This oneshot was written for justsurvivesomehow, the randomly selected winner of one of my oneshot contests for my other big HG story. I highly recommend reading "The Sweetest Mockery" before tackling this bitty ficlet for proper context, but just in case you don't feel up to reading an 80k+ word story at the moment, here's what you need to know, if you aren't already a reader:

Sweetest Mockery takes place in an alternate universe where Haymitch and Maysilee did the star-crossed lovers routine during their Games and survived as co-Victors. They got married and had several kids over the years. Sweetest Mockery takes place during the 74th Games, but instead of Katniss and Peeta, the District 12 tributes are Ember and Cedric Abernathy, two of Hay & May's kids. Long story short, the rebellion takes off a year early, and the arena is hacked during the countdown to the Cornucopia, giving all twenty-four tributes a chance to escape, which they do, and now two dozen teenagers are tromping through the wilderness trying to get to District 13. In Sweetest Mockery, the principal romance is Ember/Cato, but Finch (Foxface)/Marvel is also quite popular.

The prompt I received from justsurvivesomehow was essentially as follows: Finch gets upset about something and goes into the woods alone, where she is attacked by a mutt (I assumed any large and scary creature would do), but Marvel and Cato save the day. There was also a request for some Marvel/Cato bromance.

THIS FIC IS NOT COMPLIANT WITH THE SWEETEST MOCKERY CANON. It unfortunately doesn't work as any sort of deleted scene or fit within the larger narrative.

WARNING: Excessive fluff, and high risk of squeeing.

Please enjoy, and Happy Valentine's Day!

Sometimes, Finch suspects the others in the pack are intentionally less scrupulous about avoiding minor injuries because they know she, as the resident medic, will fix them up. Logically, she knows that they probably aren't purposely getting hurt, but she can't help thinking it as she patches up Vidal's finger after he's burned himself for the fourth time that evening. The boy from Ten takes care of the pack's meals, and he's not a bad cook. But he could definitely stand to be more careful around the cooking fire.

Vidal is chatting with his district partner Araceli, and Finch is about done with the simple patch-up when Ember dashes over, looking positively gleeful. The Abernathy girl drops to her knees on the grass beside Finch, looking as if she's going to burst from excitement. "Guess what?"

Cato finally made a move for real on you? But Finch doesn't say that aloud. She likes her head where it currently is, thanks very much. "What?"

"Marvel likes you."

Finch blinks. "No, really, what?"

Ember stares at her. "Are you serious? You can't have missed all those times he looks at you and tries to get you to talk to him."

Actually, Finch has noticed. But she'd chalked up his bizarre behavior as some kind of strange Career intimidation tactic, even though it's unnecessary since they're not even in the arena anymore, and they are all, in theory, allies. "Is that what that's all about?"

"Yes. He admitted it to me himself."

Belatedly, Finch realizes Vidal and Araceli are listening in on their conversation with avid interest. Araceli, completely innocently, queries, "But why would Marvel like Finch?"

The other three stare at her. For some reason, Finch feels rather...small.

Too late, Araceli realizes what her question implied and she adds hurriedly, looking horrified, "Not that—I don't mean there isn't anything—oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that, that came out so wrong, I'm sorry. I say stupid things. Of course Marvel would—you know—"

"It's fine," Finch says quietly. She ignores Araceli's awkward albeit sincerely remorseful expression as she packs up the first-aid kit and moves away.

Ember follows her. "Araceli shouldn't have said that, but she didn't mean anything by it."

"I know. I said it's fine."

"But are you fine?"

Sometimes, Ember Abernathy can be a little too perceptive for Finch's comfort. Thankfully, she's spared from having to answer when someone calls for the other girl's attention. Ember casts one last look at Finch before going to see what's wrong.

Finch can't help glancing over at Marvel. He's attempting to teach some of the younger kids the finer points of wielding a spear, while Cato—Ember's co-leader of the pack—looks on and makes snide comments, to which Marvel responds with his own jeers. All the while, Marvel's would-be pupils observe the Careers' tennis match of insults with fascination. Marvel, unlike Cato, is not stunningly attractive, to the point that the boy from Two's looks are almost intimidating (although Ember certainly doesn't seem to have a problem with said looks). Instead, the boy from One has a more boy-next-door kind of charm, far more approachable, in appearance and in manner. Finch isn't the most social person, so she still hasn't really gotten to know anyone else in the pack, except maybe Ember. But she has gotten the impression that Marvel has a good sense of humor, and he can take jokes as well as he makes them. Everyone likes him, even the younger tributes who had once been just as afraid of him as they were (and still are, in some cases) of the other Careers.

