Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.

The Spark of the Lone Victor

Upon volunteering, her life flashed before her eyes. Before she knew it she was a victor. Katniss thought that her life was over, even after returning home.

But then she found a spark.

Peeta

Until the spring before the 70th Hunger Games, people were allowed to apply for a transfer from their home District to another. The application was agonizing, the process strenuous. Some time after the Dark Days had passed, as a pathetic excuse to try and "show" the people of the Districts that they'd regained some of the Capitol's trust back, it was decreed that us citizens of the twelve Districts would be able to do so. The catch was that it was rare that anyone was ever approved.

My mother had talked of wanting to get transferred before even my eldest brother was born. She was convinced that our talents would be better suited in a much wealthier District. That we could be much better off. My father did not take her seriously at first, because many people of Twelve said that when they were young and unhappy with Twelve's conditions and treatment by the Capitol.

It wasn't until I was eight years old that my mother entered the bakery squealing because the application she'd send in almost a decade ago-by secret-approved us for a background check after the application was deemed fit for the criteria. My father was in shock. My brothers were excited. I was heartbroken. When rumour got out that we had filed applications to leave, my family's bakery lost a nice amount of business.

By then, we humored her by doing the rest of what the Capitol asked of us. We didn't think that we would get the final approval. In fact, no one in the District did. My mother couldn't keep a secret to save her life. No gossip could escape her, even her own.

When I was eleven-years-old, we got the final notice that we'd been approved. My mother was ecstatic. I thought it was a fraud. But nevertheless, three months later, we were on our way to District Eight.

My mother's reason for our transfer was that business was declining because of the poverty in the District and wished to find better sales somewhere else. I'm still shocked to this day that the Capitol allowed us to leave on that plea. We were the last family in the history of District Twelve to move Districts.

The year I turned twelve, they eliminated the program. The Capitol's excuse was that it was not successful and there were hardly ever any applicants. They announced that they would no longer be accepting applications and that the ones that were currently pending would be terminated. I'm not a fool though, I knew that it was really because the people of the Districts had started to become restless and the threat of rebellion grew too much for their liking.

I wouldn't have minded the move had it not been for one thing. Or rather, one person. I'd been in love with a girl. Her name was Katniss Everdeen, and she had the most lovely voice that only her father could challenge. I had my eyes on her since our very first day of school, and for some reason she stayed nestled in my heart through all of the time that passed.

When it was certain that I'd be moving, I made it my goal to have at least one interaction with her. Right before I left, three months after her father had been killed in the mines that past January, I completed my goal. She'd been scavenging for scraps of food to bring home to her family. My mother yelled at her, awful words that I could never repeat. When I saw it was her, my heart broke. I had nothing to lose at that point. I would be leaving before I knew it. I didn't hesitate to drop the loaves of bread in the fire with the image of her sunken eyes in my own. And my mother didn't hesitate to hit me with a rolling pin when she'd realized what I'd done.

I knew she was going to make me give it to the pigs, my brothers had done the exact thing in the past, though on accident. This was my first ever "mistake" in the kitchens. I'd torn off the smallest piece to toss the pigs from the first loaf. Thankfully, someone entered the bakery after that moment, and I made the decision to go out in the rain and hand her the loaves myself. At first, she did nothing when I stood before her with the loaves burning my skin. Seconds passed before she realized what I was doing and she carefully grabbed the loaves from my own hands. She didn't even wince at the heat. As a thank you, she kissed me on my cheek before scurrying away into the cold night. In that moment, I was both the happiest and most heartbroken boy in Panem.

The next day, when we were leaving school, I was watching her. I'd noticed that day that she walked with more purpose. I was trying to figure out what was different. Then she turned and caught my eyes. I quickly turned away, hoping that she wouldn't realize that I was staring at her. Oddly enough, I was the one who often caught her staring at me after that.

