Natasha and Wanda.
Natasha had been twelve on her own Victory Tour, and for all the cunning and she'd displayed in the arena, all the death she'd doled out, she'd still been something of a child. On her tour, Clint had been there. He'd been ready with advice on how to behave, what to say, where to look. He'd shaken her awake from nightmares. He'd sat beside her and told her fairy stories with happy endings when she swore she'd never be able to sleep. He'd been some combination of her self-appointed protector and older brother, the person who decided to look out for a child that had no one else, a mentor in every sense of the word.
From the moment she'd chosen Wanda as her tribute, Natasha had known she would be nothing like the kind of mentor Clint had been to her. There was a vein of kindness in Clint, somehow, and it was nothing Natasha had ever found in herself when she'd gone looking for it. More than that, though, it was something far more simple than Natasha not being the kind of person who could soothe a screaming, traumatized Victor: it was more that Natasha had known from the beginning that she was not the person who could make this tour better for Wanda.
The person Wanda needed had died choking up blood in her arms while every eye in Panem had tuned in.
It would be impractical to care about the girl. Natasha knew what would happen like it was a book she'd read a thousand times - oh, the districts would grumble for awhile, the whispers would start, but they'd die out when more pressing needs came to the forefront. And Wanda would find her own way of coping, eventually. Or sooner or later, Stane would make the same call to Natasha that he'd made to Clint years ago, and Natasha would be left explaining to Wanda that sometimes a night with a victor was sold to anyone who could pay and it wasn't so bad, really, all things considered, it could be worse. On and on and on and what was it but one more spark that got drowned, anyway?
Nothing changed, not really, and after tonight, the tour was over, which meant that Natasha's job as a mentor was officially over until the next reaping. If she wanted to leave it alone tonight, she could leave it alone.
But after she'd spoken with Clint on the terrace, she went to the girl's side, anyway, making a concerted effort to avoid the animatronics on her path there. Some stupid compulsion that she couldn't put down, and she touched Wanda's arm, lightly. "Last stop," she told her, by way of hello. "Congratulations on making it all the way to the end. You've done well."