Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It gets harder and harder every year for Andy to drag himself to the reaping.

He had at least been off the hook in terms of mentoring last year, with Pete and Danielle taking on the mantle, but he can’t avoid it for more than one year at a time. Danielle, at least, is sticking it out for two years in a row, so Andy doesn’t have to deal with McEnroe or Connors—Andy's useless mentor from the year he won—or anyone of their type, only agreeing to go to the Capitol for the food and not caring about their tributes.

Andy mentored with Connors, two years ago, and it took every ounce of his self control to not scream at him. But he was too busy trying to manage both tributes at once, too distraught when they died. They’d both been volunteers, standard fare from 4. Andy thought they both had a real chance at winning.

Of course, they didn’t. They never do.

Danielle, the only tribute Andy managed to mentor all the way to victory, nudges Andy’s shoulder. “Stop overthinking. We haven’t even started yet.”

They’re up on the podium, off to the side. The other victors from 4 are behind them, happy that they don’t have to mentor this year. Andy mentors more often than most—he’s too damn good at it not too.

He looks out at the crowd of kids in the reaping pool. District 4 is lucky, he knows that, with their tributes more often than not trained and ready to go. But all Andy sees are a bunch of terrified young faces, no different from the other districts.

They start, as always, with the Capitol propaganda and justification videos. It’s easy for Andy to tune them out—he has them memorized after all the reapings he’s been to.

Blair Henley, their district’s escort, steps up to the mic, her heels clacking on the wooden stage. As far as escorts go, Blair is one of the best of them, always gentle with the tributes. She isn’t trustworthy, being Capitol, but she’s at the very least passable.

She gives the usual speech. Welcoming District 4 to the Hunger Games, explaining the reaping. And, as always, finishing it off with “may the odds be ever in your favor.”

Next to Andy, Danielle snorts. She’s never been particularly quiet about what she thinks.

“Let’s start with the girls,” Blair says, her voice going up an octave as she walks over to the glass bowl on her right.

Andy holds his breath as she fishes through the slips of paper, not even considering the fact that she’s about to send a girl to her death.

She pulls out a slip and walks back over to the microphone.

“Emma Navarro.”

“I volunteer as tribute!”

A young girl in the front row sighs with relief—that must be Emma. Towards the back, a girl with a ponytail-braid has her hand raised high. A Career tribute, common in 4.

They bring her up to the stage. She looks confident, calm, unreadable. She has the look of a victor already.

“Your name?” Blair asks.

“Jessica Pegula.”

“Any relation to Miss Navarro?”

Jessica shakes her head. “I just want to bring pride to 4.”

Andy wants to shake this girl by the shoulders, but he can’t make anyone who isn’t a victor understand. There is no pride or glory in the Hunger Games. She’s walking into an illusion, and her odds of leaving it are slim.

But then he looks at Emma, quietly crying as her friends hug her. Jessica just saved her life—that had to count for something.

“And for the boys…” Blair walks over to the other bowl and fishes a name out. She doesn’t make as big of a show of it this time. “Taylor Fritz.”

Andy waits for the volunteer, the Career that will join Jessica for fame and fortune and whatever the hell else these kids think the Hunger Games are about.

But the crowd is silent. No one volunteers.

Taylor Fritz. Where has Andy heard that name before?

The boy in question shuffles up to the stage, his eyes trained on the ground and his floppy brown hair falling over his eyes. He’s tall, taller than most tributes Andy has seen, and he moves awkwardly as a result. He could be intimidating, with the right posture and attitude, but he isn’t.

He’s still looking at the ground when he walks up to the stage, and he adjusts his hair to make sure it’s covering the top of his face.

Andy has seen this boy before, he knows it, but he can’t remember when.

“Congratulations to this year’s tributes from District 4, Jessica Pegula and Taylor Fritz!” Blair exclaims.

There’s scattered clapping. The loudest sound is Emma, still crying tears of relief. Andy finds himself hoping her name is never drawn again.

And then it clicks. That’s where he knows Taylor from. The reaping, two years ago. His name was called, and an instant later, the boy standing next to him volunteered.

Frances. The one Andy truly thought could come home.