Months later, it was time for us to leave the District. My brothers and I had completed out last school year in Twelve and there was nothing left to hold us back. The night before our departure, I snuck out late in the night and dropped off three loaves of perfectly baked raisin nut bread inside the Everdeen's window. I never got to say goodbye. I was angry with myself. I'd never gotten the courage to speak to her even once. I was never going to know how she sounded when speaking to me directly. I was crushed. Why did I have to be such a coward?

District Eight turned out to be much different from Twelve. Though my mother was right and business was slightly better, the District's atmosphere was much worse than Twelve's. Everyone was solemn and the District seemed to always be on watch. After some time, I realized that the people were much more restless than the people back home. Public floggings were a thing and very frequent. The people kept to themselves though were very close and not afraid to stand up for one another. The Peacekeepers were an entirely new level of strict.

The bakery's prices went up and Peacekeepers were frequent customers. Business was overall better here and pleased my mother very much. My father grew reclusive. I worked the cash register and often gave discounts to those who couldn't afford our prices. My mom said nothing as long as we had customers. Through my position, I grew a bond with the people.

To my surprise, it didn't take long for me to adjust to the life in District Eight. My brothers and I fit ourselves in with the others without a problem. They were cautious at first, but didn't take long to accept us. My mother was happier than I'd ever seen her, it was a miracle. My father was seemingly happier too, but I could tell that he was more reclusive than he was in Twelve. He endured it for the simple fact that she never snapped at him or tried to start fights. My family had hope that everything would be better.

A District without Katniss Everdeen would never be special to me though.

By the time my first Reaping arrived I was a nervous wreck. I was convinced that my name would be pulled from the large glass bowl at the hands of Grella Tullavet, our District's escort. I was also convinced that if it wasn't me, it would be one of my two brothers. It wasn't. And as the next three years passed and my eldest brother aged out of the Reaping, it continued to not be us.

Today was the day of my fifth Reaping. I am sixteen years old. My eldest brother has been out of the drawing for two years now, and it is my middle brother's last year. My mother let us eat fresh bread for breakfast this morning, along with some tea. She's done that on the morning of each Reaping since we moved here. One of the catches to moving was that all children of the applicants that were of Reaping age would be forced to have their names entered two extra times per year without compensation. My mother couldn't have cared less but that was always my father's biggest complaint against it. I had three my first year. I have fifteen now. My mother thought it was a small price to pay.

Now, as I stand in the clump of boys my age, my hands are twitching as we wait for the female tribute to be chosen. I look behind me in the group of eighteen-year-olds to try and find my brother, but I'm unsuccessful in finding him. I've had a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach from the moment I woke up. How many times is my brother's name in today? Will today finally be the day that I am reaped? I can't escape the nagging feeling that something would be different this time around. I probably just feel more afraid now that it's Rye's final year.

My attention returns to the Reaping just as our escort calls out the name of the female tribute. Millicent Arbour. The name doesn't sound familiar, so I look over the girls to see who it is. She emerges from the clump of thirteen-year-olds, and my brow furrows. She looks healthy enough to have never taken any tesserae. Had they really chosen one of two little slips with her name on it out of the thousands in there?

The girl takes her place on the stage, her jaw clenched. She shows no motion on her face, but her eyes are are afraid and full of tears. Her body trembles slightly.

Our escort doesn't acknowledge her as soon as she sees that Millicent isn't very big. She's already on her way to the boys' bowl. My fists clench. I feel sweat start to gather at my temples. I hope that a Mellark is not called to the stage.

I'm lightheaded as the escort unfolds the paper. "Cordis Tan," she calls out, looking over to the boys with a light in her eyes. I finally breathe. But I feel guilty as soon as I do. A young, but tall boy some rows behind me makes his way to the stage. He's almost as tall as me and very lean. I'm disgusted in myself for being happy.

Our mayor reads out the Treaty of Treason before asking them to shake hands. They do so cautiously before turning themselves in to the Justice Building.

Everyone starts to file out of the Square, only a few rush towards the Building. I find my brother immediately.

