Author's Notes: Alright, so first things first, this is a PREQUEL to my fic, "nothing can be gained (without giving in return)", which means that you don't have to read that one first in order to understand this one.

This ended up being a hell of a lot more massive and intense that I'd originally intended this to be. I mean, I hadn't even intended on writing this. I wrote the Al/May Hunger Games AU and thought that would be it, but once I started thinking about the Roy and Riza Hunger Games that I'd hinted at in that fic, I knew it had to happen, especially since I love this pairing. And yes, this one is a lot more violent, a lot darker, and just much more manic, I think. Al is so...gentle, even in his strength. This is entirely from Roy's POV, so it goes from ridiculous to very dark in certain spots. I wrote this while listening the Hans Zimmer's "Inception" OST and again James Newton Howard's "Hunger Games" and "Catching Fire" OSTs, especially "Rue's Farewell". There's a certain scene near the end where I just played that song on repeat. Alright then, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Other people own all the shit I love.

don't go (where i can't follow)

Somehow or another, Roy had been able to sleep the night before. He woke up blearily as usual, rubbing at his eyes, yawning, and stretching, like it was any other day. It was only when he went to open the closet that he paused, staring inside like it was a black hole waiting to suck him up. He dressed slowly, taking his time, savoring the feeling of his freedom and his bare feet on the wood floor.

This would be his last Hunger Games. He was eighteen and wouldn't be in the drawing next year. All he had to do was escape one more Reaping Day and it would be over with. Roy shut the closet, his hand feeling heavy, and pressed his forehead against the door. The same could not be said for Riza. She was only sixteen; she still had two more Reaping Days after this.

By the time he walked downstairs to the kitchen, he found that Riza was already awake and ready. From the looks of it, she had been for a while, a cup of cold coffee lying in front of her and a barely touched breakfast. She had her face turned away from him, her blonde hair hiding her face, but he knew that she had heard him step into the room. Roy looked around for her father, his teacher, but the older man was nowhere to be found.

"Father is out," she said in a hollow tone.

"Is he not coming for the Reaping?" Roy asked as he pulled a chair and sat down. He picked up a fork and began to dig into the breakfast she'd made for him.

All she did was shake her head in response.

Roy frowned for multiple reasons: one) Central didn't take it lightly when people didn't attend the Reaping; and two) her father should've been there to at least pretend to support his daughter. Things like that didn't matter to Roy. His parents were long gone and they wouldn't care if he was drafted into the Games. His aunt and "sisters", on the other hand, would be devastated, but they lived far away and couldn't publically support him.

"I've gotta make a call before we go," Roy told her. She waved him away, but said nothing. Riza was a girl of few words – he'd learned that early on – but she became especially distant the week before and on the Reaping Day. "Thank you for the breakfast."

They didn't have much time before the Reaping, but Roy called back home so that he could at least get a few words in to all of his sisters. All of their times had passed; none of them had been chosen. They wished him good luck, Anita growling angry at Central, Vanessa crying, and he told them not to worry. What were the chances of him being picked? He only had his name in there once, unlike some kids that put their names in the drawing multiple times so they could get more rations. He spoke last with his Aunt Chris, who told him not to be an idiot and to keep his head down.

"Goodbye, Roy-boy," she said, almost gently, before hanging up.

Every time Roy was separated from Riza during the Reaping Day, he had to grit his teeth and bear with it. She'd shoot him a comforting look while getting their fingers pricked for blood, making sure to look him in the eyes as they simultaneously went through the quick procedure. And then he would lose her in the crowd. He clenched his hands at his sides, willed himself not to search for her, and watched the screen. Same presenter, same video, same stupid government propaganda shit.

I'll get into the government somehow, he thought wildly. I'll take all those corrupt jackasses down and rise to the top and change everything.

The girls were chosen first. Two ideas popped into his head: not Riza and not Olivier Armstrong. If he were to somehow be chosen, he didn't want to face the latter girl. That girl was damn insane and was probably capable of taking out every single person in the Games.

He stood there, still and silent as everyone else, as the presenter picked a piece of paper out of a bowl, one stupid piece of paper that would determine the life or death of a helpless kid being used as a tool by the government. The woman smiled – she fucking smiled – and called out the name, "Riza Hawkeye!"

Roy doubled over, nearly knocking the boy in front of him down, and choked out a single, "No."

When he finally pulled himself together, thinking of what an idiot he was being, he saw Riza walking stiffly out of the crowd and onto the stage. Her spine was straight, like a stick, and her movements were jerky, like she needed her joints to be oiled up in order to move properly.

"Come on up, dear," the presenter said, waving a hand up. Riza walked through the guards like they weren't even there, like she couldn't see them, and stepped up on stage. When she looked out, it was the same thing. She wasn't seeing a crowd of horrified and relieved children; she was seeing her future, a nightmare, and she would face it head on as she did everything else in life. "And now the boys!"

Roy didn't care. He didn't care about anything else. He just stared up at her, both wanting her to find him in the crowd and not at the same time. She couldn't be up there. It wasn't fair; it wasn't right. Riza Hawkeye was a goddamn angel and she…she didn't deserve this.

"Roy Mustang!"

The moment his name was called was the one time that he saw Riza flinch. Her eyes went wide and she seemed to stop breathing, mirroring Roy. The guards came to collect him, but the moment they grabbed his arms, he shrugged them off of him and growled at them like a caged wolf. Instantly, the boys around him took a step away. The guards halted. His heart jamming frantically in his chest (I'm not afraid; I'm not afraid; I'm not afraid), he walked up to the stage. At first, he went to stand by her, but the presenter directed him to her other side.

"Our champions!" she called out cheerfully.

Roy looked at Riza. Riza looked at Roy.

He should have known it would be like this – that they would be forced to do this together. He should have known that even if his name hadn't been called, he would have volunteered to protect her, just as she would have volunteered had his name been called. It was what they did. They were stupid. They were foolish. They were all each other had in this moment.

When it was time to go to their respective rooms to say goodbye to their families, Roy insisted that they share a room. "We're family," he told the guards. They didn't seem to like it, but they let it happen anyways, maybe because of the heat in Roy's eyes.

Riza sat down on the couch as soon as the door shut, wringing her hands together. "Father won't even realize we've been chosen until he comes back and finds out I haven't cooked dinner." It was a dumb comment, one not even really spoken to him, but it threw him off.

Roy stomped over to her, his body still brimming with rage, and grabbed her hands. They had become close over the years, their mutual isolation and like-minds bringing them together, but they have had little actual physical contact with each other. Her hands weren't soft like he imagined. She worked too much for them to be soft, not like his. "I won't let them hurt you," he told her.

But Riza brought her eyes to his and a sad smile, the kind only meant for him, lit up her face. "One of us has to die eventually." Her face was soft, her grip on his hands weak, but there was nothing but cold steel in her eyes. She wasn't about to let anyone hurt him either. She had his back always. Now he had to make sure that he was good enough to have hers.

Their mentor was…an odd one. Roy was pacing back and forth in the room on the train, ignoring all the splendid food that had been brought to them, while Riza was sitting down on the couch and watching the terrain pass them by when the doors opened.

Grumman strolled inside, his face and body language full of cheer and the eyes behind his glasses completely cold and sharp. Roy saw Riza stiffen out of the corners of his eyes, but didn't have time to say anything as Grumman started to speak. "Who wants to play a game of chess?"

Roy stood there, one hand raised halfway, his mouth open, and gawked stupidly. He cast a quick glance to Riza, who merely shrugged her shoulders, and then stood up straight, arms at his side. "I will," he answered, eyes narrowing and lips pressed thinly.

The older man grinned; and Roy swore there was a gleam of young mischievousness in that grin that reminded him of something or someone. "I trust you know how to play."

"Yes," Roy said, before quickly adding, "and I'm good too."

"That's good," Grumman said as he began to set up the chess board, "because you're going to need to be at the top of your game in the coming weeks."

Their first week in Central was rough. At first, the two of them clung together like glue. Roy couldn't bear the idea of being separated from Riza; and try as she might deny it, he'd heard her having nightmares in her bedroom next to his. They never talked about it at breakfast, but her nightmares were there, spelling themselves out in the tea dregs at the bottom of their empty cups.

Grumman tried to pull them apart at first. "You might have to kill him," Roy overheard Grumman telling Riza in a low tone on their third night, his hands sitting heavily on her shoulders. She wasn't looking at the older man, instead choosing to focus on her tennis shoes. "You shouldn't get so attached."

Easier said than done, Roy thought as he turned around and headed towards his room. He waited for Grumman to give him to same speech about Riza, but oddly enough, it never came. That confused Roy, but it wasn't like he was going to bring up the fact that he'd been eavesdropping on them. It didn't seem like Riza had listened to the advice anyways. She always showed up at his door so they could go eat their meals together; she listened to him rant and rave about things; she supported him in everything.