He looks at Taylor, and he knows now that the sadness in his eyes isn’t just from what he’s about to face, but also from carrying the death of his friend with him. He probably followed every minute of the Games that year, and he knows exactly what he’s going to be facing. What Frances couldn’t overcome.

They take Jessica and Taylor to separate rooms to say their final goodbyes. Danielle and Andy silently agree on who to take, and Andy finds himself sitting on a bench outside the room Taylor is in, watching his loved ones go to and from talking to him for what might be the last time.

Two people who Andy assumes are his parents go first, taking up most of the allotted time. When they leave, Taylor’s mother is crying and his father seems to be just barely holding back tears.

Andy thinks that might be it, but Taylor gets another set of visitors: two boys, one who looks to be about Taylor's age and one a little younger. The younger one's gaze lingers on Andy just before they go in, and the implication is obvious. If he could win it, maybe Taylor can too.

Andy says nothing to him. He'll let the boy live with the illusion.

When the two boys leave a few minutes later, the younger one is crying. He whirls towards Andy once the door closes.

"He has to come back," the boy begs. The older boy, startled, grabs him by the shoulders. "Please, you have to help him. He can do it, I know he can, you just have to help him!"

"Ben, c'mon," the older boy says, but his voice is close to breaking.

Andy leans forward. "I will do everything I can for Taylor. I promise."

The older boy scoffs at that, his resolve snapping. "Like Frances, right? Fill everyone with hope just to watch him die in the arena?"

The boy's words are a punch to Andy's gut. He still sees it sometimes, Frances' wide eyes when Alcaraz plunged the knife into his heart. He had been close, so damn close to winning it, but there was no beating the wonder kid from 2. Even Connors took a moment to mourn Frances, to comfort Andy.

"I should've volunteered," the older boy whispers, more to himself than to Andy. "Why do they have to die and I'm still here?"

"What's your name, kid?" Andy asks.

"Tommy."

"Listen to me, Tommy," he says. "You can't let yourself think you have any control over the Games. Not for one second. There's nothing you could have done to stop Frances from going, or Taylor. What you can do is take care of everyone you have left and have faith that they're going to come back to you at the end of the day."

Tommy looks down at Ben, and Andy can see all the pain the Games has caused both of them, the unrelenting sting of fear and grief. In a kinder world, they didn't have to deal with any of this.

"Y'know, Frances said he volunteered because he thought he could win," Tommy mutters, still looking down. "But I know he did it to save Taylor. That can't be for nothing."

"I will try the very best I can," Andy says. That's all he can promise. Andy has never been a liar.

That seems to satisfy Tommy. His eyes linger for a moment on the door to the room Taylor is in, and then he tears his gaze away. He leads Ben outside, back to the district, a gaping hole where his friends should be.

Andy gets up and knocks on the door. It opens in an instant, Taylor poking his head out as if his family or his friends have come back for him, as if they're going to take him away from this place. When he looks up and sees Andy, his face falls.

"Don't be too disappointed, kid," Andy sighs. "I'm all you've got."

One of the benefits of being from District 4 is the short train ride to the Capitol. Some districts travel for days, but it only takes a few hours for the tributes and mentors from 4 to get there.

Andy, Danielle, Taylor, and Jessica sit around a table with a wide spread of District 4 delicacies, dozens of types of fish. Only Danielle manages to eat a substantial amount—Taylor and Jessica barely touch it, and Andy feels bad eating it while they don't. It's for them, not him.

They're silent for a little under an hour, until Danielle finishes her meal and decides to break the ice.

"If you think you're ready, you aren't," she says bluntly. Her eyes are fixed on Jessica, but Taylor is the one who visibly reacts, wincing. "It'll change you, whether you make it out or not. You can't be ready for that."

Danielle has always been a bit of a pessimist, and she has no filter whatsoever. Andy has to try to balance her out.

"But we're here to help you," he says. "Our goal is your survival. Nothing comes in the way of that."

"So, is it one of you for each of us?" Jessica asks.

"That depends on you, Jessica," Danielle replies, but the fact that she's fixated on Jessica, the fact that she and Andy split up already, serves as the answer. Both tributes know it—Andy can tell from the way Taylor leans away from Jessica as he picks at the tablecloth, the way Jessica keeps her eyes focused on Danielle.

