A/N –– hello there(: this is possibly the longest thing I have ever written; no actually, this is the longest thing I have ever written. haha, meet my latest plot bunny – it's a twisted, tricky thing that's hard to work with at times, but look – we made it! ^^ the main pairing in this is my latest OTP ;)

it's a finnickatniss AU, in which Katniss won the 70th Hunger Games instead of the 74th, and she lives in District 4 with Finnick. There are two plots which are told concurrently, one focusing on the steps that Katniss took towards District 4, the other one with her as a mentor during the 74th Hunger Games. It took me really long to write this, so I'd appreciate any form of feedback!(: it's disgustingly AU, but I hope you like it :3

the style in which this is written is rather confusing, there are constant time leaps and no clear storyline, but it's meant to be like it. so to anyone who's reallyreally confused by everything and still wants to know what's going on, feel free to PM me, okay?(:

dedicated –– to my lovely twinny, Diana / magiciseverywhere, and to Louise / downstage, who's beautiful and amazing and adorable. :3

Finding the Mockingjay
by riptides

I.

一波未平，一波又起。

in your ocean, I'm ankle deep,
I feel the waves crashing on my feet,
it's like I know where I need to be.

It's hard to explain how everything started. Their relationship never had a beginning. It's almost as if they were plunged to their necks in it from the very start, and soon it was all just fumbling in the dark so much as knowing each other thoroughly. So whenever she whispers to him, how did this all begin? All he can do is respond, I don't know.

The sky is almost crystalline blue today, she notes as she steps from the shade of her porch and onto the beach. Her feet leave imprints in the pristine sand as she ambles down the shore without any particular destination in mind, clear grey eyes staring out at the sea.

She pauses at the very edge of the water, gentle waves rippling over her bare feet and staining the sand beneath them a darker shade. The rise and decline of the waves have a fluid rhythm that soothes her, putting her mind at rest. Her white dress flutters about her ankles, dancing above the pale turquoise waters, just out of reach, and her hair, too, lifts on the sea breeze, floating around her head like a dark halo.

She hardly remembers how she ended up in District 4, and even less why she ended up there. It happened so long ago; the images should be fuzzy in her mind, but they're ever-distinct and vivid, almost as if daunting her.

She remembers blood slipping through her fingers, arrow nocked in her bow, the quivering tip aimed at the smug face of Cato Juncos. She remembers her district partner's pale face, sweat pouring down from his temples as he asphyxiated, slowly suffocating due to Cato's grip around his neck. Stalemate. The word rings in her mind now, reminding her how helpless she felt, how clueless she was, and how she didn't know what to do.

I killed him. That isn't a lie. If she'd reacted faster, maybe shot Cato's arm or something, Peeta Mellark would be alive and breathing, and they'd both have been victors. What of our little 'drama'? The star-crossed lovers act would have continued, surely, and they would have continued until –– no, she chides herself, sensibly. There's no point in wondering what might have been.

But it's impossible to forget the twisted agony on Peeta's face, his fingers scrambling for purchase on Cato's arm, trying to pull it away. She was frozen, unable to react, and slowly, bit by bit, he died in front of her, until he finally slumped and Cato released his arm, satisfied. Only then did she regain her composure and shoot her enemy in the chest, causing him to drop dead, too, and the two cannons fired at exactly the same time.

Then she had sunk to her knees beside Peeta Mellark's dead body, and started to sob into her bloodstained fingers.

It's all too much, every single detail of that moment etched into her memory eternally. No, she whispers. No, she repeats more firmly. My name is Katniss Everdeen, I am twenty years old, and I am the victor of the 70th Hunger Games . . .

It's a little mantra she recites to herself whenever things get too much to deal with, when she wakes screaming from nightmares or whenever the memories overwhelm her. She collapses there, at the edge of the surf, dropping to her knees and whispering those words to herself as if they're her lifeline. I have a younger sister called Primrose and she's fourteen this year. She was ten when I won the Games and she has a goat named Lady –

"Katniss?"

She doesn't react, and she feels arms going around her, lips pressed to her temple. "It's okay. Everything's alright now. Don't worry, everything's alright –"

"Today is the Reaping," she murmurs, eyes still fixed on the sea. "Real or not real?"

