LbN: QW14- Free Day.

"Cornibus Williford here, along with my dear friend, Merope Narin. So, Merri, today's the big day!"

"The 200th Hunger Games! The journey to the Games begins today for our lucky Tributes. The annual Reaping has already gotten off to an interesting start this morning. Districts One and Two offered Tributes who actually know each other."

"That's right, Merri. Both sets of Tributes were a part of the District Exchange program - an effort by President Baratheon Locke to encourage Panem camaraderie. Earlier today, when one of the Tributes was chosen, the others decided to volunteer."

"Now, you always see Tributes from the first two Districts, and sometimes from the others, but going into the Games as a group of friends...woo boy."

"I know, Merri. Let's watch the footage from this morning as we prepare for District Six's Reaping."

Tributes

Santana stood breathing hard as she watched Quinn walk up to the podium on-screen. District One's Tribute. There hadn't even been a chance to call a boy's name before Kurt had rushed forward, volunteering. One tense moment later, when the Peacekeepers had prised the boy from another larger boy's arms (what was his name? Derrick? David?), Kurt was onstage with Quinn.

It was their turn now. Normally, one of the coordinators would read out their names, but their high school teacher had insisted he be the ones to call them to their doom.

"Our female tribute," he said, in a clear, carrying tone. "Is Twyla Garrigan."

"I volunteer!" Santana yelled, stepping out. There wasn't a moment's hesitation. If Quinn was going in, then so was she. Plus, Twyla was a chunky asthmatic thirteen-year-old who wouldn't last five minutes in the Games. Santana marched forward, head held high and a slight smile on her face. She wasn't smiling because of the honor or the glory - she was smiling because she knew what would happen next.

Sure enough, just like District One, one of the boys sang out before a name could be called. A tall, muscular boy, with slightly darker skin than Santana, was striding forward. He took her hand and kissed her on the forehead when he got to the podium.

"Our Tributes!" Will Schuester called, tears in his eyes. "Santana Lopez and Matteo Rutherford!"

As soon as their names were announced, the Peacekeepers ushered them inside. The goodbyes weren't held anymore, and you couldn't bring trinkets from home. Well, you couldn't be given anything at least. Not since the 184th Games, when the Tribute from District Seven had poisoned himself on the train. But if you had something on you, you could bring it. Schuester had given all thirty kids in the top form a small pin on their last day of school. Nothing big, or fancy, just a small silver number two. As she was rushed away from the podium, she turned to him and tapped it twice.

Matt's grip on her hand didn't loosen as they were marched to the car, and then driven to the train. Neither of them spoke. Their coordinator, a svelte black man named Jeno Tomesein, didn't try to force conversation. He sat across from them, humming quietly until they boarded the train.

"Okay," he said, turning to face them. "I know this is a lot to take in, but I do have to show you around. There are common areas at the front and back of the train. We should be arriving by this evening, but if you want to nap, your sleeping quarters are right next to each other down that hall," he said, pointing toward the front of the train. "Lunch will be served in this car in two hours. How are you both feeling?"

Matt simply shrugged.

Santana did the same, but added, "I'll feel a lot better when we can see Quinn and Kurt."

Jeno nodded. "You already know Shannon, your mentor." At their blank looks he added, "Coach Beiste. She's having a rest right now, but she'll be joining us for lunch. Excuse me, I need to see if there have been any messages."

He wandered off down the hall toward the back of the train, leaving them standing in the middle of the dining car.

Finally, the two let go of each other's hand. Matt wandered around for a moment, but Santana just stood there.

"It's not real yet," he said quietly.

"No. But I'm guessing it's going to hit us when we get to the Capitol."

"If it doesn't, I'm going to seriously worry about you both in the Games."

They turned to see Coach Beiste standing there.

She sat down on one of the couches behind the square table, and poured a drink from the large glass pitcher. It fizzed in the glass.

"What is that?" Matt asked, sitting down next to her.

"Seltzer water, with a hint of lime," she told him, taking a sip. "Come on over, Santana. Tell me how you plan to survive the next week." When both stared at her with terrified expressions, she smiled and nodded. "Good. Good. That tells me you're taking this seriously. That tells me that just because you're from one of the...oh, what do they call us? 'True Victor Districts' - that you aren't getting cocky. You know what this is, and how serious it is. That's good - that's the first key to survival."