"Call me Jess," she says, and Danielle smiles.

Andy always prefers it when he and his fellow mentor split up and have an individual tribute. Maybe he's just traumatized from all those years he's had to handle both tributes by himself, but he finds that he does a much better job when he can focus on one and give them his full attention. That's what they deserve. Andy refuses to let any of his tributes have the same experience as him, fending for himself with a mentor that would rather yell at him than give him advice.

But he doesn't want to destroy any unity entirely.

"We're still a team until you guys are in the arena," Andy says. "And even after that, if you want. You said you wanted to bring pride to 4, Jess? That's all of us too."

Jess nods—she seems fairly reasonable, a rare trait for a Career tribute. A good grasp on reality is as dangerous a weapon as a knife. That, along with the extensive training that Jess has most definitely had, will keep her alive for a while.

But she's not Andy's tribute. Taylor is.

He's still picking at the tablecloth, his eyes trained on it. He hasn't looked at Andy once since they got on the train. The odd thing is, Andy doesn't think it's pure fear driving Taylor to act like this—instead, there's an air of sheepish disappointment to him that pervades his body, evident as he arches his back into terrible posture and pushes his hair in front of his eyes, as if that will hide him from the world.

Despite the lackluster first impression, Andy refuses to write him off. There's more to him, Andy can feel it, and there might, by some miracle, be a victor in there. He just has to coax it out.

The opening parade takes place late in the afternoon the next day, once all the districts have arrived. Andy and Danielle give Taylor and Jess some space to process until then, spread out in the lavish rooms the Capitol has given them. The prep teams whisk the tributes away early into the morning, and everyone on staff follows. The tributes are what everyone cares about after all, not has-beens like Andy. It leaves their floor eerily silent as only Andy and Danielle occupy it.

They eat lunch together on a balcony overlooking the whole Capitol. From here, Andy can see a train pulling into the station, probably from 12 or 6 or another district far away from all of this insanity. They're lucky, Andy thinks, to be able to remove themselves from the Capitol for eleven blissful months of the year. In 4, it's always looming, too close to put out of mind.

"Do you think they want to ally?" Danielle asks.

Andy, too deep in his own thoughts, only hears it as blurred mumbling. "What?"

Danielle rolls her eyes. "I said, do you think they want to ally?"

"Taylor and Jess?"

"Well I don't think we have any other tributes, so..."

"I don't really think they're gonna click," Andy says. "You saw them on the train."

Danielle looks out at the Capitol stretching into the distance and sighs. "I don't want to work against you. You're gonna win."

"I've had exactly one win while mentoring, and it was you," Andy counters.

"Oh please, everyone knows you'd have more if it wasn't for Mr. Perfect," she says. Andy stiffens—he hates that he knows exactly who she's talking about, hates that elegant clothing and brown eyes flash in his vision. "You're a great mentor, Andy. You should give yourself more credit."

Andy doesn't have the heart to argue with her, not this early in the Games. He needs to save the anguish for later, when Taylor or Jess or, likely, both die and he's faced with the reality of his never-ending failure once again. For now, he'll pretend to be confident and kind to himself for the sake of his tributes and everyone at home praying that they'll come home. For Tommy and Ben, hoping they won't have to lose another friend.

He clears his throat. "Should we go? They're probably with the stylist now."

The stylist for District 4 is new this year, a young woman named Morgan Riddle who is apparently a fashion genius. She's also startlingly blonde and deceptively tall, aided by her thin, clicky heels. She weaves her way through the chaos of the setup area with the grace of a snake as she makes her way towards Andy and Danielle, darting past chariots and prep teams and other mentors. She's wearing a white dress with a flowing knee-length skirt and laces at her back, and she's clutching a black sketchbook under her arm.

Andy expects her to be a perky sort of person, but she’s dead serious as soon as she reaches them.

"Taylor and Jess are almost ready," she says with an air of authority. "I tried to lean into the beach aesthetic. Everyone knows that fish come from 4, but that's it. They don't understand your lives outside of what you produce, so I thought I'd bring a bit of that here."

"Have you ever been to 4?" Danielle asks, not bothering to hide her skepticism.