It wasn't until the fifth night that he smacked himself in the forehead for realizing that he was doing all the talking and she was barely saying anything, leaving everything to her nightmares. That had to be a burden for her.

And then there was the Opening Ceremony.

"I look bloody ridiculous," Roy groaned as they walked towards their chariot.

Despite herself, a small grin found its way onto Riza's unusually dolled up face. "Very much so."

Roy shot her a look, ready to let her know that she looked just as absurd, seeing as how her outfit was supposed to match his, but found that he couldn't. The grin lit up her face in a way that he hadn't seen since before they were chosen for the Games. And even with all the makeup that she normally never wore and her hair pinned up in some wild Central fashion and the weirdly cut dark blue military get up dress, Roy thought Riza looked remarkably beautiful.

Sighing, he ran his fingers through his hair, probably messing up the slicked back look their dressers had given him. "Let's just get this over with."

They stepped into their chariot and the horses started off with a jolt. As soon as the sun hit them, the crowd began to roar. Grumman had told them to look confident and almost excited to be in the Games, but instead all Roy could do was glower at the people in the stands and into the camera. When he glanced over at Riza, he saw that she was gripping the edge of the chariot so tightly that her knuckles were turning white.

Roy reached over and grabbed her hand that was grasping the front of the chariot. She gave him a curious look – and he saw a glint of fear in those eyes. He knew that she'd be better when staring down the barrel of a gun than in front of this roaring mob of fans. "Let's show them what we're made of – together," he told her. She nodded her head imperceptibly; and then they raised their hands simultaneously in the air, lifting their chins, and staring defiantly back at the cameras. The crowd began to practically scream at their show of togetherness and boldness.

Neither one of them mentioned how her hand was shaking. He tightened his grip, but didn't look over to acknowledge it.

Nothing was going to bring them down as long as they had each other.

In retrospect, it was a mistake. Roy had done well in pretending that he couldn't hear Riza tossing and turning in the other room, her whimpering cries, her shuddering breath… He tried so hard to ignore the dreams that plagued her at night.

And then he heard her scream.

Roy threw his blanket off and jumped out of bed, bolting out of his room and into hers. Seconds later, he was kneeling on her bed and holding onto her arms, keeping her from jerking around. "Riza," he called out to her. "Riza!"

Her eyes shot open, staring faraway, still in her nightmare, until they slid over his face. Immediately she began to soften under his grasp; and he let go of her, sitting on the back of his haunches and taking a deep breath. They didn't say anything for a while, just listening to the sound of each other breathing. It was steady again, like normal.

When he went to stand up and leave, she grasped his wrist and held him there. The look in her amber eyes said everything: Stay, please.

For the first time, Roy felt his stomach burning and tension coiling in his gut. She never showed weakness in front of him – not when she scraped her ankle after falling down or when she had been chosen or when her father ignored her in favor of his student or his work. And she most certainly did not initiate physical contact. They'd had more in the past week than the past few years.

Truth be told, it frightened him.

"Okay." Roy sat back down. Riza scooted over and he moved so that he could sit down next to her, his back resting against her headboard. He placed his arm around her and she rested her head against his chest, one arm thrown carefully over his lap. Thinking the only thing he could think of to do, he ran his fingers through her long blonde hair. It was still wet from taking a shower and when he tilted his head, he could smell strawberries.

After a while, she drifted off to sleep, her chest slowly rising and falling, her breathing gentle. Roy couldn't help but close his eyes and smile. It was the first time he felt like he was really protecting her.

The next morning after everything changed.

Riza became distant with him, even asking to be trained separately every once in a while, though she would also show up to his training sessions as well. At first, he figured she was trying to train extra so that she could protect him, which frustrated him. It was like there was nothing more he could do to protect her that she hadn't already done to protect him. But then she stopped showing up at his door to meet him for breakfast. They didn't watch tapes of fighting techniques together before bed.

Today, she went a step further, taking her lunch and locking herself into her room.

Roy looked at the door forlornly until he was startled by Grumman's voice, "This is normal, Roy. There can only be one victor. Eventually you must face that and it's hard to be around the other person."

"Was it difficult for you?" Roy asked.

"Hm, no," Grumman responded, like he was talking about whether or not he liked cookies. Roy couldn't help the startled look that crossed his face. "But then I despised the other tribute and the feeling was mutual. I didn't care if she died or not."

Roy looked down at his plate and felt a distinct distaste for food all of a sudden. "I just…"

"She's scared," Grumman explained, his eyes locked on her bedroom door.

Riza doesn't get scared, Roy almost said, but he knew that wasn't truth. Not after that night when he'd let her sleep against him so that he could hold the nightmares at bay.

"She doesn't deal with fear very well, at least not like the rest of us. You respond to it with anger; she avoids it altogether."

With anger. Well, Grumman wasn't wrong about that. Roy didn't feel like he was afraid – but oh, how rage bubbled inside of him, right underneath the surface. Sometimes, he was sure that if people were to touch him, they'd be burned by the fire swirling inside of him. Maybe that was why Riza was always so cool to the touch.

(He missed her – missed her soft hands that would accidentally brush against his when passing him something and strawberry hair that always got in her eyes and her disarming smile that only he got to see and bumping shoulders to remind him to stop being so cocky–)

"Grumman is my grandfather," Riza told him as she stood in the doorway of his bedroom one night. For a moment, Roy didn't know what to say, so he just ended up gawking at her as his brain tried to process that bit of information. It didn't change much – but it changed everything.

Then he looked down at the book in his hands. "That's why he pulled you aside to warn you about not getting attached to me and he didn't do the same thing for me." Their mentor was biased. If either of them had to live, he would want it to be his own granddaughter naturally. When he looked up, he spotted that Riza's cheek were slightly pink. She clearly hadn't known that he'd overheard that private conversation between mentor and mentee. "I didn't know you had a grandfather. I thought it was just you and your father."

"I haven't seen him in years and we don't talk much," Riza admitted, avoiding his eyes. "My father cut off all contact with my mother's side of the family after her death."

"So is that why you've been acting sort of weird whenever we're all together?"

Riza nodded her head.

Roy scratched the back of his head. "Well, at least now things won't have to be so awkward. You know, you didn't have to hide this from me."

"I didn't want you to think that you were getting slighted in any way or that I was getting treated better or trained better just because Grumman and I related."

Of course she would think that. Riza was the queen of fairness if nothing else. She was just. She was solid in her convictions. She was caring.

"You're ridiculous," Roy finally said.

Riza raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You need to stop worrying so much about me," Roy told her, "and start worrying about yourself."

For a moment, Riza stared at him with an unreadable expression. It was then that Roy realized he'd said something he shouldn't have. She would always be worried about him – that was her nature. When they'd lived together under her father's roof, she had taken care of him, fed him, cleaned his clothes, pretty much everything except do his homework. Saying something like that to her was akin to insulting her. He had to resist the urge to slap himself in the face.

She turned to leave his room and Roy tossed the book to the side and jumped off the bed. "No, I mean – that's not what I meant." She stopped. He sighed. "I meant that…well, okay, I guess I did mean that, but I also mean that I'm okay with the idea of you getting trained more than me. Look, Riza; if anything were to happen to you during the Games…I don't know what I'd do. I'd rather you be as prepared as possible. I'll be fine."

"I don't want to die," Riza admitted, "but there are times when I think that I don't want you to die even more. Sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

Roy smirked. "I didn't know you cared so much."

Riza narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't make me regret it."

There was absolutely nothing he despised more than being around the other tributes. In the training room where they were supposed to learn how to use weapons and other skills, they were forced alongside the people that they will soon have to try to kill or be killed by. It wasn't exactly pleasant. Roy would rather be alone than stuck in a room with these kids, but whenever he glanced at the doors, the guards hadn't moved away yet.

A round of gunfire shook Roy out of his reverie. He walked over to the gun range, trying to think of who this person might be so he could stay clear of them, when he spotted Riza. She was standing perfectly still, two handguns held up in her hands still pointing towards the targets, a passive expression on her face, like she was cloud gazing. When the targets rushed forward so she could assess her aim, Roy let out something resembling a choked gasp.

All of her marks hit – and all of them damn near perfect.

"When in hell did you learn that?" Roy demanded.

Riza set the guns down and turned back to face him, a slightly sheepish look on her face. "I've been more or less teaching myself for a while," she answered. Roy just stared at her, demanding her to continue. "Grumman – my grandfather – he gave me a rifle as a present for my tenth birthday. He said it was because he rather hoped I'd follow him into the military, but I think…I think it was just in case I was ever picked for the Games like him."

I could kiss that man's feet for thinking ahead, Roy thought to himself.

Out loud, he said, "Well, I for one am incredibly thankful you've got my back."

While searching through the rifles, trying to decide which one she wanted to try, Riza said, "With the way you've been acting around the other tributes, I better, because you're going to have a target on it."

"What?" Roy furrowed his brow and looked back at the other tributes. A few of them gave him looks, none of them good and some look downright…murderous. "I'm not here to play nice with these idiots."

