Chapter Text
[Reaping for the 73rd Hunger Games. District 10.]
The sun was the worst part of the Reaping, at least for those who would be going back home with all their family. This vacant lot on the outskirts of the district was the only place big enough to hold the entire population, which meant muddy ground and no trees nearby.
The girl next to her looked about to faint, but it was probably because of the fear. She kept looking at the first lines in front of the stage, where the youngest available kids for reaping were. She probably had a little sister entering the urn this year.
Abigail almost wanted to tell her to relax, there was no way her little sister would be picked this year, but the words would sound empty, and in most cases, they would be, except that she already knew who would be picked this year. At least for the girls.
She looked up at the stage, where the two still-alive victors were. Hannibal looked mildly amused with whatever Freddie Lounds, the official escort for the District, was saying. He probably was the only person paying any attention to her. To his left, Will was already looking back at her. He gave her a half-smile, trying to cheer her up, which was kind of pointless considering the context, but she appreciated it anyway and smiled back at him.
Abigail managed to keep her mind blank until she finally heard it.
“Abigail Hobbs!" Announced Freddie with her cheerful melody. Will always mentioned how much he hated her, but Abigail thought that it could be worse. It's not as if there would be many other opportunities for cheerfulness in her near future.
She walked calmed and composed to the stage, not letting any emotion bleed into her face.
“They think they own you,” warned her Hannibal. “In many ways, they do. They own your life, at least, but they can't own your thought or emotions. Those are yours; give them something to keep entertained, but never the true ones.”
“The moment you give them even a little of your true self, you already lost, no matter the outcome of the games.” Will seconded.
“Let the applause be heard for our female tribute!” It was a muted thing just enough so the peacekeepers were satisfied, and Freddie decided to carry on to the male tribute.
Abigail let herself look at the crowd for a moment. She saw the relieved families, knowing they would go home with their children. A few lines behind the place she had been a few minutes ago, where the eighteen-year-old girls were, she was almost sure some were crying with relief. They made it, now they could stay and starve here for the rest of their lives.
She was jealous, to be honest.
When the next round of muted applause came, she looked to her right to see who would go with her to the Arena.
The boy was Nicholas Boyle, the older brother of one girl in her class. He must have been eighteen, he almost made it. Bad luck.
The peacekeepers escorted them to the Justice Building, which was in the center of the District, so that made for some awkward minutes of silence, but when they finally arrived, she entered the room they showed her and sat to wait. She wasn't sure who would come to say goodbye, so at least she would have another surprise today.
Her first one was her friend Marissa. The only one that hadn't stopped talking to her after the execution of her father almost a year ago. The girl now ran into Abigail's arms and started talking her ears off.
“You can win this shit, understood? You already are the favorite of both mentors, them being your pseudo-new fathers or whatever the hell goes on with you. So, you just need to kick ass and come back, okay?” Her voice was serious, even if her words felt anything but.
Hannibal found Marissa rude and unnecessary crude, and Will found her amusing. Abigail agreed more with Will in this instance. She allowed herself a short laugh before responding.
“I don't think it's quite that easy, but I have no intention of dying, so I'll have to 'kick-ass' and come back.”
“That's my girl!” Marissa’s smile was obviously forced, but Abigail decided to ignore it. “I should tell you though, don't trust Nicolas for a second, you hear me?”
Abigail knew what she was talking about, but then she thought that when there were few tributes left, the reporters from the Capitol would come here to interview her friends. They would probably start in the orphanage, but everyone there would honestly say her only friend anymore was Marissa. So, if she was going to be in the center of attention, the more innocent she remembered her, the better.
She would get herself a more capable image in the Arena, anyway.
“Why do you say so?” She asked then, with fake naivety.
“He'll be pissed off about being tribute with you. The moment your name was called, everyone knew the other tribute didn't stand a chance as long as you are alive. I don't think anyone missed you playing house with the psychos that are our Victors.” Marissa explained.