Morgan nods, tapping the sketchbook. "I visited and took notes, and I did a ton of research here. I took inspiration from a lot of classic coastal fashion, not just the District 4 area. I think you guys have been needing a really unique look, and I'm trying to bring that."

Andy has actually been noticing the recent staleness of the District 4 outfits. He'd be impressed if he didn't hate this tradition so much.

She leaves to get Taylor and Jess, and Danielle shakes her head. "This is insane."

"It's always insane," Andy replies. "At least she cares."

He spots Morgan again a few minutes later, leading Taylor and Jess out of the prep area and towards their chariot. Jess is wearing a white dress with wire-thin shoulder straps and a tight cinch at her waist. Abstract blue flowers bleed into the fabric, ending just above her knees, and the soft sandals on her feet makes Andy think of the beaches back in 4. Taylor is wearing beige pants that showcase just how long his legs are and a dark blue collared shirt. It's far simpler than any Hunger Games introduction outfit should be, but Andy likes it. It's simple, classic-looking. The two of them might actually wear those clothes on a night out or a day at the beach. They're performing, yes, but they still look like themselves.

"I hate it," Danielle says next to him.

"You hate everything."

Andy loves Danielle, but there's only so much contrarianism he can handle. He moves away from her and heads towards the outskirts of the setup area. The tributes are starting to file in now, and the match is being held over the powder keg, ready to ignite.

But isolating himself turns out to be a mistake—that just opens up a window to be approached.

"Andy!"

He stiffens when he hears his own name, called out in that smooth, silky voice Andy knows all too well. For a moment, he considers pretending not to hear and just walking away, but he can't be that blatantly rude, not on the first day. He can at least try to be cordial.

Andy turns around. "Hello, Roger."

Roger Federer is perfect. Andy wishes that was an exaggeration, but it isn't. He won the Hunger Games the year after Andy did, and ever since then he's been the darling of the Capitol, the epitome of a victor and a mentor. His tributes have won the Games more times than Andy can count, and usually by killing Andy's tributes along the way. The last one, the most painful, was the Games two years ago, the one when Frances made it to the end and fell short to yet another perfect tribute from 2, mentored all the way by Roger. Andy hasn't seen the man since then—he refused to mentor last year, and to see Roger any other time of year would take effort that Andy doesn't want to give. He wastes enough time on Roger as it is.

"It's been a while," Roger says. There's a smile on his face, but Andy can see the hesitance in his eyes. Roger may be the bane of Andy's existence, but he also somehow knows him better than anyone.

Andy takes the first step, holding out his hand. Roger takes it, pulling Andy into an awkward side-hug that Andy prays no one is paying attention to.

"How have you been?" Andy asks casually. Not that he cares.

"Alright," he sighs. "I have to get back into being tailored."

You're always fucking tailored, Andy thinks bitterly.

"And how are you?" Roger continues. "I heard you're mentoring with Danielle. That must be nice."

Their conversations always come back to the Hunger Games. They'll try to avoid it, sure, but it's the only thing they really have to talk about with each other. Andy can't imagine having a conversation with Roger about the weather or food or how either of them are really feeling about anything.

"Yeah," Andy says. "It's good to share the burden."

Roger nods. "I'm trying to teach Carlos that right now."

No. There's no way he's actually doing this.

“Carlos is mentoring?” Andy whirls to look at Roger, shocked. “He’s a kid. He’s younger than both of your tributes. Why the hell are you making him mentor?”

“The Capitol loves him,” Roger replies, shrugging. “They’ll send our tributes sponsors for him.”

“So you’re using him.”

Roger, to his credit, doesn’t try to deny it.

“It’s gonna kill him,” Andy says softly. “You know that, right? He’s gonna watch them die and think it was his fault.”

“I’m doing what’s best for my tributes, and what’s best for them is getting sponsors.” Roger gestures to his male tribute, a gangly boy with orange curls. “Jannik could get a few sponsors on his own, but with Carlos mentoring, he can have whatever he wants. That’s the difference between life and death. If I have to play their game and sacrifice Carlos’ peace of mind to make sure someone comes home to 2 alive, I will.”

Andy shakes his head. “People like you are the reason this thing keeps going. You’re doing exactly what they want you to do.”