"You treat them like dirt, but they're here the same as us," Riza pointed out, finally settling on an older-looking model.

Roy folded his arms across his chest and harrumphed. "Not all of them – some of them volunteered."

"True," Riza said, "and you treat them even worse. You're snarky with them."

"Snarky? I would–"

Riza threw him a look at him as she settled the gun against her shoulder. Roy shut up immediately. She was right, of course. For the most part, he tried his best to avoid the other tributes, whereas Riza had talked to a few of them. If he did have to speak to them, it was mostly him grumbling and snarling, glaring at them from behind Riza. He didn't mean to treat them like that really, but he didn't want to talk to them either. He was going to have to kill these people eventually – and they were going to try to kill him and Riza. Those weren't the kinds of people you make friends with. And don't even get him started on career tributes.

Instead he focused on Riza, who aimed the rifle. She took her time, blinking once and steadying her breathing so much that it almost looked like she'd stopped completely. And then she shot the target right in the head.

When Roy looked back at the tributes, he saw a few different expressions: awe, fear, and fury. Whether she liked it or not, Riza put a different sort of target on her back – a target that said she was dangerous.

The nightmare caught him off guard. Roy thought he'd been dealing with having been chosen as a tribute rather well. He hadn't flown off the handle too much, hadn't become overcome with emotions, hadn't had any sort of panic attacks. All things considering that he probably only had a few weeks left to live, he was handling things with some amount of grace and dignity, keeping appearances up, all grins and jokes.

And then that damn nightmare happened.

He dreamed of the Games, of Riza, of blood. Though he couldn't remember exactly what was going on, when he woke up thrashing, wrapped up in soaked sheets, the last thing his mind's eye saw was Riza's throat being slit, her limp body collapsing on the ground, and red blood seeping out of her wound while he was bound and couldn't get to her. He jerked awake with her name tearing out of his throat in a raw scream, choking on it and struggling to breathe.

It took minutes before he was able to calm down, gripping the sheets tightly and searching the dark room for any consolations. More than anything, he wished Riza was there with him. The tiny moment of weakness hit him like a rock and shamed him. No, he couldn't be so weak. He had to be strong. He had to act like this didn't shake him to his core. He had to – keep it – he had to keep it together–

"Roy?" Her timid voice from the doorway caused him to swing his head in her direction. When his eyes locked onto hers, he couldn't stop himself. Her skin was pale in the moonlight, just as it had been in his dream as her blood had drained from her. It caused him to suck in air; and when he let out the breath, it came out in a choked sob.

She was at his side in a second, sitting on her knees on his bed, her arms around him, pressing his head against the top of her chest so that he could hide his face in the crook of her neck as he cried.

He couldn't get the images out of his head. They kept flashing before his eyes, more vivid and gruesome than the last, and he slid his arms around her so that he could grasp the back of her shirt tightly. "There was so much blood," he cried, his tears soaking into her skin. "I couldn't… I was too late…"

"It was just a dream," Riza whispered, running her fingers through his bed head hair.

"But what if it isn't?" His chest shook and so did hers. He didn't want to cry, especially not in front of her, but it was only now that he realized he hadn't been handling things so well. He'd just been bottling it all up – he'd been hiding and pretending – and that nightmare had unlocked something, and he couldn't stop everything from pouring out. He was spilling out like water out of a knocked over glass, making a mess of them both.

"You have to tell yourself they're just dreams," she told him. "Otherwise they just become self-fulfilling prophecies; and I don't believe in fate. I can't."

Gradually Roy began to calm down and the tears stopped coming. In the morning, he would be so damn embarrassed and he wouldn't be able to look her in the eyes for a whole day, but for right now, he just wanted to take in her scent of lavender and her warmth and the steady pulse in her neck that told him she was still alive. "Why?"

"Because I have to believe that we create our own fate," Riza said. "I have to believe that we can beat this somehow."

"You're a charming, little shit; I'll give you that."

Grumman's voice rang in Roy's head as he stepped out onto the stage wearing a deep blue suit. Instead of putting him in something absurd again, he'd made sure he had a hand in picking what he was wearing when he was going to be on stage in view of millions of people. After all, if he was going to use his ever-so charming personality to the best of its ability, then he needed to look damn good on camera.

"Someone cleans up nice!" Barry laughed.

Roy sat down, a grin on his face. "My foster mother always taught me that if I wasn't going to look my best, then I might as well not go outside at all."

Barry leaned in, an overly intrigued and serious expression on his face. The man was so painfully melodramatic, but everyone loved him and it was best to take advantage of that. "Foster mother, eh?"

Hook, line, and sinker. Maybe using the fact that he was an orphan was dirty, in bad taste, and even insulting to his parents' memories. But they were dead – and, honestly, Roy didn't want to join them just yet. Everyone knew that people liked a tragic background story; and he needed people to like him. "I, ah, well – she's my aunt, actually. My parents…they died when I was young – a car crash."

"Oh my goodness!" The interviewer shook his head. "And now you're the last line of your family. This must feel like a heavy burden, being so alone in this."

"In all honesty," Roy sighed, "being in the Games, so close to death, I've never felt closer to them."

The crowd murmured their sympathies. One person started clapping and then the rest followed, their comforting cheers resonating through the crowd. Roy gave them a wave and a very grateful, albeit somewhat sheepish expression. Barry had his hand to his chest, saying what a brave young man Roy was into the microphone and shaking his head.

Now came the hard part.

Roy cleared his throat. "And actually, I'm not alone in this at all."

A sly look came over Barry just as quickly as his sympathetic one vanished. "Oh really now?"

"The other tribute…"

"The lovely and reticent Riza Hawkeye."

Roy did his best not to grin. That was a good word to describe her. "She's my closest friend. I've been her father's apprentice for the past three years. I honestly don't know what I'd do without her – and yet…even though she's helped me through all of this, I wish more than anything she wasn't here."

The "oh no" that surged through the crowd was loud enough to shake the stage. He didn't need to say anything else. The crowd and people would infer what they wanted from his words. They could think that Riza was his best friend – or they could think that she meant something more to him. (Which were, coincidentally, the two things that Roy did his best to never think about.)

"Tell me, how did it feel when you heard her name called up?" Barry asked.

"It was like finding out that my parents were dead again," Roy admitted, ducking his head. It wasn't a lie; and he hated being so honest on stage in front of people that knew nothing about him and Riza, but it needed to be said. He knew that she would be infuriated at him for saying things like this, for airing out what was theirs, but it would help them both in the end when strangers cared for their story and survival during the Games. "I had my aunt and sisters, but for three years, Riza was all the family I had. We did nearly everything together and the idea of her being in the Games without me to protect her scared me more than I wanted to admit."

"Which begs the question," Barry said carefully, "would you have volunteered if you hadn't been chosen?"

For a moment, Roy didn't say anything – couldn't say anything, really, if only because he had been wondering that same thing from the moment his name had been called. He hadn't wanted her to be in the Games alone – he'd wanted desperately to protect her – but he'd also been downright terrified when he had been chosen. It was only right that they were here together, for each other, but it also put them in a horrible position. Riza's words on the day they were chosen came to mind: "One of us has to die eventually."

But he wasn't going to let her die. And she wasn't going to let him die either. The Gameskeeper was going to have one hell of a problem on his hands.

"I've thought about that long and hard. Self-preservation is, of course, one of the strongest motivators in life; and humans are selfish by nature. I'd only known her for three years. Is she so important that I would risk my life?"

Roy looked down at his gloved hands. He imagined her blood on them.

"The truth is, I don't think I would have ever been able to forgive myself if she died alone in the Games. Even if she won and I wasn't here, I would know that I was a coward and I left her to defend herself. I'd have felt like I stuck a knife in her back." He clenched his hands into fists. "So yeah, even though I was scared out of my mind when I was chosen as a tribute, if I hadn't have been, I would have volunteered anyways. She would have done the same for me."

No one was going to forget this moment. No one would forget these two tributes. Roy was going to make sure that they went down in history.

"Why did you do that?" Riza demanded the second he stepped backstage. Her face was flushed and her hands gripped tight at her sides. Everyone behind her looked incredibly uneasy, keeping a good distance away from her.

Roy raised his hands up apologetically. "Listen; it was a very strategic–"

For a second, something flashed across Riza's face – hurt, embarrassment, confusion – and was then replaced with absolute fury. He'd never seen her like this before. She looked ready to punch him in the face. "Oh, so it was just a strategic move?" she said, her voice deadly calm. Roy gave her a leery look. That calm tone bode nothing good for him. "Everything you said was just part of some elaborate plan you cooked up and didn't bother telling me about?"

"I…" Roy looked at her dumbfounded, not sure of what to say. "No, I meant those things too… It was just…it was part of the plan…"

"A plan that involved me!" Riza stepped towards him and Roy was half in mind to step back, but this was Riza. He'd never been afraid of Riza before (until now). "It would have been nice to know that you were planning on using me to get people to like you."

