Hunger Games: Fandom Style

Train Rides (Part 1)

12
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Sherlock drummed his fingers on the table. Mary sat across from him, knuckles white and face pale. She was probably going into shock.
John would say something. Something comforting.
"Fifteen percent of tributes die without knowing what hit them," he offered.
Mary turned a bit green. "Excuse me," she squeaked and ran out of the room.
Sherlock frowned. That hadn't gone as planned.
Irene Adler, 12's only Victor, strolled into the dining car and examined the food laid out on the table. She was three years Sherlock's senior and . . . Attractive, he supposed.
Clothes imported from the Capital. Earrings of low quality, probably of sentimental value. Knife hidden in belt - old habit, probably left over from the Games. Shadows under eyes, expertly concealed with makeup, also imported.
She smiled at him. "Done taking my measure?"
He shrugged.
The smile widened. "Good. Let's have dinner."

11
Merlin paced in the sleeping car that had been provided for Arthur. He hadn't dared go to supper with the others. He didn't want the Capital's people to know he was here. For that matter, he didn't want Morgana to know he was here. She had changed lately.
Even if she hadn't, Arthur had to be his priority. The prophecy had said that Arthur would be key to bringing down the Capital. That had to come before anything else.
He just wished he'd had time to grab his spell book before he snuck onto the train. He'd need all the help he could get to pull this off without attracting any attention.
He wondered if Lancelot had delivered his messages to his mother and Gaius yet.
He wondered if they could ever forgive him.

10
Ivi twittered around the room, her ridiculous boa still trailing behind her. "Well, this will certainly be an interesting year. It was unbelievable how many volunteers we had!"
Natasha had seen the tapes. Unbelievable was definitely the word for it. For herself she would have just relished the challenge, but with Clint here it was a different story. He was good, but she hadn't liked the look of some of their competition.
"It was so romantic seeing you two - "
Natasha looked up at her. "If you say another word," she said calmly, "I will strangle you with your own boa."
Ivi's hand drifted towards her neck. "Well, I - I'll just go see how dinner's coming, shall I?" She hurried out of the room.
Fury leaned forward from where he'd been sitting almost unnoticed in the corner. "Rage is good. Useful. But you need to be more careful with it if you want sponsors."
"I can handle it."
He studied her. "Do that. Where's Barton?"
A sharp jolt of irrational panic went through her. It didn't show. "I'll go find him."
She slid through the velvet cushioned corridors as quietly as a cat. She stopped outside Clint's door. "Clint?"
His door slid open. His blond hair was mussed and his eyes were red rimmed. "Hey, Nat. You ok?"
She leaned back against the steel of the doorframe. "You kissed me on national television. Why?"
He shrugged. "Bucket list."
"Kissing a girl on national television was on your bucket list?"
"No!" He looked away. "Kissing you was on there. I just thought that might be my last chance." He sneaked a peek at her. "And I thought there was a lower chance you would hit me if I did it in public." He sighed. "You're mad, aren't you?"
"Maybe." She leaned in. He smelled like old leather. Like home. She hesitated for a moment more before tilting her head up ever so slightly and kissing him. "Maybe not." She smiled at him and turned to go. "Fury wants to see you."
"Nat, wait!" Clint fumbled in his pocket. "I was going to give this to you tonight once we knew we were safe. That didn't really work out, but I thought maybe as a token . . . " He held out his hand. An arrow pendant hung at the end of a short fine chain.
She took the necklace from him carefully. "It's beautiful." She slipped it over her neck. "Thank you."
He grinned at her. "Tell Fury I'll be there in a minute."
"All right. And Clint?" She grabbed his arm. "I'll get you home. Don't worry, all right?"
He frowned. "How 'bout I get you home instead?"
Natasha laughed. At least he'd kept his sense of humor. "Just promise me you'll have some fun with the victory money. Get Stark to make you some exploding arrows or something." She kissed him one more time, just a quick peck, and went away, still laughing.

9
Sirius slumped against the back of the chair. The last time Tonks had seen his eyes that dark and hopeless had been when James and Lily had died.
Lupin looked just as haggard. Today had aged both of them, and they were already old before their time.
Sirius picked up a punch glass and turned it over in his hands. "What did we do wrong? WHAT!" He hurled the glass at the wall. Tonks' hair flared yellow as it shattered. "Must have been something," he growled, getting to his feet. "First Regulus." He slammed his fist into the wall. "Then Peter," thump, "James," thump, "Lily," thump, "And now Harry!" He kicked the wall. The light fixtures exploded in a shower of sparks.
They stood in darkness for a moment. The only noises were Sirius's deep breaths that were sounding more and more like sobs.
"Lumos," Lupin said tiredly. Dull light spread throughout the compartment. Sirius was leaning against the wall with a hand over his eyes.
Tonks twisted the engagement ring on her finger and looked over at Lupin. He shook his head, defeated. Right. So it was up to her then. "Harry's not dead yet. We can pull him through. No one's better at getting sponsors than you two."
"For all the good it does," Lupin said bitterly. "We haven't had a victor since you came through."
She glared at him. "So you're just going to give up?" she demanded. "You look like your at the funeral already!"
Sirius shook himself. "No, she's right. This isn't over yet. In fact - the cloak."
Lupin leaped up. "You brought it with you?"
"Every year. Normally use it to sneak past the crowds, but it's Harry's by right."
"It'll look strange - "
"What's oblivious Maximus for, anyway? Come on." He hurried out of the carriage.
Lupin paused for a moment. "Thank you," he told Tonks, touching her shoulder for a moment. She stole a kiss as he walked by.
The forced brevity felt brittle though. Something had occurred to her. She was the sole surviving female victor for nine which meant she was the only choice for Luna's mentor. It would be her job to do everything she could to keep that odd, brave, wonderful girl alive.
She just wasn't sure Remus could ever forgive her if she did.

Harry watched Luna as she pieced together a dreamcatcher from scraps of fabric she'd cut from the fancy Capital clothes in the drawer. She was braiding long strips together to hang off the central web.
"There. Would you like one, Harry? It might help keep the Nargles off."
"I'm good, thanks." He watched as she hung it on her wall.
"You seem frightened."
Harry shrugged. "Nervous. Aren't you? We could be dead in a week."
"Oh, no. Dying's nothing to be afraid of, Harry. They're all waiting for us you know." She sat next to him on the bed and stared dreamily at the black gauze of her dreamcatcher as the air from the vents caught it. "They're just on the other side of the veil."
"What veil?"
"You'll see." She cocked her head. "I think dinner's probably ready now, don't you? I tried talking to the cooks earlier. They're not as nice as the house elves."
Bemused, Harry followed her out, wondering, among other things, what on earth a house elf might be.