"Peet, you're sweating," my brother laughs before throwing his arm around me and laughing heartily. I can hear the nerves trickling out of him as he laughs.

I smile tightly, "My name was in the bowl fifteen times. Yours was in there nineteen times. I was nervous."

"Well, it was all good little brother. You have two years left, and I'm done!" he pumps his fists in the air and laughs jovially. "I'm done!"

We find our father, who hugs us both tightly. "My boys," he breathes out quiet enough that I could have missed it.

"We're alright, dad," I say. He's always so nervous. With each passing year, it becomes an increasingly higher risk. He's never forgiven himself for allowing us to enter our names in extra times to make my mother happy. "We're alright."

"And I'm officially out!" my brother says again. "Now we just need to wait for Peet and then we're all good."

My dad smiles. "Two more years and then we're all clear."

"That is until you've got grandkids," my brother says stupidly. My father's face falls immediately.

"But their odds will be so much better than ours father, they'll have been born here." I reassure him. "They will never need to add their names in extra times. And we've done perfectly fine with our extras."

My dad sighs and hugs me tightly. "You're right, son."

When we arrive at the bakery, our mother is already there. She wanted to get back before we did in case any customers came. None did. "Boys!" She trills in a fake voice.

"Hello, mother," my brother says before dodging her and making his way upstairs.

"Safe another year? Must be the luck of being here," she says as she wipes the register. My mother had long put Twelve behind her.

I roll my eyes. "Even with my name being entered five extra times just for being here."

"Peeta!" I jump. "You should be grateful we're here. Not everyone gets approved, and we did."

"Sorry, mother," I say. "I'm very grateful."

She nods curtly. "Business has been so much better since we moved. We're well off here. I'm sure you'll find a more suitable wife as well. Bran found a nice girl with whom he's been with for a couple years now and Rye has many suitors. I'm sure you have some too."

I force a smile. "Yes, mother."

She dismisses me and I make my way to my room to change out of my Reaping clothes. Rye's already making his way down. "I've got tons of girls." He whispers while he passes me, wiggling his eyebrows. I shove him.

When I get back downstairs, my mother sends me to the back to bake with my father. Bran usually mans the register between helping out in the back, and Rye cleans since he burns everything he touches.

We close the bakery early on Reaping day every year because business is always slow this day. Aside from the people who buy treats for their family immediately after the Reaping for being safe another year, there are few customers.

After we're done cleaning, and my mother gives us her approval, we're free to go.

I glance at the clock and note that it's almost eight. That's when the recaps begin. My mother and father retire to their room, and Bran goes to his home he shares with his wife. Rye retreats to his own room as well. I situate myself in the living room with a quilt, some tea, and stale bread that we were bound to have thrown away soon anyway.

The two from District One look promising. The girl, Glimmer, happily volunteers herself. The boy, Marvel, volunteers as well. They make a charming duo, her waving incessantly and him smirking throughout the rest of the ceremony.

In District Two, no one stops the brooding boy who volunteers. His name is Cato, and I can tell he's going to be the favorite of the year. The girl, Clove, doesn't need to fight for her spot either. When she gets to the stage, her and Cato smile at each other mischievously. The commentators go wild for them.

District Three clearly disappoints them after seeing the promising first four. The two that are Reaped are meek and small, almost lifeless as if they've already surrendered themselves to their death.

When the boy from District Four is called, the commentators howl and are highly shocked when no one more "worthy" volunteers. The girl lifts their spirits some, but they're still not entirely pleased.

The girl from District five catches my eye because of her red hair. I've never seen someone have such naturally vibrant hair. How is it even possible? Her name is Finch, and it makes me smile some. The birds are songbirds known to have colorful plumage. The boy seems very paranoid and the commentators erupt into laughter talking about how he could become the next Titus.

Districts Six and Seven are uneventful. The escorts are both terrible in their attempts to be enthusiastic.

When District Eight takes over, I shudder. I don't want to experience my Reaping again. My heart aches for Millicent and Cordis. It turns out that they're thirteen and seventeen.