"I wasn't using you," Roy insisted.

"Yes, you were!" And though her words and tone were angry, there were tears brimming in her eyes, tears that he had caused because he hadn't thought things completely through. "Now I have to go out there and play along. People are going to look at me like I'm some…some hopeless damsel in distress, ever so thankful that I've got my hero to protect me."

"That's not…that's not what I wanted… You aren't a damsel in distress…" He could feel himself falling, feel himself shrinking under the waves of her fury, of her humiliation. Yes, he had used her – but he'd used himself too. He'd used the situation they were placed in. Didn't she see that they needed it? Neither of them were career tributes; they were just some unknown kids. They needed the publicity. He had to do what was necessary.

"Well I don't need you to protect me, Roy Mustang!" Riza snapped, tears starting to spill out of her eyes, completely unbidden. She wiped away at them with just as much anger, almost like she was accusing them of betraying her too. "And I'm certainly not grateful that you're here with me. I don't want you here. I don't want you anywhere near me or the Games. I want you to live and now...now you're going to die."

Riza was perfect on stage. She was beautiful and flawless with a hint of melancholy and strength. And she played along with the game that Roy set up too. He knew that many of the things she said were true – or at least he had to believe that they were true. Everyone fell in love with her on stage though, even her interviewer. Barry was absolutely charmed by Riza, the young woman that had lived through tragedy and come out stronger for it, only to be chosen for the Games alongside her best friend.

When she came backstage though and Roy went to speak with her, she brushed right past him and even past Grumman. He knew that she would hide in the solitary darkness of her bedroom. Roy dropped his hand, a crestfallen expression on his face, and watched as Riza disappeared from his sight.

Grumman sighed and pat him on the shoulder. "She'll come around." Roy looked up, more unsure than anything, but the older man seemed very sure. "Of course, springing this plan of yours on her very last minute might not have been the best of ideas, but I understand why you did it and it was a solid plan. You'll want supporters when you're in the Games; and the best way is to get people invested in you and your story. Combining yours and Riza's together makes it look even better."

Roy jerked himself away from Grumman and glowered. "I meant what I said when I was on stage. If I hadn't been chosen, I would've volunteered anyways. I need to protect her."

Grumman rubbed his face with his hand. "It's like talking to a mirror when I talk to you two. Both of you say the same thing. You need to start thinking about yourself."

"I'm nothing without Riza!" The words slipped out before he could even think about them. Slowly, a very terrified look came over Roy's face and he backed away from everyone in the room. No, he couldn't be with them. He couldn't be with anyone right now. It was just two days before the Games and this new-found realization had hit him like a train. "I need to get out of here – now."

He turned on his heels and ran out of the room, shoving his way past a few other tributes that yelled at him in irritation. He didn't care about them though. He needed Riza – but then he also knew that she wouldn't want to be around him either. When he finally burst outside, the fresh air hit him and nearly burned his lungs as he panted heavily. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to go into the Games like this – with her upset with him and him completely distracted. They needed to fix this and they needed to fix it fast.

"Listen; I can't…I can't care about you this much, at least not so openly and not around the other tributes," Roy muttered, sitting on the floor at the side of her bed.

"I know."

Her words shocked him a little; and he looked over his shoulder at her. Riza was sitting upright against the headboard, her knees pressed against her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs. It was like she was trying to hold everything inside or she'd come undone and everything would spill out. God, it hurt him to see her like this.

"Obviously I do though." Roy bit his lip, a habit he'd thought he outgrew when he was ten. "You know that, right?"

"I know," she repeated, her voice quieter than ever before. "It was a good idea to open up about our history so that people would want to become our sponsors. We've got a good…story. It invests people in our lives, which helps us during the Games." She looked down and her bangs fell in front of her eyes, casting a dark shadow over her face. "But it paints a target on our back. The other tributes know that they can get to one of us through the other and vice versa."

Somehow, a small grin worked its way onto Roy's face. "It didn't help that you scored so high in that threat assessment test. You've come out looking like a wildcard threat."

"I want them to know that they should be scared of me," Riza said. "Maybe it will keep them at bay for a little while."

"Or maybe they'll try to take you out first."

Riza sighed. "It's a possibility that I have to live with."

Despite the fact that he knew he shouldn't – that he needed to keep himself away from Riza Hawkeye – Roy couldn't help himself. Tomorrow morning, they would be fighting for their lives and at least one of them would have to die. Only one person could win the Games. And so he allowed himself the luxury of grasping her hand tightly in his and pressing it against his cheek. She gasped, tensing slightly, but then began to relax as his hot breath warmed her cool skin.

"You know you're stupid for following me," he told her. "I'm reckless and I'm an idiot."

"I'd follow you into hell, if you asked nicely," she said, somewhat teasing, somewhat serious. "And besides, you're my reckless idiot, right?"

The hardest part about the beginning of the Games was that he was alone. They'd all been crammed into an aircraft and flown to the arena. Riza had sat stiffly at his side; and he'd spent the entire ride alternating between desperately wanting to hold her hand and glaring furiously at the few career tributes that looked at them like they were dead meat. Once they'd arrived though, all the tributes were taken to separate rooms where they'd be seen off by their mentors. They only had one mentor from their district, however; and it didn't even have to be said that Grumman would see Riza off.

And so Roy walked into the glass tube, hands dug deep in his pockets, and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, thinking about what needed to be done, trying not to worry about Riza.

Water, food, weapons. All the things he would need to survive. And Riza.

The glass door shut randomly while his eyes were still closed. Roy stiffened, feeling claustrophobic for the first time in his life, and tried not to have what might be an asthma attack.

This was it. This was the Hunger Games. This was where he was probably going to die, be it in a few minutes or a few days.

Inside his pockets, his hands clenched into fists, his short nails digging into his palms.

I need a drink, he thought randomly. I should've taken advantage of Central when I had the chance.

God help any tribute that tried to kill Riza.

Somehow, miracle upon miracles, Roy managed to snag a backpack filled with supplies without getting his head chopped off, all thanks to tripping over a random branch right when the male Drachma tribute swung an axe at him. After that blunder, he'd pulled himself to his feet, punched the other boy straight in the face, and booked it into the forest.

Apparently, all that training he'd done had been for naught because that had been just plain ridiculous.

He spent the better part of an hour stumbling around in the woods, wishing he'd spent more time adventuring the woods that surrounded the Hawkeye household, before finding a small stream. After casting a glance around, he crouched down and opened up the pack, searching through it before pulling out a canteen. He filled it up once, drank from it greedily, and then filled it up again before shoving it back in the pack and walking in the opposite direction of the water.

Everyone knew that they needed water to survive. Where there was water there would be people; and Roy did not feel like being around people right now unless they were his fellow district tribute.

The sun began to fall, which made Roy more than a little nervous. He'd almost run into some of the other kids, but had managed to avoid them. There hadn't been a single sight or hint of Riza though. He couldn't help but berate himself for not paying attention to her earlier. What if…what if she was already dead and he was just wandering around here aimlessly?

Roy stopped abruptly, sightlessly staring forward.

What if Riza was dead? And he hadn't done a single damn thing to save her? All he'd managed to do was trip, punch a kid in the face, find water, and take a lonely stroll through the woods.

An out-of-nowhere hand slipped over his mouth, causing him to flail and panic and call himself a bunch of names, when a very familiar voice whispered into his ear, "Stop." The person behind him turned him around and shoved him back against a tree, her hand still over his mouth, as she searched through the darkening forest behind him, her eyes alert and sharp as a bird's.

After what felt like minutes, Riza pulled her hand off his mouth and took a step back. "Sorry, I just had to make sure you weren't being followed."

Roy rubbed the back of his head, which had landed painfully against the bark of the tree. "Followed?"

"You were stomping through the brush like an elephant." Before Roy could deny such a thing, Riza gave him a half smile. "That's how I knew it was you."

"Well – okay then." Roy dropped his hand to his side. "So what do we do now?"

Riza held up a small black handgun. It glinted off the last glow of the sun. "We survive."

Their main problem would be food. Riza was apparently a damn good hunter, considering her skill with a rifle, but the handgun was too loud and wasting ammo on animals would be a stupid idea. Instead, most of their food consisted of berries and vegetables for the first two days, which sucked, until Riza figured out how to set up a few traps.

"It's the little things that trip you up, isn't it?" Roy sighed as they sat down behind a large rock. "I totally forgot about the Games a few years ago where half the tributes died of starvation."

"We always forget because no one wants to remember," Riza said as she put on the last touches to the small trap. "It makes things easier that way."

Roy closed his eyes for just a second. He couldn't bear to do so any longer than that. "Not right now."

Riza said nothing in response as she stood up to examine her finished work and then wiped her hands on her pants before walking back over to him and sitting down. She pulled the gun out from its place tucked in the back of her pants and held it in her lap.

