A/N: Hey guys! Good to be back. This fic is going to be a lot shorter than my main Hunger Games one. It's basically an extended motivation exercise so I could write Finnick the way I wanted to in the sequel. Everything I write is supposed to fit with canon, except when I get to where ICSDT began.

Some personal choices; I decided Annie was 16 in her games. I gave her sisters and parents. I made up a lot about how District 4 careers are chosen and trained. I tried to make it as logical as possible, so nothing comes across as a Deus Ex Machina, but I'm not perfect. I JUST LOVE FINNICK ODAIR TOO MUCH FOR ANY RATIONAL ADULT TO LOVE HIM AIEJOFLKDSZ

Alright. Here. I'll shut up now.

You're not supposed to mentor the year after you win. It's not a set-in-tone rule, but that's always been the practice. But then the last remaining male victor from 4 killed himself, so I didn't have much of a choice.

The first year, it went terribly. The girl didn't listen to a word I said and kept trying to twist her almost-certain imminent death into a night with me. Keep in mind, I was fifteen. I barely knew what that meant.

Mags was the other mentor that year – every year, actually. All the other girl victors made excuses each time so they wouldn't have to deal with the guilt if their kid lost. She was the only familiar face in the Capitol for me. I latched onto her and rarely left her side, which meant she had to help me handle it when the girl was killed, throat slit by a mountain-sized blonde boy from 2.

I don't even remember her name. I feel more guilty about that now than I did about anything then. I think I was in some kind of prolonged shock. When Mags sat down next to me and told me it wasn't my fault. I still cried for some reason. "It's not your fault," she reassured me. "She wasn't likable. The sponsors could see it."

That idea fundamentally confused me. I didn't understand how they could like me and not her, first of all, and I also didn't know what Mags meant. Then she explained the whole thing, giving a detailed breakdown of how to make a crowd like you – smile, react to them, connect – and another of what crowds don't like – arrogance, hopelessness, silence.

Patiently, I sat through those; I already know everything she was saying. It was common sense to me. The crowds liked everything about me, just naturally. I knew how to charm them. But I sat through her explanation because I trusted her.

And after, she launched into a lecture about how to teach the tributes these things, how to talk to them politely, but authoritatively, so what had happened this year wouldn't happen again. These things were new information. I soaked it all in and then I put it into practice that next year.

It sort of worked. I was better at the teaching, but the girl still didn't win, and Mags was there for me again to sit silently by me. I didn't cry that time either; I'd been careful not to get close, so although it was awful, it didn't consume me.

I could compartmentalize then, block out the parts that hurt me. I could be macho and pretend that it didn't matter. To some extent, it didn't. I was too young to really understand the utter wrongness about this whole thing. But I learned about that soon enough.

I turned sixteen in the winter, a little before my third year of mentoring. It always felt weird to me, to be celebrating my birth while everything else was colder than usual and less alive. It wasn't much of a celebration anyways, just Mags and me alone in our big house. We stayed up late, sitting in the sand, and we watched the sun rise over the ocean. I remember wondering what it'd be like if I hadn't gone in the arena, if I hadn't gotten reaped, or even if the games hadn't taken my mom. Would things be different?

It didn't matter. They weren't. The games had taken everything from me. Or I thought they had.

Snow came for me the night after that. I'm sure he made it sound grand and important, what he was asking me to do. I think for a second, I was flattered, until he finally got around to his actual point; if I didn't go with him and spend nights at the Capitol with whoever he said, he'd kill people. Mags. The trainers. My classmates.

So me, overconfident teenage boy that I was, agreed. He barely had to threaten me. I hate myself for that. Maybe if I'd been more resistant…

I can never finish that sentence. I'm not sure how I'd rather it go, what I would've wanted to happen instead. And regardless of the bad parts, there are some things I wouldn't change for the world; meeting Annie, being able to help her. In a weird way, my time at the Capitol drove us together. I'd want that to stay the same.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. You can't pick and choose like that, and you can't change the past. You can only hope to forget most of the bad parts.

I don't remember most of my first night; a voice bragging about how much she paid for the privilege of being my first, my heart feeling about ready to jump out of my chest, the train ride back where I showered five times with soap that smelled like roses. That's it. I don't remember her face, what we did, what she gave me. I don't care. They all blend together.