Why would Marvel like Finch?

Good question. She has few to no people skills to speak of—the pre-Games interview with Caesar Flickerman was hell. And she's a huge fan of the saying, "Silence is golden." So it can't be her sparkling personality that's attracted his interest. And it for sure isn't her looks, either. Finch likes to think she's honest with herself, if no one else, and she knows she isn't the pretty sort. Her features are too narrow and pointed to be conventionally attractive. But it's never bothered her before; brains are by far more important than beauty.

And yet, she feels perturbed now. What about girls with both brains and beauty? Ember, for example, is both pretty and smart. Not breathtakingly gorgeous like Glimmer, or fiercely cunning like Finch herself, but more than adequate in both categories regardless. Why isn't Marvel competing with Cato for her? He's one of the few who isn't really intimidated by the Career from Two, so there shouldn't be anything holding him back in that regard. Ember is way more of the "crushworthy" type.

But no. Apparently it's Finch whom Marvel likes, according to Ember, who seemed very sure of the fact and who has yet to lie to Finch. So she must assume it's true. But Finch simply can't fathom why he would like her. Maybe he secretly has poor eyesight and has deluded himself into thinking she's attractive?

Finch is seized by the urge to study her pointy face and try to figure out what Marvel finds so appealing about it. Among the beauty implements in their supplies (because the Gamemakers have their priorities so straight) are a few small mirrors. Everyone else is too distracted by their post-dinner food haze and by Marvel and Cato's insult throwdown to pay her any mind as she pilfers a hand mirror and sneaks into the woods for privacy, completely unnoticed.

She's good at not being noticed.

Once she's a solid distance away from the camp—but still close enough that she'll have no problem finding her way back—she finds a place to sit that will give her a good bit of light from the evening sun, and she peers into the mirror. Nope, she has not miraculously grown beautiful since she last saw her reflection, before they were deposited in the arena. Eyes still dark and beady, nose still long and thin, cheekbones still overly high and prominent, face altogether still vulpine. Oh, and her hair is starting to resemble the texture of a crimson broom.

Back home, some of the particularly petty, shallow girls called her features "fox-like." They meant it to be an insult, but Finch managed to ignore their jibes by telling herself that foxes are clever, so if she looks like a fox then that means she looks clever. But right now, she's feeling like all the negative connotations that burden a fox: wicked, troublesome, wanted by nobody.

Ember must have been mistaken. Why would Marvel like Finch?

Her skin prickles as she senses something watching her. Slowly, Finch looks up, and she meets the stare of a massive wild dog, with nasty scars and matted, torn fur spattered with dried blood.

It growls at her, baring fangs the size of her fingers, and takes a step forward.

Finch is armed with two knives, because any weapon is better than no weapon, even if she isn't a master at it. But she doesn't fancy her fighting chances against the dog. Thinking quickly, she glances up at the sun then thrusts out the mirror, angling it so a beam of light is redirected straight into the hound's eyes. It howls and rears back, giving Finch the opening she needs to scramble to her feet and run.

She dashes in the direction of camp, not daring to look back as she hears heavy paws pounding after her. Shit, wait, she can't lead it back to camp! Not without giving the others any warning. In her mind's eye, she has a horrifying vision of the wild dog careening into camp after her, then deciding that one of the twelve-year-olds looks more delicious. Is there somewhere else she can run to? Will she even make it if she tries to lead it away from camp?

Finch is saved from having to think of an alternative route when she nearly runs smack dab into Marvel and Cato.

"Finch, there you are!" Marvel exclaims. "We were coming to look—whoa, what's wrong?"

"Wild dog. Run," she gasps out, panting from running so hard.

Marvel and Cato look at each other. Near-identical smirks appear on their faces. "I'm gonna kill it."

"As if you could get to it faster than me."

"Is that a challenge?"

Oh. That's right. Careers. Fight, not flight. Finch decides to stand a safe distance behind them and let them have at it.

When the wild dog bursts into view, the two boys whoop and lunge. Between Marvel's spear and Cato's sword, the hound has no chance. She's pretty sure less than a minute passes before the dog is lying on the ground in more than one piece. Marvel and Cato, on the other hand, have barely broken a sweat, and it looks like they hardly got any blood spatter on their clothes.