Though he'd seen the way she had with guns, it still threw him off to see her holding onto one so casually, like it was a wallet. In her lap, it looked positively weightless, though he had an idea of the emotional weight that it carried. He thought of the backpack that he'd risked his life for. "Did you get that at the beginning in the cornucopia?"

"No," was her simple response.

Roy frowned. He was used to Riza's simple answers, but he was also used to being able to read everything else through her body language. She was completely still though and her face was impassive, her eyes resolutely anywhere but on him. And so he stared her down, knowing that she would eventually grow uncomfortable and either tell him to stop or tell him what he wanted to know.

A whole five minutes later, Riza finally looked at him and bit her lip. "I immediately ran into the forest, like Grumman told us. You clearly didn't listen." Well, of course not. Since when did he listen? "About three hours later though, while I was trying to find you, I got jumped from behind by one of the careers."

Roy hissed in a breath. "Riza, I'm sorry; I should've–"

"It doesn't matter," Riza interrupted coolly. "She wasn't trained as well as she thought she was apparently. I killed her, searched the body, and found the gun and some extra ammo. She didn't even know how to turn the safety off."

Despite himself, Roy's face paled slightly. Riza had already killed someone; she already had blood on her hands. When her eyes dropped back down again, he realized that she wasn't looking at the weapon in her hands but her hands themselves.

"I punched a kid in the face," Roy blurted out. "I think I broke his nose."

Riza scoffed, not meanly though. "You're a dangerous one, Roy Mustang. Other tributes will fear for their noses' lives while you roam this arena."

"I'll have you know I'm great in a scuffle," Roy lied. She blew out air again. They were quiet for a moment until Roy reached out and pulled her towards him. She hesitated, her eyes warning him against touching her, asking him all sorts of questions, but he tugged on her once more and she slowly moved so that she was sitting next to him against the rock. "You should get some rest. I know you didn't sleep a wink last night. I'll take the first watch. Maybe we'll catch something."

There was a hum in the back of her throat; and she laid her head on his shoulders, her eyes already closed. "You mean maybe I'll catch something?" Before he could even respond though, Riza was asleep, quiet as a mouse. These Games were wearing her down more than she would ever admit.

It was all his fault. The entire thing was all thanks to his stupidity. Three nights in, already over half of the tributes dead, and Roy made the mistake of his life.

Riza was asleep on the ground next to him, using the pack as a pillow. They'd gotten into a skirmish today with another tribute, but the rocks underneath the boy's feet had slipped and he'd fallen into the river. It was a lucky break. And then one of Riza's traps turned up with a rabbit. It was a damn lucky break.

But it was cold as hell. Roy reflected not for the first time in the past three days that he'd never been camping before; and if he survived this thing, he would never go camping again. It had rained in the morning; and they were still wet. Plus, their jackets were thin, barely enough to keep them warm, and though the pack had a small blanket, it wasn't enough to keep Riza from shivering next to him in her sleep. He hated seeing her suffer like that, taking note of the new cut on her jacket from today's fighting.

Why was he so useless at protecting her?

That was when Roy got the bright idea of starting a small fire. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to start a fire. His aunt used to huff and make comments about him being a pyromaniac and becoming an arsonist when he was older. It would've been insulting had she maybe not been right. Even if he'd never been camping before, he knew how to get a fire going. And so in a matter of minutes, he had a fire going; and when he glanced over at Riza, he saw that her body had relaxed and she was no longer shivering.

Roy grinned to himself. Ha, so he wasn't entirely useless after all.

Not thirty minutes later, he heard a noise in the woods to his left and he jerked his head around. Riza began to stir next to him and slowly pulled herself upright, rubbing at her eyes. "Is it daytime al–?" And then her eyes caught sight of the fire and she gasped, bolting forward and clumsily throwing dirt on it.

"What are you–?"

"A fire!" Riza grounded out. "How could you be so foolish?"

"Foolish–?"

There was another sound, a stick breaking, and both Roy and Riza jerked around, Riza pulling out the gun simultaneously and pointing it in the same direction. Standing in front of them was that same Drachma boy that had nearly swiped Roy's head off. Indeed, his nose was swollen. But there was a smirk on his face too. "How nice of you to let us know where you are," the boy laughed. "That's what she meant by foolish."

Roy's face flushed. Of course, fucking of course. He should have known better. Fires were okay during the day, maybe, as long as they kept the smoke down, but at night it was basically like waving a sign that said, Hey come kill me! For hell's sake, he was a dumbass.

"And I'd drop the gun if I were you," a girl's voice said from behind them. Roy looked back and saw the female Drachma tribute pulling on a bow and aiming an arrow at Riza from behind.

Riza didn't bat an eyelash as she said, "Guns are faster than bows."

The Drachma boy actually chuckled. "You aren't that fa–"

He didn't even finish the sentence before Riza fired once, hitting him in the gut, and then twisted around and let off another shot, right into the startled Drachma girl's head. Roy was still gaping in complete shock, his ears ringing wildly from the gun going off so close to his head, when Riza stood up and walked over to the gasping and blood gurgling male Drachma tribute.

"Rule number one: never be distracted," Riza said quietly, more to herself than the boy. She stood at his side, looking down at him with an impassive expression, as he choked on his own blood and then went still. Two canon booms sounded out in the air, noting the two deaths that had just occurred. For a few minutes, neither one of them said anything. The ringing slowly went away, replaced by shocked silence, until Roy finally pulled himself to his feet.

"Riza…" He reached out cautiously, but then stopped himself, like he was afraid to touch her.

He knew that they would have to kill – it was kill or be killed – but it was completely different seeing her do something like that, like it was absolutely nothing to her. She was looking down at the boy's body like she might be looking at her reflection in a puddle. He couldn't breathe. She'd saved his life, but at what cost? She didn't even seem human in this moment, certainly not like the warm Riza Hawkeye he'd grown to know and care for over the past few years. Where was the girl that gave him an extra scoop of sugar in his tea even when they could barely afford it because she knew how sweet he liked it?

And then he noticed the gun starting at shake at her side and how the shaking traveled all the way from her hand, up her arm, and into her entire body. Her chin dropped against her chest and she made a shuddering sniffing sound, like she was trying to keep herself from crying.

"Riza, I'm–" When Roy touched her arm, she pulled away from him and gave him a horrified look. He saw something in her eyes that scared him more than the detachment he'd seen when she killed the two tributes. It was pure disgust – not with him, but with herself. He steeled himself and stepped towards her. "Don't. Don't you dare start hating yourself over this."

"You were right," Riza choked out. "I am a threat. I'm a murderer."

Roy grabbed her wrist. "No, you're a protector. You're a savior. You're a fucking godsend, Riza Hawkeye. I'd be dead right now without you."

A shiny film of tears came over Riza's eyes and she looked away from him. "The thing they don't tell you is that there aren't any winners of the Games. Even if you make it out alive, you don't really survive."

Anger welled inside Roy like a fire, burning him from the inside out. The creators of the Games, Central, King Bradley – all of them would pay for this. No one should be made to feel like that, especially not his Riza, and it infuriated him to no end. All for their amusement or to keep the peace or some other stupid bull shit reason? No, he was done. Seeing her like this, hearing those hollow words coming out of her mouth, caused something inside Roy to snap.

"Let's go," he simply said. He let go of her, went to grab the blanket and backpack, and then started back into the thick of the woods, a silent Riza following at his heels. This time, he didn't care if he was stomping through the brush like an elephant. He dared anyone to find them.

Let them come, Roy thought wildly. I'll fucking kill the lot of them.

Things changed rapidly after that.

They were chased by a pack of rabid monkeys, caught in an electrical storm, and ran into the practically feral, female Ishval tribute.

This time, Roy killed her. The girl had come out of nowhere, dropping on them from a tree and knocking Riza to the ground. Roy had reacted without thinking, picking up a rock and smacking the girl in the head before she could stab Riza. He hit her a few more times for good measure. And then he just stood there, holding up the bloody rock in his hand. He only dropped it when Riza touched his shoulder and the canon let out a resounding boom, signaling the Ishval girl's death.

To say the girl's death (murder, it was murder) rocked Roy would be an understatement. He was finally able to understand the look in Riza's eyes after she'd killed the Drachma tributes. Once the adrenaline and rage dissipated from him, all that was left were shock and disgust. Riza led him to a creek so that he could wash the blood off his hands and face, but when he'd caught sight of his reflection, he saw a wild monster instead of a young man.

The words out of her mouth were: "It's getting dark. We need to find shelter."

The words in her eyes said: There is no sense in dwelling on what you had to do.

"I guess I can't go through the Games with just punching people in the face," Roy said, the joke feeling misplaced and foreign coming from him. Riza looked at him, but said nothing. She didn't need to anyways. He furrowed his brow, like he was confused about the joke that came out of his mouth, and then followed her quietly.

So no, Roy didn't dwell. He didn't dream about the girl's death when he passed out in a cave as Riza took first watch. He didn't dream of Riza's kills. He didn't dream of anything, just never-ending blackness. Because there was no time to dwell. There was only surviving. There was only keeping Riza alive and staying alive long enough to ensure that.

