Chapter Text
First Night of the 70th Hunger Games
Her expensive capitol boots scraped against the sidewalk as she walked-stumbled. She couldn’t be bothered to lift her feet properly. That would take more energy than she cared to spend. She was exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. She felt nothing, saw nothing, just blindly tried to escape but there was nowhere to run.
Henry was dead. She had watched, along with the rest of Panem, as the boy from District 1 stabbed a blade straight thru Henry’s chest. His body had slumped like a puppet with its strings cut which is exactly what Emma supposed she was as well. A marionette hanging by its strings, dancing to the tune of its master.
Only her strings had gotten tangled up; she’d tried to get loose, but the puppeteer had only allowed her to fall in a heap of broken limbs. If only it had been her broken limbs and not young Henry’s. Her mistakes had gotten him killed. She knew that. It had been made clear to her by every sponsor she spoke to in an effort to try and find help for Henry in the games. Every single person she tried to illicit favor from had turned her down cold.
Henry was dead because of her. Because she hadn’t slept with Facilier. Because she and Regina had defied President Snow. Their actions, their audacity to try and live their own lives could not be overlooked. They, and everyone like them, needed to be reminded that their prosperity was not something they earned; it was a way of life that was allowed by the Capitol, conditions that were granted so long as they played the game.
A game that was always won by the Capitol.
Cold, damp air caught in Emma’s lungs and she leaned over the railing of a bridge to try and muscle down the bile rising in her throat. Regina had tried to warn her. Ruby had tried to warn her. Lily, Finnick, Mal, Killian…the list went on. They had all tried to warn her in their own ways. But she had played the game with little regard to the rules.
And she had lost.
Henry had lost.
Regina had lost money.
Regina had played by the rules, but she had dared to score higher than others. She had amassed enough money that she could potentially challenge the leader – the Capitol. It didn’t matter that she’d had no intention of trying; no champion liked looking over their shoulder. The Capitol needed her to fall from grace, slip a few rungs back down the ladder. They’d been looking for a way to remind Regina of her place…and Emma had provided it.
Regina.
Emma hadn’t seen her in the two weeks since Henry had been reaped. Anytime she hadn’t been out trying to meet with potential sponsors, she’d stayed in the tribute center. Regina’s refusal to help Henry had shocked her; it had hurt. She’d accepted the messages sent by Regina since that day, but she hadn’t responded. She hadn’t known how.
It had become increasingly clear to her that no one was going to help Henry. That no one could help Henry. The Capitol had signed his death warrant and Henry himself had even accepted it; he’d pointed out that she shouldn’t blame Regina. Regina didn’t create the games, didn’t run the games, and she certainly hadn’t put his name on a piece of paper.
He hadn’t blamed Emma either which she found to be utterly ridiculous. Henry wouldn’t have even been on the Capitol’s radar if it hadn’t been for her. But Henry had simply shook his head and told Emma that she should remember who the real enemy is.
The Capitol.
The people that made children fight to the death as a punishment for a war fought seventy years before. A government that would keep its citizens in line by threatening their children.
Henry had always had a way with words.
And those had been the last words he had spoken to her.
Those were the words that had spurred her to walk away from his death, hollow and beaten, but understanding that Regina was not her enemy. Despite her wealth, Regina was simply another pawn in the game, and Emma couldn’t blame her for Henry’s death.
Regina was not the enemy.
Emma exhaled heavily and spat out a mouthful of bitter fear and hate before finally straightening. She rolled her shoulders back and looked out over the Capitol. Her feet had unerringly led her closer to Regina. The bridge Emma stood on looked over the row of mansions that included Regina’s.
Regina’s home that had flashing red lights of emergency vehicles in front of it. Emma’s heart dropped in her chest, causing her knees to buckle before she managed to turn and begin sprinting towards the mansion.
By the time Emma reached the mansion’s driveway, the two emergency vehicles were pulling away with their lights off. There was no longer an emergency and the fact that one of the vehicles was large enough to carry a stretcher had Emma racing up the stairs and slamming the door open.
“Regina!” She yelled as soon as she had the door open in the well-lit foyer. She was breathing heavily, dragging in ragged breaths as her feet suddenly felt rooted to the floor. “Regina?” She called again, flinching at the way her voice seemed to echo. “Henry?”
There was no answer.
The lights were on in the front study and she forced herself to move towards the room. Every light in the room was on as she managed to see around the edge of the door frame. She almost gagged in relief at the sight of Regina standing in front of the fireplace, her back to the door.
“Regina.” She stumbled into the room and then froze. The unmistakable sight of a pool of blood stained the carpet next to Henry Sr'.s favorite chair. It looked fresh. Absurdly, the thought struck her that Henry would never allow a stain like that to set.
Except, Henry wasn’t there.
And the woman standing by the fire had still not turned to face her.
“Regina,” she started a bit more quietly, inching past the grisly scene, “what happened?”
“What happened?” Regina repeated, her voice cracking like broken glass. “What happened is I met you.”
Regina turned finally and Emma could see the damp tracks of tears on her face. Dried blood stained Regina’s chest and hands, her knees were dark where she must have knelt in it.
“And now my father is dead.” Furious, blood shot eyes met Emma’s. “And I blame you.”
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Emma walked into the back lounge carrying a bag of chips under her arm, a plated sandwich, a bottle of beer, and a bottle of root beer. “Did you go to the Tributes Parade?”