Finnick Odair hesitates, before answering her truthfully, his grip on her tightening even further. "Real," he says, quietly. "Today is the reaping of the 74th Hunger Games. You have to be in District 12 before noon, and we need to be at the station by nine, which means we have an hour."

Katniss shudders, curling her fingers into fists and then relaxing them again. "Okay."

"Just don't think about it, in two weeks it'll all be over and we can come back here again," Finnick says, rocking her back and forth. "Then we can –"

"My tributes are going to die. Real or not real?"

"Katniss," Finnick pauses, "if you don't want to do it, I can see whether Haymitch can just take over your tribute this year –"

"No, I want to do it," she answers, pushing his arms away and standing up. "I want to."

He closes his eyes and sighs. "Okay. Just try your best, and if they don't live don't blame yourself, because you know it's not your fault." She doesn't respond, so he opens his eyes again and exhales exasperatedly. "Katniss –"

"But it is my fault," she grumbles. "Because I'm a bad mentor, that's why they die."

"Katniss," he repeats, getting to his feet and gripping her shoulders firmly, "it's not your fault." She shys away from his touch and runs back towards the house, her hands clamping automatically over her ears. My name is Katniss Everdeen, I am twenty years old, and I am the victor of the . . .

She goes up to her room and shuts the door, leaning against it almost tiredly, ignoring Finnick's incessant knocking. "Katniss? Katniss!" his voice rises in urgency, but she doesn't care, wandering away from the door and moving towards her window, where she pauses, pressing her cheek against the glass.

Her eyes are fixed on the sky, and for some reason, she can't cast away the dread that slowly settles into the pit of her stomach.

-;-

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you – Katniss Everdeen, the victor, of the 70th Annual Hunger Games!"

The fanfare of trumpets blares out; she looks up and stares at the sky with her blood-smeared face, trying to make sense of everything that is going on. There's a hovercraft above her. They're here to take away his body. Without another thought she grabs Peeta's corpse and hugs it to her chest tightly, refusing to let go. However, instead of the metal claw being lowered, a ladder slowly drops down from the sky, the metal tines just touching the gold of the Cornucopia, right beside her.

I've won. I've won. The words echo in her ears, but she doesn't comprehend, just stares blankly at the ladder as blood drips down her face. The cameras must have stopped filming a while ago, because a voice blares out from the hovercraft. "Miss Everdeen, please step onto the ladder." Oh. Oh. She moves towards the ladder, all the while keeping a firm grip on Peeta's body, and steps onto the lowest rung.

It doesn't move.

"Miss Everdeen, please release the body."

She doesn't react.

"Miss Everdeen, please release the body."

She continues to blink up at the hovercraft uncomprehendingly, when suddenly an electric current jolts her and her fingers spasm, releasing her grip on the corpse and causing it to tumble from her grasp. No! She bends down and reaches for it, but she can't move anymore, and the ladder is being reeled back up into the hovercraft. Her mouth is pulled open in a silent shriek.

When she's no longer immobile, she starts screaming, pounding her fists against the glass walls that are shut on her almost instantly. She loses control of herself, spiraling into an abyss of insanity. When she jerks back into painful reality her knuckles are bruised and bloodied, and she feels immensely dizzy, struggling to retain her hold on consciousness.

Then she feels a stabbing sensation in her arm, and the silver hypodermic needle glinting up at her is the last thing she sees before she blacks out.

-;-

There are times when she wakes up beside him in terror, with sweat and tears pouring down her cheeks, paralyzed in fear, unable to move. He seems to know the best ways to calm her down when she goes into a frenzy; he holds her tiny wrists in his hands, speaking soothing words to her, words that she does not absorb but somehow cause her to relax. He always knows when she has nightmares, yet she can never tell when he does – he doesn't react the way she does, thrashing and kicking at the suffocating sheets, but instead keeps it to himself.

She wishes she knew when his memories overwhelmed him, because they are obviously far worse than hers, but she never does, and never will.

They're at the train station when she suddenly clings to him, not willing to let go of her last shred of sanity, the only one who keeps her grounded, keeps her alive. "Can't you come with me?" her eyes are wide and pleading, but he merely laughs and hugs her tightly. "It's only a few hours, Katniss. Surely you can last that long without me."