By happenstance, they came across a small, makeshift camp with a few deserted yet very important items. There was blood everywhere, telling the story of a violent death, but they stepped around the stains as they examined what was left behind.

"Eureka," Roy gasped when he opened a box that had been hidden in a bush.

"What is it?" Riza asked curiously as she peered over his shoulder.

"You know how guns are your thing?" Roy said, digging around further into the box. "Well this is mine."

Riza frowned. "That still doesn't answer my question."

Roy pulled out a few large red sticks with wicks at the end in one hand and a zippo lighter in the other. His eyes were alight, more so than they'd ever been before. He grinned up at her, like a puppy. "Fire."

"Ah, you're absurd, Roy," Riza harrumphed as she stood back up straight and looked around. "Let's just pack this stuff up and get going. We can figure out what to do with that stuff when we make camp."

"This is like Christmas," Roy practically moaned. It was only when he shifted the box to the side did he see the large parachute to the side. This box had been from a sponsor. He found the card on the ground, flipped it open, and read it. "Huh, this is odd."

"Hm, what is?" Riza asked, not sounding too interested or looking back at him.

"The note from the sponsor," Roy told her. "It says: Hope this somehow finds you, G."

Riza stopped and then let out a very un-Riza-like snort. "That crazy man…"

"What?" Roy tilted his head. "You don't think…?" Riza glanced at him and shrugged her shoulders. "Your grandfather is insane. How did he know I like and have actually researched explosives anyways? It's not like that's something that comes up in every day conversation."

"He's always had a way of knowing things that he shouldn't," Riza told him. "I figure he has contacts everywhere or people just tell him things – one of the perks of being a victor, I suppose."

Roy tossed one of the sticks of dynamite in his hands and then looked down at it carefully as they walked back to the creek so they could refill their canteens before nightfall. This certainly changed things. The other tributes didn't know it, but ideas began to form in Roy's head as they walked in silence, dangerous and crazy ideas that would either save their skins or get them killed. Either way, it was about time to put an end to these Games.

Just when Roy thought that things were finally going their way, the game maker, whoever the hell he was, decided to throw a fire storm in their way. He would've laughed ironically, considering the fact that he was carrying a pack full of extremely volatile and very flammable explosives on his back, if not for the fact that they were running for their lives.

"Duck!" Riza suddenly screamed, dropping to the ground and rolling down a hill. Roy followed suit, just before a fireball flew over his head, and landed solidly on the ground. They tumbled about not-so gracefully and then dragged themselves to their feet, still somehow outrunning the flames. "We're almost to the river!"

Too many things were going on in his mind. Riza had said that he should abandon the explosives, but he didn't want to do that. The water would be the safest place for them, but he couldn't get his pack wet or they'd be worthless. He also didn't want to blow up into smithereens, however.

"I swear!" Roy shouted as he jumped over a fallen tree branch that was slowly catching fire. "They did this on purpose!"

Riza came to an abrupt stop and he smacked into the back of her, nearly knocking her over. The only thing that stopped her from falling was him grabbing onto her arm. Before he could ask her why the hell she wasn't running when there was a fire tailing them, he caught sight of the tall male Creta tribute standing before them. He had a rifle directly pointed at Riza.

Just fucking great–

A very sudden and loud explosion burst in the middle of them. While it threw the Creta boy far back, the fireball having landed practically at his feet, Riza was thrown back against him, knocking both of them to the ground as flames shot up in the air. When he came to, he found Riza lying prone on top of him – and the back of her jacket on fire.

"Riza, no!" The scream tore out of his throat; and he pulled himself out from underneath her. First, he beat the flames off her back and then, hissing furiously, picked her limp body up and carried her down to the water. He threw the pack to the side of the creek, reminding himself that it could not get wet if his plans were to succeed, and then crumpled to his knees in the water and mud, Riza sinking down so that all the flames were put out. He clumsily held her head above the water. "Riza, c'mon, wake up…" She didn't stir though. "Riza, don't do this to me! Please!"

And then her eyelids seemed to drag themselves open and she looked at him. "I don't know why you like fire so much," she mumbled. "That really hurt."

Laughter burbled out of his mouth and he pressed his face into her wet hair. "Using yourself as a human shield against fire to protect me is kind of stupid."

"You're wearing a pack filled with explosives," she pointed out. "I'd rather catch on fire than you."

A canon boomed, filling Roy with a sense of relief. The Creta boy must've died from the fireball. And of course, now that they were submerged in the water and injured, the firestorm stopped just as quickly as it had begun. She forced himself to let her down, so that she could walk out of the creek on her own, but not without some assistance from him. He grabbed the pack and they made their way to a small cave that they had found two days prior. At least there they might have some shelter and Riza could rest up.

It wasn't until later, after they'd settled and checked all their supplies, Riza finally allowed him to look at her back. He grimaced at the burns. They weren't awful, but they would definitely leave scars. He splashed some cool water on the angry red wounds, causing her to flinch and hiss, and he shot her an apologetic look. It'd be a good idea to get some salve for the burns, in case they got infected. The creek and mud probably wasn't the most sanitary of things out there.

Tapping his fingers on the ground, Roy tried to figure out what to do. He knew that they were in a tough spot. Riza was being difficult, pretending the pain wasn't so bad, but he knew she was lying and that she needed something to help with the wounds. She was shivering again, cold but hot at the same time. But they were in the middle of the Games, not in the city where they could just pop into a store to get medicine.

So he did the only thing he could do while huddled in a cave in the middle of the night: he manipulated the Games.

Roy moved so that his back was against the stone wall and then gently tugged Riza towards him. It was not unlike that one night where she laid against his side and dozed off. She went to do the same, but he shook his head slightly and she gave him a questioning, almost scared look. He turned her around so that she could lean back against him his chest and his legs were on either side of her; he then scooted her down a little so that her head was just at the bottom of his chin and her back wasn't entirely pressed up against him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Keeping you warm," he told her. Once they were settled, he slipped one of his hands into hers, their fingers entangling like they were always meant to be like that.

"Feels good," Riza mumbled a bit weakly. With his free hand, he played with the bangs of her blond hair. It was normally so silky and bright, but they'd spent more than a week without showering. He found that he didn't care though. She was so bloody beautiful; it made him bite his lip so hard that it almost bled.

"You know," Roy said lowly, "I'd be lost without you."

A small chuckle rippled through Riza's body. "Hm, you're a terrible shot and can't hunt for anything."

"It's not just that. It's–" Roy's throat felt dry and constricted. Play the Game. But was more than that too. He swallowed down a lump. "I wasn't alone for too long after my parents died. My aunt found me a few months later and took me in. Then I had all my sisters to look after me. But I…I never really had a friend until I met you. And I'm sorry it took me a whole year to actually start paying attention to you when you're truly the greatest person I've ever met."

Riza tensed up underneath him, not out of fear though. It was something else entirely. "Roy…you don't have to…"

"No, I do. It needs to be said. I mean, hell, we could die in this stupid cave for all we know." He tightened his grip on her hand. "I know you didn't want me here, but I'm glad to be here with you. You've gone through nearly entire life alone – you practically raised yourself – but I didn't want you to go through this on your own as well. You mean so much more to me than that. You're better than everyone in these awful Games, brighter than anything your father has ever taught me, more beautiful than the sunrise every morning in this arena that lets me know I'm still alive." He pressed his nose into her wet hair. "I couldn't do this without you; and I still don't know why you're following me when I'm so useless."

Riza turned her head so that her cheek was against his chest and he felt hot tears against his shirt. "You're not useless. You're the best thing to ever happen to me." She tilted her head up so that they could connect eyes. "Don't you dare die on me."

"I won't," Roy insisted. "I promise."

A tiny dinging sound interrupted the conversation, echoing off the walls of the little cave. A small tin connected by a parachute floated inside and landed near their feet. Riza leaned forward and picked it up with her free hand and handed it to Roy. He hated letting go of her hand, but if this was what he thought it was, it would be a lifesaver.

When he twisted open the cap, he let out a sigh of relief and kissed the top of Riza's head. "C'mon, let's get this medication on those wounds. It'll help with the pain and healing."

The moment over, Riza nodded her head and moved so that she was sitting up straight and he could apply the medication. He did so quickly, noting her almost immediate sighs of relief and how her entire body slumped, like it had been wrought like a bow filled with tension. Soon after that, she lay back against him and he convinced her to fall asleep for just a little. She nearly always took watch, but she needed time to heal and rest.

A minute later, Roy noticed that there was something else in the tin, a small note, just like the one that had been lying beside the crate full of explosives. He picked it up and flipped it open. Very persuasive, good idea, Mustang, but don't go kissing my granddaughter unless you're the one dying, G. Roy smirked and set the note back in the tin. Persuasive indeed – but the truth always was.