"And what's the second key?" Santana asked, sitting across from Matt.

Beiste poured both of them a drink. "Something you were both born with. Charm and good looks. Not fair to some of the Tributes, but hey - we all end up looking like a million bucks when they're done poking and prodding us. But you two? You both already have the look. Strength, grace, all of that. And you're not assholes, which is a plus."

Both of them sniggered.

"Seriously?" Matt asked.

"You think the Tributes from last year had sponsorships pouring in?" Beiste asked him. "Hell no. Every gift they got, I had to beg for. Why? Because they were cocky, and, frankly, evil during the training period. True, every once in a while the sponsors like a good villain, but they were just bastards - god rest their souls."

The train rumbled on, the three of them sitting in silence for a long while. Santana stared out of the window at the passing landscape, while Matt fidgeted with his tie.

"What else?" he asked, when the silence became too much.

Beiste glanced at each of them and folded her hands over the table. "It's going to be...you won't feel it until you're in the arena. And I don't mean initially - I mean deep into the arena. When you're lost, or hurt, or think you hear someone just behind you. At first, it's a rush. You have to use that rush to get what you need. Water, supplies…. There are plenty of mentors who tell their Tributes not to mess around with the bloodbath, but if there's a way for you to get in and out, you take that chance. I've seen both of you at the training school - you both need weapons. Especially you, Santana."

"Why her especially?"

"We can't all be big enough to rip someone's head off," Santana said with a grim little smile.

Beiste put a hand on each of their shoulders. "You'll both be great. I know it."

"So, what do you think?" Santana asked, spinning.

Quinn, who'd been standing by the chariot, beamed at her. "You look good. Granite - I get it."

"I didn't think charcoal grey would really suit me, but it works. And you look delicious, as always," she added in an undertone, enjoying the blush that crept to Quinn's cheeks. "Where's your dude?"

"Right here. And can we talk about how bad this suit chafes?" Kurt said, waddling over in a purple monstrosity.

The chariots were lined up, their passengers being fussed over by the designers and chaperones. Santana did a quick scan of the competition, beckoning for Matt to join them. "Have you met any of them yet?"

"A little one from District Six, and the boy from District Nine."

"The one who won't stop crying?" Kurt asked, casting a sympathetic look toward the chariot holding two fifteen-year-olds.

"That's the one. Tried to cheer him up, but…." Matt trailed off, shrugging.

"Have you met our mentor?" Quinn asked, taking Santana's hand.

Santana squeezed gently and nodded. "Sue. She's crazy, but I have a feeling she knows the score - if you get my meaning. Ours definitely does."

"Tributes to your chariots!" one of the organizers called.

"Keep your eyes open," Quinn whispered to Santana. "Sue mentioned finding people for an alliance."

"Beiste said the same. See you later."

The carriages went out one by one now, with each set of Tributes doing their interview at the end of the long ride.

"We've got to really sell it," Matt said.

"Smile, wave, look excited to be here," Santana said as the boarded their coach. She watched the screens as Quinn and Kurt left the dock first. When the two turned on full "wreathed conqueror" mode, she had to stifle a laugh.

Quinn had apparently taught Kurt the Fabray Serial Killer Smirk of Doom. They both looked utterly relaxed, but not arrogant. They looked sharp - smart. A silent threat.

Well done, both of you, she thought, as they took their seats next to Cornibus Williford.

"Welcome!" he said jovially. "Kurt and Quinn. Our beautiful Tributes from District One. How are you both this evening?"

"We're excited to be here, Corni," Kurt said, a picture of happiness.

The audience laughed at the nickname. Cornibus grinned.

"Corni? I like it. See the cleverness we get folks? Quinn, tell me, how did it feel to be the very first Tribute chosen this year?"

"I was a bit shocked at first, but I wasn't scared," she said, calmly. "I knew Kurt would be with me if I had to go. I was ready."

"Did you two make a deal to go together?"

"Not at all," Kurt said. "But Quinn's my oldest friend. I wouldn't let her go alone."

"That's noble of you, son. Even though it meant leaving someone behind…."

Kurt bowed his head. "Yes, Corni. I...can I give him a message?"

"Go right ahead, Kurt."

"Dave, I know you're watching. I'm going to make you proud."

There was a loud "Awwww" from the audience, and Quinn put her arm around Kurt's shoulders.