“Of course.” Regina glanced at her over the rim of her reading glasses, her disapproval obvious as the blonde dropped the chips on the couch before plopping down herself. The root beer was thrust towards Regina before she voiced her displeasure. She accepted the bottle grudgingly. “Thank you.”
Emma grinned and tore open the bag of chips. “So, what’d you think?”
“About what, dear?” She returned her attention to her book rather than watch Emma eat.
“The tributes.” Emma nudged her with her foot, earning another glare. “See anyone that interested you?”
“No.” Hurt flashed over Regina’s expression before she frowned. “You know I don’t sponsor anymore.”
“I know you don’t contract tributes anymore,” Emma said, turning on the projector just as Caesar Flickerman was spotlighted in his interview chair, “but I thought you still threw a few trinkets of support here and there.”
Regina toyed with the bottle in her hand. “Oh. Well, yes, a few of the past victors have asked me for help on occasion. Not that it’s done any good.” She took a deep drink of root beer.
Caesar Flickerman’s poorly timed laugh echoed around the room. They watched the projection in silence for a few minutes, grimacing as Caesar flirted with the girl from District 1. Emma took a sip of her beer and side-eyed Regina. “So, no one caught your eye during the parade?”
Regina sighed; she’d been hopeful Emma had dropped the subject. “You want to know if the so-called Girl-on-Fire caught my attention?”
Emma gave a little shoulder shrug. “Did she?”
Regina watched the naïve boy from District 1 talk about working hard to achieve his dream of being in the games. Her lip curled in distaste. Then she noticed Emma still watching her. “Wearing a dress of flames caught the attention of everyone in Panem.”
Emma hesitated then… “And?”
“And what?” Regina asked, unhappy with Emma pressing her. The blonde knew she didn’t like it.
“And what do you think of her chances?” Emma asked.
“I don’t evaluate the tributes anymore, Emma. You know that.”
“I know; I just thought…” she trailed off and shot Regina an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Regina nodded, understanding that everyone was probably talking about it. Two tributes riding in a chariot, holding their clasped hands up together as they were ringed in flame was noteworthy. Even in the Capitol.
“How are your tributes this year?” Regina asked when Emma had finished eating.
The blonde shrugged. “The boy might survive a couple of days; he has some skills. The girl…” she shook her head. “If she listens to me and runs away from the bloodbath, she might survive the night. Might. But she’ll probably still do something dumb like eat something poisonous or draw attention to herself with a fire or something.”
Regina studied Emma as she watched the girl from District 5 give her interview with Caesar. There had once been a time when Emma hadn’t been so callous about the death of her tributes. But that was several years ago. A lot had happened since she’d been optimistic about her tributes’ chances in the arena. Emma’s years in the Capitol had changed her. While unsurprising, Regina still felt a pang of sadness over it.
She turned her attention back to the interviews and once District 8’s tributes had their interviews, Regina found herself agreeing with Emma’s assessment. Her tributes would not become this year’s champion. It was shaping up to be another Career year, probably the boy from District 2. He’d certainly been cocky enough about it while carrying himself well. He could probably win it all unless the girl from his district turned on him.
And then Caesar was practically salivating as he introduced the girl from District 12. Regina watched her come out appearing completely dazzled by all the lights and audience. Her simple honest answers to Caesar’s questions reminded Regina of when Emma had been a tribute. Naïve and completely unaware that the games were played outside of the arena as well as inside it. When Katniss stood and spun around, lighting up the bottom of her dress with flame, Regina sighed, “She’s just another pawn.” The crowd cheered loudly for the spectacle. “A pawn with a good stylist.”
“Maybe,” Emma allowed, “but Cinna will probably get her more sponsors than Haymitch.”
Regina raised an eyebrow. “Cinna is her stylist?”
Emma nodded. “Yeah, I met him backstage while the parade was going on. He seemed cool.”
Regina hummed her agreement; a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Yes, he was indeed cool.
“What?” Emma asked.
“What?” Regina smoothed out her expression.
“What was that smirk?” Emma turned on the couch to look at her more carefully. Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my gods, you know Cinna!”
“Of course, I know Cinna, dear,” she deflected. “He’s a fabulous designer.”
“No, no, no. I mean, you know Cinna.”
“Perhaps.” The smirk was back; she couldn’t help it and didn’t really want to stop it. The memories of evenings with Cinna were ones she was quite fond of. He was talented in many areas outside of fabrics. “You’ve appreciated his work as well.”
Emma frowned. “What do you mean?”
“That dress of mine that you like so well,” she said, “oh, what did you call it? Oh yes, the one with the-”
“Evil cleavage!” Emma gulped, remembering the red suede dress with the feather collar and beaded corset and the way it…accentuated Regina’s necklace. Yes. The necklace that was almost swallowed by… “Cinna did that?!”
“And a few other items I have in the closet for special occasions.”
Emma whimpered. She glanced at the forgotten projection and saw the boy from District 12 sitting with Caesar. She quickly tried to run through a list of upcoming events and the only formal one she could think of would be the Victor’s ball, but that wouldn’t be for at least another two weeks possibly more.
As though reading Emma’s mind, Regina practically purred, “Special occasion doesn’t always mean formal.” She stood, turning the projection off as Caesar made his closing remarks. She and Emma becoming closer like they used to be was special enough for her. “If I tried one on just for you, would that be a special enough occasion?”
Emma shot up from the couch. “It would be like Christmas, my birthday, and every other special day all rolled into one.”
Regina chuckled. “Clean up in here. Then meet me in my bed room.”