“I’m surviving,” Roger retorts. “Are you?”

Roger is, among other things, always infuriatingly right about things Andy wants him to be wrong about. He understands the Games better than anyone else, and Andy wants to hate him for it but that just makes him respect Roger more.

“So that’s your pick? The boy?” Andy asks. Roger and his fellow mentor always picks one tribute to focus on, one to save. They don't say it out loud—as far as Andy knows, he's the only person Roger has outright told.

Two years ago, their female tribute didn't stand a chance of being chosen. It was always going to be Carlos. Andy had known it from the first day, when he and Roger stood together before the tribute parade, just like this. Now, though, Andy isn't sure.

“Not necessarily,” Roger replies. “I haven’t picked yet. I don’t have a read on either of them. But I can tell Carlos wants it to be Jannik.”

Andy wants to use that to circle back to Roger’s cold cruelty at making Carlos mentor him, but he holds it back.

“And your tributes?” Roger asks.

“Same as every year,” Andy replies. “They have a chance. I'm not sure yet if either of them are looking for a Career alliance.”

Roger nods. “I’ll talk to mine, you'll talk to yours. We’ll see how things shake out, yeah?”

Andy forces himself to smile. “Yeah.”

“Good luck, Andy.”

“You too.”

Chapter Text

The parade and opening ceremony goes as well as it can. District 4 gets some cheers—District 2 gets even more, but Roger sticks with Andy the entire time like a friendly leech, so there’s nothing Andy can say about it.

Afterwards, Roger decides to introduce Andy to Carlos Alcaraz.

They go back to the setup area, and the tributes are all rushed away by their prep teams to get them de-stylized, meaning Andy doesn’t have an excuse to get away, forced to nod along as Roger guides him over to his fellow mentor, young enough to still be a tribute himself. Andy has seen a lot of sickening things in his time, but there’s something about this that’s especially off-putting. Kids younger than Carlos have been in the Games, obviously, but no one has ever mentored this young. It's a different kind of messed up.

That, and Andy just doesn't want to meet him. He's perfectly content with having Carlos in his mind as the boy who killed Frances who he never has to interact with or think about ever again. Roger is, of course, the one messing it up. Andy could try to say something, maybe, but Roger seems to have a deep understanding of everything in the world except for Andy Roddick. Every year, Roger lures Andy into his web as if he isn't the reason Andy can't fall asleep at night.

So Andy doesn't protest as Roger drags him over to Carlos, who is excitedly chatting with the male District 2 tribute, Jannik. The one Roger said Carlos wanted to pick.

"Carlos, let Jannik go change," Roger says, and Andy notices Jannik's shoulders sag with relief. "It's been a long day."

"Oh," Carlos says, like it's just occurring to him that Jannik might not want to be having a conversation right now. He's got this brightness to him that Andy has never seen in a Hunger Games victor, and that terrifies Andy a bit. There's no world in which this can last. "Sorry! I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," Jannik murmurs, and then he quietly walks away.

Roger looks at Andy and offers a small grin, as if they're part of some inside joke. Andy forces himself to take a deep breath.

"You know Andy Roddick, don't you?" Roger asks.

"Of course!" Carlos says, and he reaches out to shake Andy's hand. "I always hear a lot about you."

"I didn't think I was that noteworthy in 2," Andy mutters.

"From Roger," Carlos clarifies.

Andy glances at Roger and sighs.

“All good things,” Roger says calmly, though his forced neutral expression tells a different story. No doubt Carlos has heard all about Andy’s many shortcomings.

There has to be something strategic about this introduction. With Roger, nothing is done without a purpose. But as hard as it is for Roger to figure Andy out, Andy is equally terrible at understanding Roger.

So Andy will play his own game.

“How are you feeling?” Andy asks. “I know it’s a lot, mentoring for the first time. You have to support the tributes, obviously, but you need support too.”

Carlos glances between Andy and Roger. He may be friendly, but he isn’t dumb, at least. He’s clued in to the layers behind every word uttered in the Capitol.

Next to Andy, Roger smiles. Of course. He’s enjoying this. He always wants Andy in his little games.

