VOLCANO.
PART ONE.

[PEETA.]

It's been a good year.

Business is great, for one thing. The bakery's thriving. And Since Prim started college up north, Katniss and I have had more time together. They talk on the phone every day, but with Prim in another state, Katniss is finding it hard to focus absolutely all her time on her sister.

At least, we had more time together for a little while. She started finding other ways to occupy herself pretty quickly. Lately she's been taking extra shifts at work and spending a lot of time down at the marina. She knows someone down there who owns a boat-that's what she told me-and he's teaching her to dive. Katniss says she always wanted to learn. Not that she ever expressed that particular desire to me before last month.

I'm painting again. A lot. It's a good way to pass the time, especially since, with our schedules, Katniss and I keep missing each other. It's like we're never in the same place at the same time.

I don't see her as much as I'd like. But it's better than not seeing her at all.

So I'm happy. Mostly.

[KATNISS]

Rubbing a towel in my damp hair, I pull an oversized T-shirt and jean shorts over my bathing suit. It's cool and dark below the deck of the Trident, a welcome relief from the sun that had baked Finnick and I as we swam around the boat. We're anchored about a mile out.

As I flop down on the bed, Finnick appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Sea water runs down his chest in rivulets. Smiling, I toss him the towel.

"What's with the shirt?" he asks, stretching out beside me.

"Found it in a drawer."

"I like you better without it."

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Well, not all . . ." He moves closer to me and brushes his lips across my collar bone. I allow this for a moment, then turn away. With a frustrated sigh, Finnick flops onto his back.

I don't know if Finnick knows about Peeta, or how he'd feel if he did. Peeta doesn't know about Finnick, though. Of that I'm sure.

We're not dating-Finnick and me, I mean. I wouldn't even classify what we're doing as "seeing each other."

I met Finnick almost two months ago. I like to walk around at the marina: I love the brisk air, the sound of the water, the great, wing-like sails and lovely boats. When I spotted the Trident, I had to stop to admire it.

"Like what you see?"

And there he was: Finnick Odair, so lovely in the summer sunlight that, for a moment, I was thrown.

"She's beautiful," I said finally.

He grinned wolfishly. "Almost as beautiful as you."

"I could say the same about you." I didn't know where the words came from. They just bubbled up my throat.

We carried on like that for a while, until Finnick invited me on board for a drink. We talked for a long time: about his job (diving instructor) and mine (waitress); where we'd grown up; all those pleasant, mundane things. It was dark when I left.

"It was great to meet you," I told him honestly. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Or," he said, conjuring a business card out of nowhere, "maybe you'll call me and we'll arrange a lesson for you. Free, of course." He winked, and I found myself accepting the card. Slipping it in my purse. Taking it out and staring at it as I talked with Peeta on the phone later that night.

The very next week, Finnick started giving me diving lessons. I insisted on paying; he insisted on giving me a discount. In these two months, the lessons are all he's given me. He hasn't asked me on a date. He only tried to kiss me for the first time last week (I didn't let him). We only ever meet onboard the Trident, and always stick to the lessons. Nothing more. I'm glad. I don't think I want to tell him about Peeta.

I close my eyes. Finnick doesn't speak, but I can hear him breathing, feel his warmth beside me.

Someone once told me that cheating's in the heart.

Trouble is, I'm not sure what's in my heart.

[FINNICK]

Something tells me that I'm just her something-on-the-side. A beautiful, fiery girl like Katniss . . . She's bound to have men swarming around her. Surely she's got a man at home, or elsewhere. I wonder how many she's got. How many of me.

I try not to think about that when I'm with her. It bothers me. I've been there before: used like an object, then tossed aside when I become boring or broken.

Every time she grabs her purse and hurries from the boat, I hope she's not planning to use me. To use me up.

It's funny: In the five years since Annie's accident, I've been with a fair few people. Looking for someone to distract me. To wrench my heart from Annie's grip. I don't love Katniss, not by far. I've only known her two months. But she burns bright. Sometimes, when I'm with her, I can almost put Annie from my mind. I don't even have to kiss her to get that feeling.

Katniss leaves earlier than usual. Maybe it's because I tried to kiss her again. She didn't tell me no. She didn't tell me no last time, either, just turned her head and said, "Finnick . . ."

I know that she likes me. I haven't met a girl who didn't like me since I was fourteen. So it isn't that. What, then? Has she got a guy at home? Is it something else?

Doesn't matter. I turn in early tonight. It's Friday, and I have to get up early tomorrow. I've got a date to keep.

A/N: This fanfiction was inspired by the song "Volcano" by Damien Rice. I finished reading Mockingjay the day after I bought it, and I had this incredible urge to write some Hunger Games fanfiction. I was listening to some Damien Rice, and this just popped into my head. Part two will be up soon.