"Aw hell," Matt muttered. "No one wants to follow that."

This time, Santana really did laugh.

Their coach rolled forward, and Matt took her hand. The cheering of hundreds of people filled their ears as the were driven down the long lane. Santana knew how to play up - they'd had to do it at school, whenever the donors from the Capitol would visit. She smiled and waved, and blew kisses at the small children in the front rows. Matt grinned and flexed his muscles - with his left arm only, because he wouldn't let go of Santana's hand in his right.

Cornibus welcomed them just as enthusiastically, and didn't waste any time. "Tell us what you were thinking when you volunteered."

"There's no way I'm letting Twyla near that arena this year," Santana said, to laughter.

"There's no way I'm letting Santana near that arena without me getting in on the action," Matt said, to even louder laughter.

Cornibus guffawed, slapping his knee. "Brave and witty, am I right folks? Matt, if you could tell your family one thing right now, what would it be?"

He thought for a moment, biting his lip. "That I love them, and that I'll be strong for them."

"Wonderful, heartfelt sentiments. Santana, is there someone special that you left behind? Someone you'd like to send a message to, perhaps?"

In a nanosecond, the annoying sexism of that question irked her. Sure, give Matt the family line and try to work a love story out of me…. Wait a second…. "Not, exactly, Cornibus. I didn't leave someone behind. I brought them with me."

"Oh-ho!" he said, giving what was probably meant to be a discreet glance towards Matt. "Is that so?"

"Yes. You just met her, in fact. It's Quinn."

Beiste met them back in the hall when the interview was over. "Well...not what I would've gone with, but I can't deny that was -"

"Brilliant!" Quinn said, coming out of nowhere to hug Santana. "Absolutely brilliant. I...I didn't even think to -"

"Right, all this sapphic tenderness is making my soul bleed."

"Evening, Sue," Beiste said. "I see you're just as ornery as ever."

"But of course, Shannon. I have to whip these sorry pampered princesses into shape."

"I'm a boy," Kurt supplied.

"Save it, Porcelain. If you can't handle my loving terms of endearment, you can't handle the arena. Now, I came over to meet your sacrificial lambs, Beiste, and make sure no rabid, festering fleas of failure would jump onto my own."

"Do fleas carry rabies?" Kurt muttered to Santana.

"Calm down, Sue," Beiste said, rolling her eyes. "They're tired. You'll have the next three days to torment them."

"After which I'll seem like a picnic, because the Gamemakers will take over that task." She looked Matt and Santana over once, nodded, and beckoned for Quinn and Kurt to follow her to the elevator.

It was day two of training, and lunch time. The four Careers sat together, scoping out the rest of the Tributes.

"He's going to get her killed," Matt said, shaking his head. "I know what this is, but...she shouldn't die some awful way because of him."

They all looked over to where the District Six Tributes sat. The girl, Frae, was the youngest that year - twelve years old. The boy she was with, a sullen young man of sixteen, had been very protective of her. Unfortunately, he'd also made enemies of just about every other Tribute there.

"What about Crying Tom, the Constantly Bombed?" Quinn asked.

The crying boy from District Nine had found a way to stop crying - alcohol. Strictly speaking, it wasn't allowed. But the Tributes could basically have anything they wanted, and the kid wanted booze.

"Jesus. If he doesn't fall off his podium and detonate a landmine, I'll be shocked," Santana said.

"We just have us," Kurt said.

They ate in silence.

The Games

Bright sunlight. And silence, save for the countdown. Five...four….

They had a plan, and it would work. Santana closed her eyes.

Two...one.

Chaos. And speed. And now Santana understood what Beiste had meant about the rush. There was nothing but collecting what they needed. And she couldn't even worry about the others in those moments, as she sprinted forward and grabbed a backpack. She dove, rolling, and dodged a punch from one of the boys. A spear went through his chest, and she spotted Kurt atop the Cornucopia. She didn't have time to wonder how the hell he'd got up there and that quickly, but pulled the spear out and kept moving.

Quinn was fighting a girl from District Ten. She swung an axe she'd managed to grab, and hit the girl in the chest.

Santana had a spear, but that was Kurt's. She heard Matt call - one of their codes. She tossed the spear back up to Kurt and ran into the shade of the cornucopia. Two knives, a sword, and a bow and arrow. That would have to do. She spotted something out of the corner of her eye, and managed to swoop down and pick it up as she ran to help Matt.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. Those who hadn't been willing to fight had fled into the line of trees. The four of them looked around at the carnage - some of which they'd caused.

