But they can't fail to pay.

She takes him at his word. If he'd been Clove or Cato, she'd have been stupid to turn her back even with a word of release. But she gets him. Wiping blood from her face, she runs.

He goes in the opposite direction, Cato's pack in his hands as he hears Cato calling to Clove. At some place in his heart not hard, hot, and bitter, he feels some twinge of pity. If he'd had the time, he'd have finished Clove off, ended her suffering with a mercy she'd never show, but now he's glad he didn't. Behind him, Cato is with her now, and talking to her. At least some part of her might have still been aware of him. Thresh finds that he's glad of that. It surprises him to even care.

When the rain starts to fall and the sky begins to rumble, he knows Cato is coming. It's all too perfect, too dramatic for their blood feud to not be ended. He has a good lead, but the ground soon grows slick, so he makes his stand on a clear rise amid the wind and thunder and lightning and waits for his rival.

And in the flashes, he comes. He's actually grinning. Thresh smiles back, cold and expectant. He sets Cato's backpack aside - the prize for their battle.

"You know, this would be better if it was just the two of us left," Cato remarks, taking a swig from his water bottle.

Thresh stretches his legs and takes a drink of his own. Who knows when or if either of them will have a chance to be refreshed again. "True."

"You wanna ally? Finish the others off first, then settle this?"

He doesn't have to consider it. "Nah."

His own pack has a sturdy, long knife, but better yet, a small shield just large enough to fit over his arm with sturdy leather bands that will protect the most vital part of his torso if he wields it right. He straps it on and steps back for Cato to approach.

Cato has the reach of him with that sword, but the shield is a light alloy metal that Thresh suspects, correctly, will deflect it well and hard enough for him to go in with the knife. This is going to be interesting.

With an explosive (well-timed) bolt of lightning, they close. Cato is as curious as Thresh about how the shield will perform, and simply swings full strength with a blow that even the knife could deflect, but Thresh takes it on his left arm. It makes his wrist tingle from the force, but Cato practically bounces in the other direction with barely a scratch on the smooth metal. There's almost no humor between them, but they both laugh.

Then they tear into each other.

Cato has form, with attack and defend, thrust and parry from years of training. Thresh has brute strength, experience from wrestling and genuine brawls in the fields, and plenty of instinct. First blood is his with a slash to Cato's thigh when the sword is deflected by the shield.

The universe contracts into attack and defend, Cato's chest and arms and neck and feet and face and weapons, watching for feints, dodging thrusts, deflecting blows. Time expands into eternity, measured only by spurts of blood and cries of pain.

He should have known the Gamemakers were against him by now. He's broken the rules by letting Fire Girl go, just as Fire Girl broke the rules to honor Rue and his district did to thank her. District 11 is not favored by the arena this year.

Neither he nor Cato are really aware of the manufactured thunderstorm around them until Thresh manages a kick that knocks Cato's feet from beneath him. The Career boy crashes into the mud and the pair of them wrestle. Their weapons fall and they grapple, but it is Thresh who rises with the sword. And as a result, even as Cato writhes in a final, desperate effort to rally, it is Thresh who bears the brunt of the electric charge when lightning strikes the metal in his hand.

It's not a real lightning bolt, of course. Thresh has seen people struck down by storms in the fields. They're usually dead at the scene, smoke curling from their mouths, burns criss-crossing their bodies. But the shock is still enough to fell him, and in a moment it is Cato's turn to stand over him with the sword. But the Career boy rages at the sky.

"What was that for?! Can't I win or lose at my own hand?! Did you have to taint it?!"

Still, he's going to take what he's been given; Thresh knows it. Limbs tingling and paralyzed, he awaits his fate and watches the rain pour down Cato's bloodied face, the pale boy's lips pulled back, teeth bared at the arena. He remembers the grief, genuine grief, in Cato's voice as he called to Clove the day before.

And as Cato shakes off his fury and raises the sword, Thresh wonders if maybe, in some way, even these Careers hate the Capitol as much as the rest of the tributes do.

Then thunder splits the air, and the sword comes down.

Cato goes. Thresh wonders if the Gamemakers could possibly have realized the numbness from their electric shock would blunt the pain from the wound in his chest. Not that it will stop the life's blood he knows is flowing free and will shortly stop his heart. He awaits his cannon and watches the lightning dance artificially over the sky. It's beautiful.

Then there's someone there again. Her clothes cling to her emaciated body, making her state of starvation all too clear, and the rain plasters her red hair to her sunken cheeks. It streams down her face, but in the flicker of the sky, he sees her tears.

He liked Keen from District 5. It's not likely she'll make it much longer in this condition, and he's sorry for that. Hell, he's sorry for them all. Even Cato.

She stays where she is, below his small hill, just visible in the trees. He suspects she saw the end of their fight and knows how Cato's win came about. She won't dare risk angering the Gamemakers now. But that's fine - if he could talk, he'd warn her off. No point in making herself suffer more than she already is.

He wonders idly who's left, and if anyone else stands a chance against Cato.

He wonders idly if it really matters. Look at Chaff. At Twelve's Abernathy, at the morphling addicts from Six, and the nutcases from Three. Look at them all for a glimpse of life after the arena.

In a way, he supposes, the Gamemakers did him a favor.

With his last breath, he wonders idly if they know that. Probably not.

With his last look, he meets Keen's eyes. And he can see that she does.

Fin.