She was right. Of course, he would also know that if he killed Abigail, then he was on his own. Most probably even if he wasn't the one to kill her too, but Marissa would probably figure that one out eventually.
“Thank you, I will be careful.” Abigail hugged her friend, who hugged her back until the peacekeepers made her go.
She half expected someone from the orphanage to come in next; she wasn't close to anyone, but it felt like something she would feel obligated to do for them if the things were the other way around. However, the two figures that came in next were far more familiar.
“Is it allowed for mentors to come to say goodbye to the tributes?” She asked with a little smile that was answered in kind by Hannibal. Will looked too grumpy to smile, but he patted her head affectionally and sat next to her.
“It's certainly not orthodox, but there is no rule against it. The Boyle boy has still a few people waiting, and you had not, so no one saw a problem with allowing us in.” Explained Hannibal, looking as in control as always. Abigail found it comforting; it was easier to pretend everything would be okay when someone she trusted acted like it.
Will looked like he wanted to throw something at him, but somewhere along their years as a couple they found a way to control their most violent instincts. That's probably the reason they hadn't kill each other.
“Miss Foster told us to wish you luck on her and all the kids' part, but they didn't want to overwhelm you by ambushing you here.” Said Will instead. Well, at least they hadn't completely forgotten about her in the orphanage.
Molly was the sweet woman that took care of the youngest ones, so she never interacted a lot with her, but she was probably genuine when wishing her good luck. Molly was probably also relieved that it was Abigail, and not one of the girls that she was really attached to, or even her own son that went with her, but she wouldn't hold a grudge for that.
Abigail nodded to the information. She knew she couldn't break down yet; there would be cameras waiting outside the building. She needed to remain composed.
“So, no changes in the mentor's distribution?” She asked to make the two men talk, as she didn't have the energy to. They both seemed to understand.
“No changes,” responded Hannibal. “Will said that he, and I quote, couldn't be bothered to pretend he expected any other result that you coming back. I don't think that is quite the spirit Mr. Boyle needs, so I'll take his mentorship and you will deal with Will's moodiness.”
Despite the words, he sounded fond of Will's “moodiness”. It was also understood without saying that he shared Will's wishes for the results of the games; he was just better at dissimulating. Or was disposed to at all.
“He will be a pain to deal with,” started analyzing Will to indulge her wish of conversation. “He feels entitled just for the fact he was a month short of getting out at all. He's already jealous of Abigail and will second guess any advice you give him because he will think it sabotage. You'll need luck just to keep him out of the bloodbath. He needs either a strong alliance with other strong tributes so he doesn't depend on us, or he will stay with Abigail, knowing it's the only way to get sponsor's gifts.”
He wasn't worried about him, that was good. Nicolas sounded easy enough to manage. Abigail sighed and rested her head in Will's shoulder, deciding to just relax for however long they had left before they took them to the train. Hannibal filled the silence with recommendations about the food they would be eating in the next days, and the familiar noise was enough to calm her down.
When they eventually departed, Abigail prepared her best smile for the cameras. She took a glance at her district partner; red eyes and he was ignoring the cameras. She poked him in the ribs with her elbow and with a glance told him to get himself together. For a moment, it looked like he would ignore her, but then seemed to think better and nodded. For the rest of their way to the station, and then while waiting for the boarding, he managed a small smile, and some acknowledges with his hand to the cameras.
Good. If Will was right, and he usually was, then both would be stuck in an alliance for part of the games, and she wouldn't allow him to scare off possible sponsors for a shitty attitude.
When she reached her room on the train, she finally gave herself the chance for a few tears. There weren't many more left, she had known since her father’s execution that this would be her destiny. Hannibal and Will warned her.
She had been preparing for this, she knew her strategy better than her name. Still, there was just so much one could prepare for the games. She didn't know her enemies, she didn't even know the arena. She may just die on the first day.