Marvel grins. "That was a nice little workout."

As they walk back to camp, the two of them squabble over who gets to claim the kill.

"You're crazy."

"No, you're crazy. My spear went straight through its heart. It doesn't get any more 'kill' than that."

"You saw me cut off its leg before you even got near it. It would've bled out without you butting in."

"Oh please, people and animals alike survive lost limbs all the time."

"Not when a major artery has been severed, they don't."

Morbid topic of conversation aside, watching Marvel and Cato bicker like little children is prime entertainment. It almost makes Finch forget about everything that led to her facing the dog in the first place. That is, until they arrive at camp, where Ember immediately realizes something has happened, Cato offers to regale her with the tale ("I definitely killed it." "You did not, I did." "Stop being in such denial." "You stop being such a little bitch and admit it was me."), and Finch is left with just Marvel, who is gazing at her curiously.

"So what were you doing out there by yourself?" he asks. "Cato and I went to look for you before it got dark. No one had a clue where you'd gone. Ember says she turned her back on you for one minute, and next thing she knew, you'd vanished."

The memories of what happened before the wild dog come crashing back, and Finch's voice comes out more crisply than she intends. "I wasn't aware I was in need of a minder."

"Well, you're not. But you know as well as the rest of us that we have no idea what's in these woods—say, wild dogs—so it's not a good idea to go off alone, especially at dusk." He nudges her playfully. "C'mon, you're smarter than that."

Finch tugs at her hair uncomfortably. She can't tell Marvel why she was out there, because that would require telling him she was looking for privacy so she could look at herself in the mirror. And unless she wants him to think she's a narcissist—which she doesn't, because for some reason the idea of Marvel thinking poorly of her bothers her—that requires telling him she wanted to look at her reflection because her ego took a blow inadvertently from Araceli. And that would then undoubtedly make Marvel curious about what exactly Araceli said to accidentally take Finch's pride down a few notches, and she absolutely does not want to tell him that it all started because she found out that Marvel supposedly likes her.

Girl problems. She can say it was girl problems. Boys hate talking about girl problems. He'll be guaranteed to back off.

But before she can pull that trump card, he spots the mirror in her hand. Miraculously, she did not drop it during her mad dash through the woods away from the dog. "Why do you have a mirror?"

Dammit. Why can't he be less observant? "I...used it to temporarily blind the dog so I could run."

Marvel gapes. Admiration dawns on his face. "Wow. That's pretty ingenious. I would never have thought of that."

Distraction: success. Finch is also feeling kind of uplifted by how blatantly impressed Marvel is by the tactic she used.

Then he adds, "But why did you have it with you in the first place?"

Dammit. Again. Finch fidgets. Usually, she has several good answers ready for any question thrown at her, but right now, her mind is startlingly blank.

Maybe she can just walk away without saying anything.

But Marvel, as before, unwittingly thwarts her plans again, as he notices her reticence and decides to change tactics. "Hey, Finch. I know you and Ember are pretty tight, but I'm all ears if you ever want a change in confidante or something. It's okay if you don't want to tell me anything right now, I just want to make sure you won't go back out alone again and, I dunno, end up facing a bear next time. But yeah, if you ever feeling up to spilling your deepest, darkest secrets to anyone and Ember isn't around…" He smiles crookedly, that trademark Marvel grin, sunny and goofy and undeniably adorable.

Finch feels a little warm. She can definitely tell why other girls would like Marvel. Still doesn't tell her why he likes her, though. And she can't pretend any longer that Ember may have been wrong about him liking her, because she'd have to be stupid to not be able to conclude that from the earnest, heartfelt language he just used.

She clears her throat, and she observes Marvel becoming visibly more attentive. "I had a moment," she begins awkwardly. "About…"

"About?" he encourages.

"About...my appearance."

"Your appearance? Well, we're all gross and smelly at the moment, considering how long it's been since the last time any of us bathed, so it's not like you're worse off than anyone else."

"It's not—it's not something that can be fixed with a bath."

Marvel looks at her, brow furrowed. Before long, realization alights in his face. Finch didn't have a high regard for Marvel's intelligence before the Games, but moments like these prove that he earned his spot as Career due to more than just his physical prowess. And honestly, a Career who can't pick up on little details and figure out how people work and think probably isn't that great of a Career. "Ah, your appearance."