"I don't want to go without you," she whispers into his shoulder, and she feels him laugh, feels the vibrations from his throat. He gently prises her off him, and holds her at arm's length, a smile on his lips.

"I'll see you in a few hours, okay?" then he drops a quick kiss on her forehead and moves away from the platform. Eyes widening in horror, she reaches for him desperately, but a restraining hand clamps onto her shoulder, and Katniss whirls around with a snarl on her lips.

"Come on," says Effie Trinket brightly. "It's going to be a big, big, big day!"

The train ride is painfully claustrophobic, and Katniss sits mutedly across from Effie at the mahogany dining table, watching the escort through hooded eyes as she sips her warm coca from a delicate china teacup. "And I told Fabian that no, I was not going to buy the teapot unless he gave me the matching floral plates! And guess what? He did!" Effie continues chattering about her various escapades in the Capitol over the previous year. Katniss tries to seem polite, nodding at appropriate intervals, because she honestly doesn't feel like talking and is glad that Effie's doing all of it.

"I simply can't wait for the results of the designer balloting! It'd be lovely if we could get a decent designer, just this once! I've heard there's some new talent in town, oh, but I'll bet my buttons that we won't, seeing as they always treat us the worst," Effie sniffs and lifts her teacup to her lips.

"Won't you have anything to eat, Katniss-dear? And you're being awfully silent, darling." Effie pats her painted lips against a napkin, staining the linen purple. "Oh, goodness, I've smudged my lipstick. Trinette!" she raises a hand, beckoning to one of the attendants. "Trinette, do you think you could get my makeup bag from my cabin –"

"I'll get it," says Katniss immediately, grateful for the excuse. Effie looks up in surprise as Katniss stands, pushing her chair back from the table less than gracefully. "You would? Thank you so much, Katniss. It's in the top second drawer of the right dresser by my bed." She looks back down and begins nibbling on a digestive, so Katniss leaves the dining car.

She heads past her own room and into Effie's, where the television is on and a newscaster is rambling about some weather reports. Ignoring the report, she heads straight to the right dresser and opens the second drawer, starting to rifle through Effie's belongings. Just as she's shifting aside a bunch of silk scarves, her elbow accidently knocks into something on top of the dresser, causing it to land face-down on the carpet. As she bends down to pick it up, she realizes it's a newspaper. I haven't seen one in a while, Katniss thinks to herself, and almost involuntarily seats herself on the snow-white duvet, starting to rifle through the papers.

It's very simplistic news, mostly about fashion trends and galas and dinner events, when a tiny article at one corner of the paper catches her eye. It's right next to some large flashy advertisement which would probably divert your attention right away, but it's the screaming headline that draws Katniss to it. It reads "WORKERS ON STRIKE IN DISTRICT THREE", and the article beneath it is short and clipped.

Workers in District Three have recently been on strike due to poor working conditions, so backed-up orders and glitches in manufacturing may occur.

That's all the article offers, not a single word more is printed into the paper. Katniss' brow furrows. On strike? Why would they be on strike? She stares at the paper for a while more, as if doing that would force it to reveal other hidden secrets, but it remains lifeless and unmoving. Frustrated, she bunches it up and slams it down onto the dresser, as the newscaster drones on in the background.

" . . . recently, workers in District Eight have recently been on strike due to poor working conditions, so backed-up orders and glitches in manufacturing may occur." Her eyes immediately flash to the television screen, but it has already cut back to the weather report. Did I hear District Eight, or District Three? Confused, Katniss unrolls the newspaper again and scans the article briefly. Word for word. But – but the newscaster said District Eight! Could it be in both District Three and Eight? But that's not possible . . . her fingers curl around the edges of the newspaper, causing them to become torn and frayed. Could there be a mistake?

The Capitol doesn't make mistakes, a voice at the back of her head reminds her. She shakes her head, weary and befuddled. What is going on?

Just then, Effie's voice echoes down the corridor, accompanied by the sound of her stilettos embedding themselves in the carpet and being wrenched out again. "Katniss? Katniss, are you alright?"