But she had also been thinking all of that for the last year, so the few tears left dried quick.
Will took off the coat he was wearing as soon as he reached the train. The temperature was ridiculously high for it, and he only put it in the first place because he had two options; play as Hannibal's dress doll, or as Alana's, who had been the District principal designer for the games for the last few years.
He had nothing against Alana, in fact, he quite liked her. She was very... sober, for a Capitol citizen and she seemed to genuinely care for her tributes, so it wasn't a bad company for however long their tributes survived.
Better company than Freddie, anyways.
Still, if he had to choose at least Hannibal allowed him some input, so it was somehow better.
“So, you truly think I will have problems keeping Mr. Boyle out of the bloodbath?” His husband asked him.
He had to turn back to consider if it was a serious question, but Hannibal wasn't looking at him, too busy taking off his tie.
Of course, his ego would be stuck in Will's questioning of his abilities.
“You could convince him to commit suicide before the games even start, and you know it. You don't need me stroking your ego. Abigail needed me to confirm he is an idiot she can manipulate, and he is, I just made sure my point got across.” He said bitterly.
It didn't seem to matter to Hannibal, who looked at him as adoring as he had since before his games, which were already 25 years ago. Well, it wasn't as if Will minded.
“I have confidence Abigail will manage whatever comes her way. She's our daughter, after all.” Hannibal said with all confidence, but Will could see the fear under that.
He closed the distance between them and buried himself in Hannibal's arms, trying to comfort him without words. They wouldn't speak their fear out loud, it would make the possibility all too real.
The possibility of Abigail dying in the Arena.
He felt once again like his fourteen-year-old self, being left behind in the District, having to watch Hannibal murder his way back to him. He could imagine Hannibal was feeling like the eighteen-year-old boy that had to mentor Will in his first year as a Victor.
They had thought they would never go through this again, but life kept giving them things, just to take them away.
Hannibal's fingers carded through his hair in a soothing, for both, motion. They had known this would happen since they decided to take in Abigail, but even without the surprise, the pain of knowing they wouldn't be able to protect her was sharp.
They moved to sit on the bed but remained embraced until they heard Freddie's voice announcing dinner.
They separated and made sure they were presentable before going to the dining room on the train. Will sat next to Abigail, who was already there, and Hannibal took place in front of him, leaving the sit in front of her for when Nicholas Boyle joined them.
“It's a pleasure to meet you, Abigail.” Greeted her Freddie, who was sat at the head of the table. “I had no idea Hannibal and Will had adopted a daughter, and yet that was what the peacekeepers at the Justice Building told me when I asked why those two went to you instead of any other family.”
A snarl made its way out of his throat without his conscious permission. Hannibal gave him a reproachful look, and Abigail smiled. He really needed to get a hold of himself in front of that woman, she loved to get a reaction out of him.
Abigail diverted the attention by explaining that no, they didn't adopt her, they just looked after her since her parents died.
“Still, you must be something special to make them look your way. Tell me, Abigail, what made you so special in their eyes?”
Before she could make up something, Nicholas Boyle joined them and answered for her.
“Her original father was also a killer.” He took his seat and started eating.
Will had to re-evaluate the idea he had of the boy. He had assumed that Nicholas Boyle somehow understood the big disadvantage he found himself in and would act accordingly. His antagonistic comment, however, served no purpose but dig his own grave deeper.
After a second, he concluded that he was just an emotional teenager that didn't know how to filter his thoughts. Once again, he was glad he wouldn't be mentoring him. One look at Hannibal told him he had had the same train of thought and was planning what would be the best method to get him to do what they wanted.
Abigail, as sharp as always, took the comment in stride, and the next moment asked Hannibal about some of the dishes in front of them, not giving Freddie time to ask more questions.
She would ask them eventually, her eyes were those of a predator after her prey, and that prey would be the complete story.
How she ended an escort instead of a journalist, he will never understand.