Finch turns red. "It's silly. I would have come back before long, and it wouldn't have been such a big deal if it weren't for the dog."

"No, no, no, it's not silly. Things that make you feel bad about yourself aren't trivial." He presses his fingers to his lips, looking distinctly thoughtful.

She tries not to feel too humiliated. Why didn't she just walk away?

Marvel claps his hands together once and grins. "Alright, are you ready, Finch? Are you ready for your ego to be blown up to epic proportions?"

"Um, not really."

"Okay, well, I'm going to get started anyway." He coughs, and then he begins. "You have an...arresting face."

"Arresting," Finch repeats.

"This is entirely subjective, of course, but you have the kind of face that's hard to look away from. In a good way. It's hard to describe, but it's like your individual features come together into a very captivating combination that makes you want to stare at it all day. But that would be creepy. But the sentiment remains."

There's that warmth in her cheeks again.

Marvel continues, caught up in his speech. "And you know, beauty in general is extremely subjective. My parents have a jewelry store back home, and I might find a certain necklace pattern hideous but someone else will love it, or vice versa. All subjective. In people—girls, specifically—I personally find intelligence very sexy, and in my opinion, that primarily manifests physically in one's eyes: sharpness, alertness, things like that. And you have what I would call intelligent eyes. They're even more startling when you step back and look at your hair, too. Redheads are uncommon enough, and most redheads I've seen have light colored eyes. It's rare that you come across a redhead, especially one with hair as bright as yours, who also has eyes as dark as yours. The combination is quite striking."

No one has ever complimented Finch's eyes before. She'd always thought them beady and narrow and nothing worth talking about.

"And while we're on the subject of red hair, I'd just like to say that yours is almost the exact same shade as a ruby. Not gonna lie, rubies are my favorite gemstones to work with back home. Always loved the color. So all in all, your hair and eyes and facial structure, everything comes together in a stunning combination. I know you prefer to remain under the radar, and you're good at doing that. But if you ever wanted to stand out in a crowd, you'd have an easy time of it, and I don't think anyone would be able to look away from you. In a good way."

The aforementioned hair falls like a curtain around her face as Finch ducks her head, wondering why the hell her heart is beating irregularly.

After a moment of silence, Marvel adds softly, "New observation. The only time I don't like your hair is when it covers up your face like that."

She doesn't think anyone else she has ever met has brought her to a loss of words so frequently in such a short period of time.

He shifts awkwardly on his feet, as he realizes that he may have come on a bit too strong. "So, uh, how's that ego of yours doing now?"

"Better," Finch murmurs. "Much better."

"Great. Mission accomplished, then." Marvel scratches his head. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, that was...wonderful. Thank you."

He nods and smiles. "Glad to be of service." He gives her a little salute and starts to go.

"Marvel—" Finch clamps down on her mouth. She'd spoken his name instinctively, when he'd turned his back on her. It wasn't supposed to come out aloud.

But he's already turning around to face her again. "Yeah?"

Saying never mind sounds kind of lame, and she feels the urge to say something, anything, more meaningful than that. Instead, Finch blurts out the first thing to come to mind. "I hate to break it to you, but Cato definitely killed the dog."

"You think he—I thought you were on my side!"

The look on his face is so indignant that Finch can't help cracking a smile at the sight of it. "The truth is the truth."

But Marvel's indignation is already subsiding, as something gentler and profounder settles in his expression. "New observation number two. You have a killer smile."

That has the adverse effect of making said smile fade. Not because Finch dislikes his comment, but...she's confused. Marvel has been very confusing this whole evening. "I don't smile very much," she says quietly.

"Makes it all the more special when you do." Marvel grins, and this time he leaves for real.

Finch barely has any time to compose her thoughts before Ember appears at her side. "That looked like an interesting talk you had there," her friend says casually, even as she is visibly dying from curiosity.

"He likes me," Finch whispers.

Ember beams. "I told you he did."

Finch watches Marvel stalk toward Cato, and the two boys resume their row about claiming the kill. Periodically, Marvel's eyes flicker toward her, and every time he catches her watching him, he winks, which causes her cheeks to heat up. And I think I might like him too.

"To survive we'd all turn thief and rascal, or so says the fox, with her coat of an elegant scoundrel, her white knife of a smile, who knows just where she's going." -Margaret Atwood

Fin

Reviews are very much appreciated!