“I’m alright,” Carlos says eventually, flashing the smile that had sponsors fawning over him. “It feels good. Mentoring, I mean. I’m… how do you say it? Paying it forward?”

“Hmm.” A very Roger thing to say. If Andy was paying forward what his mentor gave him, none of his tributes would have stood a chance. “Good for 2, then. Two Rogers is better than one.”

He can see what Roger is doing, clear as day. He’s lining up his legacy, always a dozen moves ahead.

“I’m not Roger,” Carlos says firmly, with a maturity someone his age shouldn’t have. “I’m me.”

Andy nods, forcing a smile. “Of course. Just protect yourself. It’s harder than you think.”

An awkward silence hovers in the air. Naturally, Roger is the one to break it.

“We’ll just have to see what happens in the arena, won’t we?” He pats Carlos on the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Andy?”

“As always,” Andy replies, and then he takes his cue and walks away as fast as he can.

Andy is out of practice. It’s been two years since he mentored, and Roger is as sharp as ever. If he wants to give Taylor any chance of winning, Andy has to get back on the level of his biggest rival. He had it, once, back when he managed to help Danielle win her Games, but that was before Roger became what he is today. Since then, Andy has passively accepted that Roger is simply luckier, more resourceful, and just plain better.

But the pain of losing Frances two years ago is still fresh, and Andy can't let it happen again, not when he promised Ben he'd do everything he could to bring Taylor home.

Somehow, he has to win.

He doesn't observe training much on the first day. He gives Taylor the same instructions that he gives every year: show just enough of your strengths to be noticed, but not enough to be a target, and learn skills you don't have. From the way Taylor had been frantically nodding as Andy gave him the instructions, he probably listened.

He spends the day scoping out potential sponsors—his usual crowd, and a few others who think Taylor has promise—and avoiding Roger.

So, as is his constant terrible luck, he runs into someone worse.

He's talking to sponsors on the first floor of the Tribute Center, and there are a few other mentors down there to greet anyone who's ventured all the way here to get a feel for who they want to support in this years' Games. Danielle is one of them, but besides her, Andy ignores the rest of the mentors, and they ignore him. It's common courtesy when finding sponsors, to not get in someone else's way, an unwritten, unspoken rule.

There's just one person who doesn't get the memo.

"Andy's boy is too in his own head to win," a voice cuts in as Andy is telling a young couple the benefits of sponsoring Taylor. "Just look at the video of him being reaped. There's no confidence there."

The couple scurries away, immediately scared off, and Andy sighs.

"What the hell do you want?"

Novak Djokovic has the audacity to shrug. "I'm telling them the truth."

He's the opposite of Roger. His refusal to play the game makes him one of the fiercest contenders. Andy has always been incapable of even comprehending the strange force that is Novak, District 1's finest. Andy gets annoyed with Roger, sure, but at the end of the day he respects him. With Novak, Andy actively hopes for his downfall. He keeps that quiet, though—Novak has something of a cult following in the Capitol, one that Andy does not want to mess with.

"Have you talked to Roger?" Novak asks pleasantly, as if he didn't just scare away sponsors that Andy needs. He's always like that, thinking they can bond over a shared hatred of Roger Federer, a hatred that Andy, despite everything, can't bring himself to have. "He's overeager this year."

"He missed us," Andy replies dryly. He looks around for Danielle, an excuse to get out of this conversation, but he can't find her.

"He's insane," Novak says, his demeanor suddenly getting very serious. "Having that boy mentor is a mistake."

Andy agrees with him, but he feels an odd need to defend Roger. "I mentored my second year of being a victor, and my tribute won."

Novak scoffs. "Your tribute won because Roger wasn't there yet. And you were an adult when you came back—Carlos is still young. And it's more than just that; there's something different about him this year. He's always friendly to you, sure, but he acted like that around me."

"What, exactly, do you want me to do about it?" Andy asks. "I don't control Roger. No one does."

"Rafa did," Novak mutters.

"Don't go there, Novak." That's another unspoken rule among the Hunger Games mentors: don't talk about Rafa. And, like all things, Novak doesn't adhere to it. "They'll punish you if they hear you talking about him. Hell, if Roger heard you say that-"

"Why the hell are you so scared of Roger?"