District Nine and District Ten are even more dreadful than Six and Seven. The commentators let each other take naps. I feel sorry for the boy from Ten, he's got a bad leg. Who knows how far he'll make it. It'll no doubt be a big disadvantage.

When the little girl is called from District Eleven, there are some unhappy murmurs. Despite that, when the escort asks for volunteers, no one is willing to step forward. Little Rue will have to go into the arena. The commentators shame the people of District Eleven for not volunteering. I'm almost shocked at the words before they add that having a little twelve year old won't make it as exciting. Those people could never have a heart. When they call Thresh, the male tribute, excited clapping comes from multiple commentators. "He's a good one, an excellent specimen for the Games."

My heart churns when District Twelve is introduced. Two of the three chairs are occupied by Mayor Undersee and Effie Trinket, Twelve's escort. The empty seat is no doubt meant for the District's only living victor, Haymitch Abernathy.

When the clock strikes two, the mayor walks up to the podium and recites the same exact words he did when I attended Rye and Bran's Reapings. When he's finished listing the Districts passed victors, Haymitch Abernathy conveniently appears onstage. He's hollering unintelligible words, and takes his seat beside Effie Trinket. The crowd applauds lightly at his arrival. He attempts to give Effie a hug, which she rejects. The commentators are laughing. The mayor introduces Effie and she rushes to take his place at the podium.

As Mayor Undersee regains his seat and the people of Twelve applaud his speech and welcome Effie, she is quick to take the attention back from Haymitch. "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" She rambles about the honor of being an escort and the glory of the Capitol. When she's satisfied with the attention and her words, she announces it's time for the drawing. "Ladies first!"

Effie wastes no time walking over to the girls' bowl, sticking her hand deep into the ball before pulling out a strip of paper. The only sound that can be heard is her heels hitting the pavement with each step closer to the podium.

I'm trembling slightly as I repeat Not Katniss over and over and over again in my head. She swiftly unfolds the paper and smoothes it out carefully. Bringing her mouth a bit closer to the microphone, she smiles at the camera before calling out the name. It's not Katniss. "Primrose Everdeen."

I stand up in horror. Is that possible? I do the math in my head and my lips tremble as I realize Prim is now twelve-years-old. That makes her eligible for the reaping. How had I forgotten? Damn it, how had I forgotten? There's no way Katniss would have ever let her take tesserae from the Capitol. How was her singular slip chosen out of the thousands?

There are sounds of disagreement picked up by the camera and the commentators ask in hushed voices why they think that is. The camera finally finds her. She's tiny, slim. Her pale skin lighter than mine, her blue eyes filled with tears are clear and the color of the sky. She's walking stiffly, the blood drained from her face. Her fists are clenched tightly at her side.

"Prim!" a strangled voice cries. I stop breathing. "Prim!"

Katniss is found on the camera as those in front of her clear a path and she makes her way straight to her sister. She reaches Prim just before she mounts the stairs, and Katniss pushes her behind her. "I volunteer!" she yells to the stage. "I volunteer as tribute!"

The camera pans over to the confused people onstage. The commentators try to choke out some jokes, but they are obviously moved by the actions that have just taken place in District Twelve.

"Lovely!" Effie Trinket says. "But I believe there's a small matter of introducing the reaping winner and then asking for volunteers, and if one does come forth then we, um. . ." she trails off, unsure. The District hasn't had a volunteer in decades.

"What does it matter?" the mayor says. When the camera finds him again, he looks disheartened. Does he recognize the girls from when their father died and he presented Katniss with a medal of valor? "What does it matter?" he repeats. "Let her come forward."

Prim is heard screaming hysterically as the camera goes back to the girls. "No, Katniss! No! You can't go!"

"Prim, let go," she says harshly. "Let go!"

I watch as a boy picks Prim up and she thrashes in his arms. He mumbles something to Katniss that the microphones don't pick up, and she nods before turning around and making her way up the stairs. The camera follows them as they go to a woman I recognize as Katniss' mother. Prim runs to her, sobbing. Mrs. Everdeen holds her tight and thanks the boy before turning back to her eldest daughter.