The next morning, Roy was just coming to as Riza clambered back inside the cave, looking more energetic and bright-eyed than he'd seen her all week. She got down on her knees and set a rifle down in front of him. "Found this on the ground outside while getting water," she said, something of a grin on her face. The grin suddenly went away. "That Creta tribute must've dropped it when that fireball…" She shook her head. "Never mind – this is a great find. I'm better with a rifle than a handgun – and this one has a scope." It couldn't have been a better gift or come at a better time.

Roy gave Riza a hard look. "I think it's time we end this thing."

Riza nodded her head. "Set up the traps today."

"By my counts, there are only four other tributes left," Roy said as he drew a poor excuse of a map in the dirt with a stick. "What do you say we have a little reunion?"

"Well, I'm not a fan, but I think I can attend this one," Riza replied dryly.

"Good, because I hate going to parties without a date," Roy said, flashing her a grin. She rolled her eyes at him and pushed him in the shoulder, nearly knocking him off his haunches, and he laughed. It felt kind of strange hearing laughter after so long, but it also felt good, even though what they were talking about wasn't remotely funny. Killing would never be easy, not even after having killed two people already, but it had to be done. "Let's get to work on the set up. I want everything to be perfect."

As they packed up their things and headed out of the cave towards a cleared out area they'd picked out days ago for such a plan, Riza asked, "You're not going to continue making party puns about this, are you?"

"Uh, no, that would be dumb."

Of course he was. Something had to be done to take off the edge of setting up an insane and dangerous plan that would either get them killed or make them the last two tributes.

Setting up the traps took more time and patience than Roy thought himself capable of. All he wanted to do was get this over with. Either it would work and they'd be in another dilemma or it wouldn't work and they would be dead and, well, they wouldn't have to worry about any other dilemma again. As much as he didn't want to die and he didn't want Riza to die, he was ready to be done with this entire ordeal as well. It took a better part of the day to get everything just right, but once it was all done, Roy knew that this was all they could do.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Yes," Riza answered resolutely.

"Alright, get to your position."

"And do what you do best – catch something on fire." She turned away, hesitated, and then turned back around, standing on her tip toes so that she could kiss him on the cheek. "Be careful."

Roy's cheek burned where her lips had been, but he tried his best not to blush. This was ridiculous. They were pretty much about to go on a killing spree and he was blushing over a kiss on the cheek when he'd gone plenty further with girls. (Those girls weren't Riza Hawkeye, of course.) "As long as I've got you watching my back, I'm not worried."

Riza smiled and then jogged away, the rifle slung over her shoulders. There was a tree that had a spot and perfect advantage point to this area. While she made her way there, he started the fire, a large one with plenty of brush that would catch fire and burn a smoke signal way out into the heavens. He ducked into a hiding spot on the edge of the clearing. Now all they had to do was wait.

Come and get me if you can.

It was almost nightfall when three of the career tributes stumbled into the clearing, all of them very excited to take out the dumbass that was responsible for the fire. Instead, they just found the fire and looked a bit dumbfounded.

"What the hell is this?" the male Xing tribute asked.

"Maybe they got spooked when it started creating too much smoke and left the area," a girl, one Roy recognized as the female Creta tribute, suggested.

The female Xing tribute folded her arms across her chest. "No, I don't think so. This fire is different." She walked closer to it and sniffed. "It's just…burning smoke."

"Why would someone deliberately cause a smoke signal?" the Xing boy said, shaking his head and examining the burning out fire closer. The waiting was killing Roy, but he needed them just a little closer.

The Creta girl laughed and stepped up to the fire, warming her hands on it as the sun was beginning to fade. "It's not like someone is going to see it and come rescue them."

"No, but someone would see it for sure and–" The Xing girl stopped and stood up straight, as if an idea had just occurred to her.

"Too late, assholes," Roy muttered as he lit the fuse.

The Xing girl's dark eyes widened. "It's a tr–"

The explosion that interrupted the girl was louder than anything Roy had ever heard in his life. His calculations may have been slightly off, seeing as how it even managed to knock him back. When he finally came to, everything dizzy and disorientating, there were no shouts or screams in pain. There was just black smoke and a few things on fire and stuff falling from the sky.

With his ears ringing even worse than when that fireball landed between Riza and the male Creta tribute, Roy pulled himself back up and rubbed his temples. "Oh hell…" By the time he staggered to his feet, minutes had passed. Apparently the blast had knocked him out for a bit. When he looked out to see the damage, he saw that there was practically nothing left, just a black crater and a few trees on the outskirts of the clearing had been damaged. The explosives were a lot more powerful than he'd thought. He needed to work on that…if he was going to be blowing things up in the future.

Well, that was three down and one to go. Roy stepped out from the woods. "All clear!" he called out and then waited. Minutes passed and nothing happened. He frowned. There was no way the blast had affected Riza. She had been far enough out where she may have felt some of the shockwave, but it wouldn't have been able to knock her off her perch or burn her in any way. So where the hell was she?

"Ah, were you missing something?"

Roy whipped around and felt as if he'd been punched in the gut.

There was the other remaining tribute, some gangly boy with glasses that didn't seem like a threat at all, holding Riza tightly by the hair with one hand and pressing a knife against her throat with the other. He shoved her to the ground, causing her to yelp from the jerk on her hair, and the knife nipped just a bit at her skin. The nightmare he'd had two weeks ago flashed in Roy's mind and the air was sucked right out of his lungs.

"Don't," Roy managed to gasp, collapsing to his knees.

"God, you're pathetic," the boy sighed. "All cocky and confident, everyone practically throwing roses at your feet, and you act like you've got the Game in the bag. But then your precious darling" – he digs the knife just a little deeper into her skin and she jerks away from him – "the second she's in danger, you're on your knees begging like a dog for a treat. Do you even hear yourself?" The boy laughed. "Man, she must be really good in–"

"Shut up!" Roy roared, blood rising and fingers twitching at his sides. He settled his breathing and forced himself to stop moving. "Just…kill me instead. Let her live another day. Please."

"Tempting. Or I could just kill you both?"

"If you hurt her, I will kill you in the most painful of ways," Roy growled. "I'll burn you alive until there's nothing left but charred bones."

"Sure you didn't just use up all your explosives?"

When Roy grinned, there was nothing but darkness in it. "There are plenty of other ways I can kill you."

"Well let's find out, shall we?" the boy said and then slid the knife against Riza's throat.

The scream that came out of Roy didn't even sound human. Riza gasped just once, her hands flying to her neck as if to hold in the blood, and fell sideways onto the ground.

As Roy scrambled to his feet, the other tribute darted towards him. He caught the boy by the wrist just as he swung the knife down and then dodged another blow. The fight was relentless. The boy was a lot stronger than he looked and definitely knew how to work a knife. Just when Roy thought he might have the upper hand, he tripped and fell backwards. The boy was on him in a second and drove the knife down at his face. Instinctively, Roy moved his hand forward to shield his face and the knife dug deep into his hand. A roar in pain tore out of his mouth, but even as the boy pushed down, a demented look on his face, Roy used all his strength and pushed up, the knife digging further through his hand.

Snarling in anger and pain, he grabbed a broken branch from one of the damaged trees and swung it at the boy's head, knocking him over. Even though it hurt more than anything he could imagine – even though blood was pouring down his hand – Roy could also barely feel the wound at the same time. He pulled the knife out of his hand, crying out as he did so, and then kicked the boy in the ribs before he could get back up.

"Fucking die already," Roy said before slamming the knife through the boy's glasses and into one of his eyes. The kid screamed and kicked, but Roy pushed further, ignoring the blood, ignoring the pain, ignoring damn well everything until the boy was no longer moving and a cannon resounded in the air.

Finally, finally, finally, Roy staggered back, jerking the knife out of the tribute's head and nearly falling over, and placed his unhurt hand against a tree to keep himself steady. He gulped in deep breaths of air greedily, like he hadn't breathed air in years. It was done. It was over. Except–

He stumbled over towards Riza's prone body, nearly sliding in her blood, and collapsed to his knees. He pressed his good hand on top of hers over the wound. "We did it," he damn near cried.

Riza opened one of her eyes. "I'm…I'm proud of you."

Roy fell back and awkwardly moved her so that she was in his lap, her head cradled in his arms. "You've gotta stay with me. I know you can. I know you can do this."

She pulled one of her hands away from her wound, blood spilling a little bit more freely out of it as she did so, and placed it against his cheek, marking him with her blood like war paint. "Only one of us can survive the Games." Riza smiled weakly. Still, as pale as she was, covered in blood, she was beautiful. Tears welled in Roy's eyes, from the pain and everything else aching in his chest. "I'm glad it's you."

"No, no, no, I won't let this happen. I'm not going to let you die – not after all of this." He pressed his hand against her wound a little more, but the blood just kept coming and it was like her very life was spilling into his hands, in his lap, all over him. She was fading right before him and there was nothing he could do about it. "Don't go where I can't follow."

"It's fine. I'm okay. You're okay." Her voice was barely more than a whisper and she'd closed her eyes.