Andy laughs, and hopes it doesn't sound too forced. "I'm not scared of him."

"Right," Novak says, deadpan, crossing his arms. "But you refuse to say Rafa's name, because that's the way he wants it to be. You let the Capitol walk all over you because that's the way Roger says it should be."

"And you're fighting back, huh?" Andy snaps. But then he remembers where he is and what his job is, and his job is not to get in petty fights with Novak Djokovic so Andy takes a deep breath and tries to settle himself. "Do you need something from me, Novak?"

"Alliances, actually," he sighs. Andy almost rebukes him right then and there, but his renewed determination to get the better of Roger holds him back. He might need this. "If you'll have them. I have two young volunteers this year. Your tributes are on the older side, no?"

Andy nods. "If you want the volunteer, talk to Danielle."

"She won't talk to me unless I go through you first," Novak says, and Andy snorts at the idea of Novak trying to reason with the ever-stubborn Danielle Collins. "My tributes have promise, but that's just the problem. They're getting that in their heads, and I need someone to ground them. So, it's a trade-off. Our tributes get each other out of their own heads. Yours gets some confidence, mine lose some cockiness."

Admittedly, Andy is quite often a petty, stubborn person. But even he knows when to bend.

"I'll talk to Taylor tonight," Andy says. "See what he thinks."

Novak smiles, and there's something about that that's a bit terrifying. "Good. And... I do think there's something off about Roger this year. Just keep an eye on him."

"Why me?" But Andy already knows the answer.

"He trusts you." Novak shrugs. "I don't know why, but he does. You could use that to your advantage, actually, but I know you won't."

Andy rolls his eyes. "You don't know anything about me, or Roger."

But he can't deny that what Novak said about Roger is already taking root in his mind, sprouting dozens of branches of possibilities. If Roger finally has a disadvantage, whatever it may be, that could certainly help Andy. But, on the flip side, who is he to wish misfortune on Roger? Despite the nature of their occupation, Roger has been nothing but kind to Andy, and at the end of the day, they're in the same precarious, half-flooded boat. Andy has always needed to find some kind of balance between admiration and rivalry, but all he ever does is jumble his thoughts even more.

"Can I offer you some advice?" Novak asks. He continues without waiting for Andy's reply. "You're too predictable. Roger is too, but he knows how to play it off. You don't."

"Thanks, Novak," Andy says, his voice laced with sarcasm that he's not sure he means. Novak's words stick in Andy's ears, memories of past losses all in frustratingly similar manners swimming to the forefront of his mind.

Be unpredictable. Well, an alliance with Novak Djokovic is certainly a good start.

After a quiet, awkward dinner, Andy sits Taylor down on the terrace of District 4's apartments in the Tribute Center.

“You’re gonna need allies,” Andy says bluntly. Taylor isn't strong or charismatic enough to make it on his own.

“I can’t do that,” Taylor counters immediately, as if he's been thinking about his response all day. “I can’t get close with someone just to kill them. It’d be better if I stayed on my own.”

Andy sighs. “Look, you don’t have to get close. You just have to find people you trust a little bit and stick with them while the field is still big. Then, you part ways.” Or you kill each other. “So, anyone that might fit the description?”

“Casper,” Taylor says after a moment’s hesitation. “From 6.”

Andy tries to think of Casper, but he hadn’t noticed him at all so far. He’ll have to keep a look out for him tomorrow.

“Okay,” Andy says. “Good start. Anyone else?”

Taylor thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. Andy fights the urge to groan—two people aren’t going to get much done except slowly start to get suspicious of each other.

“What about Jess?”

"Uh... I don't think she wants me," Taylor says. "Looks like she clicked with some girls today. 5 and 7, I think. I wouldn't hurt her or anything, I just don't think we're gonna be allies."

"District 1?" Andy continues. He can't believe he's actually trying to ally with Novak, but he can't argue with the logic. "I talked to Djokovic today. I think you and those tributes will balance each other out."

"Uh... okay." For a moment, Andy worries that he's pushed Taylor back into his shell. But, then: "I'll try to talk to them tomorrow."

Andy takes a deep breath. "What about the boy from 2?"

Taylor raises his eyebrows. "He hasn't said a word to anyone, not even the girl from his district. He's not looking for allies, I promise."