The first few months, I was operating in kind of a daze. My motivation for doing anything else was almost gone. I went to the Capitol. I did whatever Snow wanted. I came home. Eating, washing clothes, cleaning, and the other normal, daily tasks were preformed with robotic efficiency. Sleeping was nearly impossible. The rest of my time I spent sitting in a chair, staring out at the sea, my mind empty.

I guess I was depressed, if you have to have a name for it, but I didn't know it then. I didn't try to think about how I felt. In fact, I tried not to think at all. Thinking meant letting in all sorts of things, things I'd done or heard or said. And I couldn't afford that.

I was like that right up to the games. Mags took one look at me on the train and frowned. As soon as she could, while our tributes were getting beautified, she got me alone and began the conversation with "Is Snow renting you out?"

I nodded, unable to speak. It was horribly embarrassing to admit, especially to her.

"Is that why you're like this?" She motioned at me.

"Like what?"

"Don't play dumb, Finnick, you're too good at it," she said sternly. Her tone was all bossy aunt. "Have you lost your will to live?

"No, I want to live," I said, and it was true.

"Then why the apathy?"

"What's the point?" I shrugged despondently. "Snow's in control. He always will be. I can't fight it."

"Yes, you can."

"But it wouldn't be worth it."

"But someday, you'll find something that's worth it. Maybe someone. So until then, you've gotta get your act together, kid."

"And do what?" I demanded, stalling. I so wanted to trust her and obey. She did keep me alive after all. But since she cared about me, I was worried she was lying.

"And get good," she said firmly. "So you won. So what? For the rest of your life, you should be ready to win again, so that if you ever have to fight for those you love, you can win. Learn everything you can especially about Snow and politics. Become dangerous, but act docile. Got it?"

"But what if Snow never lets me stop?"

"You'll lose those looks eventually," she said with a hint of a smile. "But until then, try to find a way to force your hand." She put her hand on my shoulder. "You don't deal with helplessness well, Finnick. I guess because you're not used to it. So rebel."

"How?" I frowned.

"Anything. Small things. Use words from the Dark Days. Be different for a second. Dare to think for yourself." She gave me a look I couldn't decipher. "And never love anyone from the Capitol."

That last one I could easily agree to, without even thinking. "But Mags, I'm… I'm scared," I mumbled, flushing.

"Then you've got a brain. These are frightening times. Be wary." She pulled me close for a rare quick embrace, then ruffled my hair. "You'll do fine," she said. Thinking back, I'm not sure who she was trying to comfort.

So that's what I did. While my tributes kept losing, I was the most charming smartass ever seen. I refused to wear blue for a year. I "accidentally" misunderstood details in instructions given to me. One client told me to make her happy. I seductively showed her a mirror. Another woman joked about me getting her pregnant. Innocently, I asked if she wasn't already.

All of this was done flirtatiously, like I was just acting on impulse or joking so nobody took too much offense. Except, of course, for Snow, who caught on after a year or so. I had to be more discreet, but I didn't stop. I couldn't feel so helpless again.

Mags didn't give me any more lectures, so I guess I improved. It felt good to get back at them, even in petty ways. My life was almost fun again, as I gathered secrets and gifts. Money was never an issue – I wouldn't have to think about saving anything for the next several decades at least, so I began exclusively dealing in information.

As part of my profession, I was rubbing elbows – sometimes more – with the most important people in the nation, a fact which I learned to exploit. I learned more about Snow's web of lies, poison, and twisted deals than I ever wanted to know. He controlled more than I thought, kept control more ruthlessly than I'd feared. I began to seriously doubt the possibility of anyone ever bringing him down.

That sneaking suspicion combined with all the things I was doing in the Capitol were combining to form this great and sinking emptiness inside. I wasn't just faking my way through everything like before. I mean, I had good and bad days, and I liked some things and really hated others.

Late at night, though, when I couldn't sleep, I felt so hollow, like my thoughts were echoing around in space where there should be something else. I didn't know what was supposed to be there, but whatever it was, it was definitely missing.

I didn't tell Mags. She was already worried enough as it was. The last thing she needed to know about was my crushing emotional problems that she could do nothing about. I figured it was just temporary, caused by exhaustion or something. Even after it had lingered for more than two years, I still thought it would go away.

Okay, maybe I didn't think it would. But I hoped it would, even though I had no reason to hope that. It had been more than two years of nights in the Capitol and emptiness, with no sign of changing.