"Well, bravo!" Effie is heard saying. "That's the spirit of the Games!" She smiles wide before turning to Katniss. "What's your name?"

Katniss falters a bit, turning to face Effie. "Katniss Everdeen."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we? Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round round of applause to our newest tribute!" Effie gushes.

No one claps. The camera focuses on the crowds. Silence fills the air. Then I watch as one, then another, and then almost every person in the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and hold it out to her. And though I am all alone and the events that have just unraveled before me happened hours ago, I do the same. I remember it as an old and rare gesture of my old District. It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love. Tears slip my eyes as I watch the District that has grown to care so much for Katniss.

Haymitch Abernathy stands and crosses the stage to Katniss. "Look at her. Look at this one!" he then throws his arm around her shoulders as she looks at him in horror. "I like her! Lots of. . . spunk!" he bellows. "More than you!" he points directly to the camera. I gasp. He can't possibly be taunting the Capitol. "More than you!"

Then we all watch as he plummets the stage and knocks himself unconscious. When the camera goes back to Katniss, her face has hardened and she's placed her hands behind her back.

A stretcher comes for Haymitch. The commentators are crying of laughter as they talk about how this reaping alone has been more eventful than every other one of the District combined.

"What an exciting day!" Effie says, drawing the attention back to her. "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our boy tribute!"

Effie walks to the boys' ball and grabs the first slip her hand touches. She rushes back to the podium. I don't recognize the name she calls out. A boy from the Seam is found and he solemnly makes his way to the stage. He appears a bit younger than Katniss and looks more malnourished than she. Effie excitedly calls for volunteers, but is disappointed when none come forth.

The mayor takes the podium as Effie sits back down and he begins to read the Treaty of Treason.

My mind was reeling. Katniss, Katniss Everdeen, was going into The Hunger Games. She was going to be thrown into an arena with twenty-three other people trying to kill her. I felt like I was going to faint.

I hear steps pounding down the stairs. "Peeta!" When Rye comes into view, I don't say a word. I'm afraid I'll cry if I so much as open my mouth.

"Did you see the recap of the reapings?" he asks before entering the living room and seeing the screen. "Oh."

"Yeah," I manage to whisper.

My brother looks at me sadly. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head. My brother was the only one who ever knew about my crush on Katniss. "There's nothing that can be done."

Rye hugs me. He actually hugs me. "It's going to be okay."

"Don't lie to me," I say hastily. Rye pulls back.

"She looked healthy. Strong," he says. "The entire District gave her the salute. She's got people on her side."

I see the honesty in his eyes. "She did look so much better than when we were there."

Rye smiles. "See? There's hope. Have hope. From now on, all we can do is cheer her on. The others? They have nothing against her. My bet is on her."

When my brother reaches out to me, I accept his embrace without hesitation and hug him tighter than I ever have before.

A/N ~ Oh, hey! Nice to see your lovely face down here, it means you took the time out of your day to read my writing. It also means that I now love you. Love aside, I want to thank you for reading this. I've always wondered what it would have been like had Peeta and Katniss never been reaped and tossed into The Hunger Games together. If you're reading this, then the idea of it intrigued you too, and I'd like to say that I like how your brain works. This is my take on how one of those scenarios could have turned out. Out of all the stories I've written and ideas I've had (dozens), this is one that I've been the most passionate about. I hope you all continue to follow this story, I've got about five additional chapters I'm reading over and perfecting to add onto this story in the weeks to come and I hope to write around twenty. It's a little project I'm working on alongside Silver Songbird. I guess I'll go now, you've probably stopped reading now anyway lol. Buuuut if you haven't, I hope you don't mind making my day by following this story! Or if you're feeling a little adventurous, there's a dandy little button near the follow that says favorite and would make me over the moon. But no pressure! None at all! (;

With love, Daisy