"North," Kurt said firmly. "We have to keep moving north."

Santana handed the bow to Quinn and one of the knives to Matt. He'd managed to grab a lethal-looking mallet as well.

"What's in the backpack?" Quinn asked as they ran.

"Not a single clue."

"When we get to some water, we can figure it out," Matt said.

A mile in, they stopped running and listened. There were no other sounds but that of the forest. Kurt, who'd been leading the group, began inspecting the plant life. Quinn leaned against a tree and watched as Santana went through the backpack.

"Water bottle, socks, a set of...eight matches, and Vaseline. Oh, and I grabbed this."

"Bread and cheese? Well spotted!"

"How long do you think it'll keep?" Quinn asked.

"Long enough to count as last resort food," Kurt said. "I think we'll find water if we head east. I think I hear something big - hopefully it's a river."

They trudged through the brush for nearly an hour, ignoring their rumbling stomachs and parched coughs. They finally heard it, the sound of running water, but that wasn't the only sound. Matt pointed two fingers ahead and two back, nodding for Quinn to follow him. Santana and Kurt crawled forward to see who had found the river first.

It was the boy (called Argo) from District Six. He was splashing his face. On the ground next to him, the girl from his District, Frae, lay eerily still.

"He killed her," Santana whispered, rage boiling inside her. They all knew what this was, and the girl had been dead the moment she was Reaped, but there was something wrong about this.

"See any traps?"

Santana scanned the bushes around them as the boy drank deeply from the rushing river. "No. Throw?"

"No. I want this one face to face," Kurt growled, and ran out of the brush.

Santana followed him, readying her sword for a fight.

The boy didn't have a weapon though, and he shrieked.

Kurt dropped the spear and grabbed him, covering his mouth. "Shut up, you idiot! You want everyone to know where we are?"

"Please - please don't," Argo choked. "I can help you."

"How?" Santana asked, holding a sword to his throat.

"I know where the other Tributes are."

Quinn had run over, axe in hand. She stooped down next to the little girl. "The fuck did you do to her?"

"Is she dead?" Kurt asked, not letting go of Argo.

"No. I think she's been poisoned." Quinn cradled the wheezing girl, trying not to cry as she looked at her.

"Mushrooms," Argo said, grinning evilly. "I can -"

"Kill him. Now."

Santana didn't need telling again.

A moment later, two cannon shots rang out, and the group had moved upriver. Santana filled the water bottle. The girl had had one as well, which Kurt had taken. There were rocky cliffs to the north, and they set up camp under a slight overhang.

"No blind angles," Matt muttered, going through a mental checklist. "Water. We can build a fire there…."

There was an odd whistling noise, and a parachute descended from the sky. It attached itself to the rocks above them, and Santana had to lift Quinn up to reach it.

"Already?" she asked. "What's in it?"

"It's for me - from Sue. A pen and pad!"

"Er...what for?"

"So I can keep track of things," Quinn said, and as if that was enough explanation, tucked the presents into her jacket lining and zipped it up.

"Who should hunt?"

"I set three traps along the treeline," Kurt said. "Good for any animals trying to get to the water over there, or any Tributes creeping up on us."

"I can shoot," Quinn said. "But I'm not sure what I'm looking for."

"I'll come with you," Santana said.

The two of them walked farther into the woods, staying silent and listening for the sound of any sort of wildlife. A few times, small things scurried out of the bush. They didn't waste arrows, but Santana had fashioned a slingshot out of a strip of cloth. She was awful at it.

"Let's hope we find something to shoot," she muttered, retrieving one of the rocks.

"We will." Quinn paused for a moment. "You know we have to talk about it. One of us isn't going home."

"That would be me," Santana said. "If it comes down to it, I can't kill you."

"Santana -"

"No," Santana said. She was careful, aware that all of Panem was watching. "No, don't. We'll figure something out, okay?"

"Okay," Quinn whispered.

Santana leaned in and kissed her before they kept walking.

That night, a few large birds roasted over the fire they'd made. Quinn watched the recap of the fallen Tributes, writing them down on her notepad. She took something out of her pocket.

"What is that?" Santana asked, handing around pieces of roasted fowl.

