Chapter Text
Katniss's P.O.V.
Flashback -
"So, how does it feel to be a volunteer for your district? The last volunteer was two decades or so ago, actually! You Everdeens are plucky, aren't you?"
I zone out everything as I try to listen, but that interview keeps coming back to me. As if I don't have enough to worry about, between the Quarter Quell Games and the uprisings and other issues. Gale, Peeta, how to get everyone out, etc.
"Katniss?" Peeta says from next to me. "Are you listening?"
"Uhhh..."
"You have to pay attention, you know," Minho, who's still my mentor, says, annoyed.
"Yeah, sorry."
"Okay, moving on. Training..." I try to listen but end up just breaking down the news reporter's voice and attempting to figure out what's so significant about that sentence. Then I get to the part about the odds not being in my family's favour. Who else was reaped and never made it back? I decide to ask Minho about it, surely he would know something.
"Any questions?" I shake my head with everyone else. Worst case scenario, I can just ask Peeta about it.
I stay back to talk to Minho. "Why are you still here, Katniss?" He asks, but it doesn't sound that rude, merely curious and a tad bit of annoyed.
"Was there someone else...from my family who got reaped in the games?" I ask quietly, deciding not to sugarcoat the whole thing.
Minho's face becomes closed off immediately and he turns away. Before he does, I catch a tear that trails it's way down his cheek, but I don't press. Maybe I'll ask Mother about it.
Timeskip –––––––––––––––––––
"Did anyone from our family get reaped in the games?" I ask Mother. Like Minho, her face drops instantly, and she rubs her eyes, covering her face.
"I'm sorry, Katniss, but I can't talk about this," she says slowly. Prim has come to listen too. "I'm so sorry."
"Okay," I say cautiously and leave. "Come on, Prim," I tell her gently when I see that she hasn't moved.
Timeskip –––––––––––––––––––
"Who's next?" I ask Peeta.
"You pick," he offers, holding out the box.
I dig in the box to look for one that I want to watch and find one that we have not watched. The year is the 50th, the second Quarter Quell, and the name of the victor is Minho Lee.
"We never watched this on."
"No," Peeta says, shaking his head. "I knew Minho didn't want to. The same way we didn't want to relive our own Games. And since we're all on the same team, I didn't think it mattered much."
"Is the person who won in twenty-five here?" I ask.
"I don't think so. Whoever it was must be dead by now, and Effie only sent me victors we might have to face." Peeta bounces Minho's tape in his hand, thinking. "Why? You think we ought to watch it?"
"It's the only Quell we have," I say, though I'm somewhat saying that because I'm curious. "We might pick up something valuable about how they work." I still feel weird, like we're invading on Minho's privacy, but it shouldn't, considering the whole thing is public. "We don't have to tell Minho we saw it."
"Okay," Peeta agrees and puts the tape in. I curl up next to him with my milk and lose myself in the Fiftieth Hunger Games.