They took their time eating; the boy was probably trying to delay the inevitable moment of turning on the TV and watching the other tributes, their new enemies by all accounts. The rest just enjoyed the food. Even Abigail, as nervous as he knew she was, decided to take the chance to further her palate; even if she mostly ate with them back at home, most of these ingredients couldn't be acquired outside the Capitol.
He would know, Hannibal loved to complain about it.
When everyone finished their food, they moved to the small living room with the television. They turned it on, and they were just on time for the recap of the other reapings.
Will and Hannibal commented on each tribute, although most of it was unfounded speculation, as they only had a few seconds of each tribute standing on a stage. Nicholas seemed to understand that and was probably ignoring their comments; Abigail, on the other hand, took note of every suggestion.
She knew by now that they were as accurate as one could be even in their “unfounded speculations”.
Nicholas only looked at them, more specifically at Will, when the boy from District Seven was called. A twelve-year-old boy in his bones, probably sick by the greenish tone of his skin, and with a limping in his left leg. Will knew that sometimes the strategy was to appear weak, but this wasn't like that.
“If any of you have the chance, give that boy a quick death. Is the best he can hope for in the Arena.” He said it as fact. It was like putting an injured animal to sleep, a kindness.
Hannibal smiled at him, loving his compassion as much as his cruelty, but in their life he'd had many more chances at seeing the cruelty. Panem was no place for compassion. Freddie had already had years to get used to his comments, so she didn't acknowledge it.
Abigail just nodded, clearly having thought the same as him. She saw vulnerability and when she realized she couldn't help him, she decided to crush him quicker.
He bit his lip not to laugh at the use of the metaphor created by his long diseased district partner.
Nicolas looked at him as if he had just kicked a baby. He clearly hadn't fully understood his situation, kill or be killed. Not that he had any chance of winning, but it would be useful if he got on with the situation.
Freddie spent more time watching him and Hannibal interact with Abigail, even as brief as those interactions were than watching the recaps. Eventually, he gave in and mouthed a later, with Alana at her, which seemed to pacify her enough.
Good, she would be also a vital part of the plan, even if that meant Will had to actually work with her.
“Well, darlings” announced Freddie. “You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, you better go to sleep early.”
She shooed the teenagers to their rooms and then fixed her gaze on the two left.
“Nicholas Boyle won't be coming back, will he?” Her voice carried more an accusation than a question.
“No, he won't” answered Hannibal. “You, however, will finally have your victor.”
Freddie's smile gave away her satisfaction. She wanted a story, a victor, and the recognition that came with that.
“Then I trust you will tell us your plan tomorrow after the parade. It won't be any good if our team isn't in sync.” She turned around and walked away, not waiting for an answer.
He and Hannibal then started their way to their room, enjoying the silence. Only when they reached their destination, did they started speaking.
“Any other thoughts you want to share about the other tributes?” Asked Hannibal.
“Painfully average, all of them. The careers are full of themselves, the rest are starving kids. By this time next year, no one will remember any of them.”
“Nor will they remember the winner, if we make our job right.” They were aware of the microphones in their room. No place was safe to talk, so they could only be vague about the plan.
It didn't matter, they've had a year to perfect it.
“Freddie and Alana won't like the strategy, who wants an inconspicuous Victor? It won't keep them in the spotlight.” It wouldn't change their plans, but it was time to address it.
“Don't worry, beloved. Abigail will win Alana over in a second, and she will see reason.” Hannibal extended his hand to cup Will's face, letting his thumb caress his husband's cheek. “Freddie will see she's out-numbered, and even a boring winner is better than no winner at all.”
Will couldn't resist nuzzling into the other's hand. Hannibal's comforting presence was sometimes the only thing that kept him sane.
“A month from now,” he said, looking at Hannibal's eyes. “we'll be with Abigail, on our way home. She will finally be left alone.”
“Long live Abigail Hobbs.”