Interesting. Andy tries not to think of the Roger of it all, but he can't help it. He's not sure if Roger has ever had to deal with a standoffish tribute before. This Jannik seems to be the opposite of Carlos, completely unwilling to perform. Roger will probably pick the girl to save, then.

"Okay. Just be on the lookout for more tributes you might want to ally with." Andy tries to gauge if Taylor seems comfortable with the idea, but he's unreadable. So Andy transitions to something that will get more of a reaction out of him. "Let's talk about your final two events at the end of the week: your skill and your interview."

Sure enough, Taylor visibly pales at that. In any other circumstance, Andy would try to be gentle about whatever is making him uncomfortable, but he can't afford to be anything but blunt right now, even if it makes him rude.

"Which one is freaking you out?" Andy asks.

"Both," Taylor replies, flushing pink.

"Let me rephrase: which one is making you want to get to the arena earlier?"

The pink in Taylor's cheeks turns into a deep red, and Andy realizes just how different Taylor is from Frances. Mentoring Frances had been the easiest job Andy ever had—the boy was so charismatic, so friendly, a model District 4 tribute. He impressed the Gamemakers, charmed the Capitol, and made allies like it was nothing. Taylor has none of that.

"The interview," he admits. "I... I can't talk up there, in front of all those people..."

"That's fine," Andy says hurriedly, even though it's definitely not fine. He has to spin this. "We'll make it your angle. Gentle giant."

Taylor frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Here's what we make them see," he begins. "You, Taylor Fritz, tall, strong tribute from District 4. You know your way around weapons—try to shoot for an 8 or 9 on your skill—but you're not an expert. You're not like those... those robots from 1 and 2. You have flaws, but you're humble, and you're kind. You don't have it in you to hurt people, but you'll do it because... because you have to get home, for Tommy and Ben. You have to get home to them because Frances didn't. That's what you say in your interview, that's what we tell them. You play up the Frances angle as much as you can."

"He's not an angle," Taylor mutters. "He was my friend."

Andy freezes, and it hits him like a knife to the shoulder, sending him staggering back. He sounds like Roger, hurting Taylor, breaking him down more than he's already been broken, all for the sake of pleasing the cameras.

"I'm sorry," Andy says quietly. "You're right. But this is how the Capitol works. If they know you were close with him, that could save you in the arena. The Capitol loved Frances."

"Of course they did," he snaps. "Everyone loved him. He's still gone. And I can't even do what he did, I can't make people care about me. I'm not good enough."

Andy takes a moment to think—he doubts Taylor will mind the silence. He's never really had a tribute like Taylor before, someone so unconvinced of their own self-worth. He's pretty sure he hasn't heard Taylor say one good thing about himself this entire time. He's shy and sullen and, to Andy, it looks like his heart has been constantly breaking for years, being chipped away at bit by bit.

"When you were growing up, did you ever idolize a tribute?" Andy asks. "For me, it was Agassi. I wanted to be like him more than anything. The clothes, the attitude, everything. When I got reaped, I tried to be like him the whole time. I made myself the lovable rogue. So it didn't feel like it was me in the Games, it felt like I was just playing a character. Andy Agassi, I guess." He laughs at his own joke, and it even gets a chuckle out of Taylor. "Who is that for you?"

Taylor considers the question, but Andy can tell he already has an answer.

"Del Potro," Taylor says. "District 12."

Andy remembers him. It was three or four years after Andy won. Juan Martin del Potro was one of the largest tributes in the history of the Hunger Games, taller than some of the trees outside his district. He had been a favorite, and he did win, but not in the way anyone expected him to. Del Potro was special because he managed to get through the Games without killing a single person.

"That thing you said for me," Taylor continues. "Gentle giant. That's what he was, right?”

"Yeah," Andy says, even though everything within him is screaming to warn Taylor that he can't make it through this without blood on his hands. "I think we're on the same page here."

He idolizes del Potro, the most difficult tribute to emulate. Of course. Andy should have seen this coming. But del Potro did win over the Capitol on a historic level.

Gentle giant. Frances' friend.

A voice in Andy's head that sounds like Roger tells him that he has something to work with here. Something good.