"A figurine," Quinn said. "The girl from District Six, Fera, she was holding it. I figured whoever gets back should get it to her parents."

"Yeah," Santana said. "Here...put it away for now. We need to eat."

"How did they find us?" Matt asked as they ran.

"I don't know."

They'd made it two days, hunting down Tribute after Tribute. They hadn't had to work too hard, but now they did, as all of the remaining Tributes had joined forces against the Careers. Kurt was utilizing his skill now, running, but making use of the landscape to get further and fire arrows at their chasers. Matt had received an electrified trident the day before, but he was trying to avoid using it too much. He didn't know how much battery life or whatever it had.

Quinn skidded and turned with the spear, taking out one of the attackers. Santana threw her two knives, embedding both in the boy from District Eleven. The girl from District Five had a sword. She was fighting Matt, while the girl from District Seven fought Santana.

There was a scream, just as Santana choked Seven out. She turned, knives ready, to see Quinn fall. The world went slow and silent. She couldn't even hear herself scream out Quinn's name. She threw the two knives, taking out the boy from District Five. She ran over and grabbed Quinn.

"It's okay," she said, the world rushing back now. "It's okay - it'll be fine."

"San…."

"You're okay, I've got you," Santana said, starting to cry. She looked down at the sword wound that marred Quinn's chest, and knew there was nothing she could do.

"My eyes are up here, asshole," Quinn whispered.

Santana let out an agonized breath that could have been a chuckle.

"I love you," Quinn said, panting for breath.

"I love you too."

"Santana," Matt said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We need to move. There are still two Tributes out there."

Quinn closed her eyes and gave out one last rasping breath.

Kurt undid the small gold number one pin and pinned it to Santana's shirt, just next to her number two. "Come on," he said gently.

The canons began to sound.

"Who's left?" Santana asked in a hollow voice.

"Tom, from District Nine, and Cyrel from District Eight."

Something cold and fierce swept over Santana, and both boys noticed it.

"Let's go," she said.

They watched as the Ostrich Mutts savaged Cyrel. They'd killed Crying Tom, the Constantly Bombed earlier, having set fire to a large part of the forest to smoke him out of his hiding spot. He hadn't come out fast enough.

"Santana?"

She turned around, and was struck by the electrified trident. She went flying back, hitting the rocky ground. It hurt - god, it hurt - but she wasn't dead. Her vision swam for a moment, and then she saw Kurt and Matt squaring off.

"Right Kurt, you're not going to be a suicide," Matt said.

"Turn up the charge all the way," Kurt said. "I want it to be quick." He nodded once, and turned around.

Santana tried to get up, but her body wasn't cooperating. She didn't see the trident hit Kurt, but a moment later there was a cannon blast. She gasped and tried hard to sit up as Matt came back over to her.

"Just relax," he said. "It's okay - you're going home. Now," he said, pulling a handful of mushrooms out of his pocket. You'll be okay in a few minutes. You've still got your knives, so if this doesn't kill me, I want you to put me out of my misery. Okay."

"M-Matt… I -"

"It's okay," he said again, then stuffed the mushrooms in his mouth. He lay down next to her and closed his eyes. He began to convulse after a minute.

"Matt," Santana said, finally able to sit up. Her legs still felt like they'd been asleep for a long time, and she tried to ignore the pin prick feeling in them. Scooting over, she looked down at Matt's face. His eyes were clouded over, and he had no pulse.

The cannon sounded. And then the announcement was made - she had won.

Survivor

"Just one last question," Cornibus said.

Santana nodded. She was trying, trying so hard, not to start screaming at him. She wanted to go home - to bury herself in the blankets on her plush new bed, and not emerge for days.

"Did you manage to return Frae's toy to her parents?"

"Yes, I did. I saw them on the Victory Tour."

There was an "Awww" from the crowd, and Cornibus patted her on the knee.

She managed not to punch him.

"That was good of you. A true victor, folks!"

There was a cheer, cut short when Santana said,

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"No, I'm not a true victor. Quinn, and Kurt and Matt were the victors. They won. I just survived."

Cornibus seemed not to know how to answer that. "Well...uh...we thank you for coming on the show. Let's give her a hand, folks."

In a daze, Santana walked off the stage to where Jeno was waiting.

He wrapped her in a thick cloak and said, "Let's get you home."