No, he couldn't deal with that. How long before he would forget the exact color of her eyes? How long before he forgot the way her hair shined in the sun during summer? How long before he forgot her laugh, the roll of her eyes, the reproachful look she'd give him when he tried using her to procrastinate on his studies? How long before he forgot the calluses on her hands? How long before he forgot the way she broke down after killing those two Drachma tributes and saving his life? How long before he forgot those nights in Central when all they had were each other and she was his center and the only thing keeping him from bursting at the seams?

"I'm not leaving this place without you," Roy told her, pulling out the knife with his messed up hand, barely able to hold onto it. "We end this like it started – together."

Riza grabbed his wrist. "Roy, don't–"

"Screw it all," Roy said desperately, licking his lips. She looked him in the eyes, so full of sadness and warmth and he couldn't take it, seeing that light slowly fading from her eyes. He pressed the knife against the pulse point in his throat. "I can't lose you too–"

"WAIT! STOP!"

Both of them froze. The loud voice echoed throughout the trees. Roy looked around the sky of the arena, not sure what was going on, the cold metal of the knife stinging his skin that was stained with Riza's blood, unable to breathe.

"Congratulations to our first time ever two victors of the Hunger Games!" the voice announced.

Roy's entire body began to shake and the knife fell from his hand, landing on the ground with a pathetic thump. He crumpled over Riza, holding her close to him, trying so hard not to cry as she loosely gripped the back of his jacket. The sound of a hellicarrier over top of them thumped in his ears, but all he could hear was Riza's soft words against his cheek, "It's over; it's over. We beat it; we actually…beat it…"

And then they were taken away out of the nightmare.

The hospital stay was one of the most frustrating things Roy had ever encountered in his life. Give him trying to figure out which berries would kill him and which he could hold him over until better food came. Give him his sisters trying to dress him up like a girl. Give him Master Hawkeye stacking five books in his arms and expecting him to be able to have them all read in a week.

But forcing him to stay in a bed in a completely separate room from Riza for three days would as close to driving Roy insane as they could get. Not only could he not leave his room – but the second he tried to get out of his bed without a nurse being involved, people would flood into his room and smother him until he crawled back under the blankets.

Even worse, no one would answer his questions. "Where's Riza?" "How is Riza?" "Is Riza okay?" "Did Riza have any surgery?" "What's going on in Central?" "Can I call my aunt or my sisters?" "Can I call my teacher, Riza's father?" "Where the hell is Grumman?" "WHERE THE FUCK IS RIZA HAWKEYE?"

On the fourth day, Grumman finally strolled inside, looking quite pleased with himself. "There you are, my boy! Good to see you! Good to see you!" He reached out and shook Roy's non-bandaged up hand with more enthusiasm than Roy had ever seen out of the old man. "How are you doing?"

"I want to see Riza," Roy muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh, all in due time, my boy, not to worry," Grumman dismissed. "She's had a rough few days of it, lost a lot of blood, had to have surgery, but she's doing fine now." He peered at the younger man closer. "How is your hand?"

Roy waved the bandaged, quite useless left hand of his in the air. "Prognosis is alright. I'll probably have to have surgery on it, but the doctors say I'll regain full use of it within a year."

"Good, good," Grumman sighed, "although they're very good with prosthetics here in Central." He paused and settled Roy with a strange look. For some reason, Roy couldn't help but think that it was a look a father might give a son, but that was strange, considering he could barely remember his father's face these days. "I must thank you – for all that you did in the arena. Not many people would have gone to such lengths to save their fellow tribute."

"Riza…" Roy glanced down. "She's my best friend. I made a promise to her and I intended on keeping it."

"Hm, yes, indeed," Grumman replied, starting for the door. "Well, I'll let you get some rest. You'll be able to see Riza soon enough."

Grumman's short appearance answered some of his questions, but it wasn't enough. Roy knew that he wouldn't feel truly settled and okay until he saw Riza with his own eyes.

Then on the sixth day, he woke up from an afternoon nap to find nurses rolling another bed into his room. Of course they wouldn't answer his questions, and so he just sat up in his bed, waiting. The door opened again, revealing a nurse wheeling Riza in a wheelchair. Her blond hair had been pulled up, so not as to mess with the bandages on her neck. When they connected eyes, she smiled and a faint blush crossed her cheeks, adding more color to her face than the last time he'd seen her. The nurse helped Riza into the bed and then left without a word.

Roy sank back in his bed with relief. "They wouldn't tell me anything about you. I kept thinking…"

"It was touch and go for a while," Riza admitted quietly, her voice a bit raspier than he remembered. It was probably due to the surgery she'd had a few days before. "I think they were afraid of telling you anything just in case…"

"Yeah, I've got a bit of a temper apparently," Roy finished with a grin.

"Mm, yes, there's that and your flare for melodramatics," she added as she leaned back against a fluffy pillow and closed her eyes. "I asked them if I could share a room with you until our stays here were over, said it might be better for both of us. If you ask nicely, sometimes people do nice things for you."

"I'm not nice," Roy pointed out. "That's what I've got you for."

Riza laughed and Roy grinned again. It warmed his chest to hear her laugh again. In these past few weeks, he never would have been able to guess that this was where they would end up, all banged up and bandaged up in a hospital in Central but alive. They spoke for the remainder of the time until it got late and Riza grew drowsy. She was still recovering from her wounds slower than he was, considering all that she'd gone through. But he was just happy to hear her sleeping next to him. He fell asleep too, no nightmares about her death or her near death or his own. It was just…blackness again, and he liked it.

He woke very suddenly to the feel of someone pushing him over slightly. Roy opened his eyes, first seeing nothing in the dark as they only had one tiny window, and then caught a flash of blond hair. Riza stilled next to him, one knee on side of his bed and one barefoot on the ground, a look of a deer caught in headlights about her face. He smiled sleepily and scooted over, holding up the covers and allowing her the room to crawl into the bed next to him.

"Nightmares?" he asked quietly once she'd settled against his side. It was remarkable how well she fit against him, despite the hospital beds clearly not being made for two people to share them. Still, she somehow managed to mold her body against his, her hand splayed on his side, holding him protectively, and her head against his arm.

Riza shook her head. "No, I just–" Even in the dark, he could tell that she was blushing and she pressed her face against him so that he couldn't see it. "I missed you. I wanted to… I don't know. I felt like I wouldn't know this was actually real until I touched you. Seeing wasn't enough."

"You can never trust anything by sight alone," Roy remarked. She gave him a look and then somehow wiggled even closer to him. "Think we'll get in trouble for this?"

"Think I care?" Riza muttered.

"Oh, hey now, Riza Hawkeye, breaking the rules and being rebellious?" Roy chuckled. "I don't think the world could handle both of us being like that."

For a moment, Riza was still and silent against him. Maybe he'd somehow insulted her by calling her rebellious. After all, if there was anything Riza wasn't, it was that. Right when he was going to apologize, she spoke up. "That's what we did, you know – we broke the rules of the Games."

Roy shrugged his shoulders. "I wouldn't say that."

"Well, maybe we didn't – at least not to us – but…" Riza bit her lip, a habit he thought she might have outgrown. "I heard Grumman talking to someone. Apparently, King Bradley thinks that we might have done this on purpose to, ah, plant some seeds of dissent against Central."

"What? That's absurd." Roy almost laughed, but he didn't. "I think it's pretty clear what happened. I didn't want you to die and you didn't want me to die. I didn't…" He pressed his face against her head and took in a deep breath. She smelled of strawberries again, like she had that one night. "I didn't nearly kill myself so I could send a message to Central or start some sort of rebellion movement."

"You do have your ambitions," Riza drawled, as if she'd known all along about his increasingly more defiant thoughts towards the government throughout the Games. She let out a sigh. "Regardless, we need to be careful about what we say or do from now on."

"What do you mean?" Roy asked.

"We just need to make sure that King Bradley and Central fully believes that we have no intentions of starting a coup after these Games," Riza explained. She'd clearly been thinking about this for a while; it was probably what she'd filled her time up with while he'd been complaining and trying to sneak out of his hospital room to find her and something better than green jello for dessert. "I'm just worried there might be some repercussions. Central doesn't take even the idea of revolts lightly. We need to convince them that what you did – what we did – wasn't an act of rebellion, but…"

They stared at each other for a moment. The words were on the tip of both their tongues, but neither one of them could bring themselves to say it.

"The Games are never really over after you've been chosen, are they?" Riza sighed.

With his good hand, Roy laced his fingers in hers. "Well, it's a good thing I've got a damn good partner that has my back then."

"Yes, sir," Riza replied somewhat mockingly.

Roy smirked and hummed to himself. "I could get used to that."

Riza just rolled her eyes and Roy laughed, holding her closer against him. He could get used to this too. Just for now, any concerns about Central and the Games left his mind, and Roy only focused on Riza lying in his arms in his bed. That was all that really mattered in the end, wasn't it?