"Yeah!" Katniss responds hurriedly, refolding the newspaper and laying it atop the dresser again. "I'm coming!" She leaps off the bed and starts rifling through the drawer again, before finally locating the makeup bag and sprinting into the corridor. Effie is just outside the door, and she jerks back in surprise. "Did you have a hard time finding it?" she asks, eyes wide.

Katniss forces a smile. Act like everything's alright. "Nope, it was just hiding behind a pile of silk scarves," she replies, her voice falsely cheerful.

Thankfully, Effie doesn't notice a thing. "Oh, yes! My scarves! Do you know that every single one of them has a unique story? My, my, my, I have to tell you about them one day! How about later, over tea?"

"Sounds great," Katniss manages, even though her heart is thrumming rapidly, beating against her chest. She shuts her ears to Effie's babbling and tries to calm herself. Nothing makes sense, she thinks to herself. No matter. I'll think about it later.

-;-

The first time Katniss Everdeen meets Finnick Odair is on her Victory Tour.

She has never been to District Four before, so it amazes her when she first glimpses it – the sea sparkles in the sunlight, and the beach is blindingly white. She's extremely disappointed when told that their schedule doesn't entail a visit to the seashore – "we have much better things to do," says Effie – and allows herself to be steered off towards the Justice Building rather reluctantly.

At night, however, she slips from the celebrations unnoticed, when everyone is too sozzled to care, and navigates her way to the seaside herself. The sea is almost silver in the moonlight, and with her heart thrumming in anticipation, she removes her toe-pinching shoes before stepping onto the sand. The tiny sand crystals are soft and warm beneath her feet, and she feels as if she could just sink into it. She imagines the water would be warm, too, and takes quick steps towards the where the waves wash up onto the beach. However, before she can even step into the surf, a voice rings out from behind her.

"Hello."

She lets out a little yelp of surprise and whirls around, dropping her glossy red high heels into the water. He throws his head back and laughs, and when she finally glimpses who it is, she frowns and crosses her arms across her chest. "Aren't you meant to be at the celebrations?"

"What about you?" he returns. "They're held in your honor, aren't they?"

"They are," she agrees, "but then shouldn't I like them?"

"I suppose," he concedes. "And how do you find District Four so far?"

"I've never seen the sea before in my life," she whispers, eyes drifting towards the horizon. He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets as he ambles towards her. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she breathes.

He smiles now, taking one of his hands from his pockets and extending it towards her. "Hello there. My name is Finnick Odair."

"Hello, Finnick. My name is Katniss Everdeen," she answers, taking his proffered hand, and they both smile at each other, sealing their friendship as the stars shine darkly overhead.

She seems to be running into Finnick Odair far more often than she intended. He's everywhere that she goes – every single party that she goes to as a victor, every single performance, every single restaurant – and of course every single bar.

"Are you stalking me?" she asks suspiciously as he saunters his way up to the bar beside her for the seventh time – she's keeping count – supposedly by "coincidence", and offers to buy her a drink.

He merely laughs. "Oh, Katniss, Katniss. If only you knew."

It continues to happen, their "coincidental" meetings practically everywhere in the Capitol, even when she's running errands, or walking in the streets. But every time they meet, he just switches on the charm, and of course she's ever-enamoured of the legendary Finnick Odair, who won the Hunger Games when he was fourteen, the youngest victor ever. They get to know each other better, slowly, revealing bits and pieces about themselves with every encounter, and gradually they think they have a basic idea of who the other really is.

"What's my favourite color?"

"Green."

"What's my favourite food?"

" . . . lamb stew."

"What's my favourite thing to do in the world?"

" . . . shoot?"

"Wrong!"

They both start laughing at that, and every single pair of eyes in the cafe swivels to glance at them, the two most eligible victors in the entire Capitol, on a coffee date in an extremely public place. But of course, they are nothing more than friends, just friends having a friendly conversation and sharing private jokes. When their laughter finally dies down, their eyes meet, blue-green glimpsing deep grey. Almost instantly, as if they were both bashful schoolchildren, they look away, blushes touching their cheeks.

They continue to learn more about each other, but every single time one of them thinks that they're close to knowing everything about the other, they discover some new shards of information that completely pierces their conclusions, causing them to fall apart. They're both enigmas, utter mysteries, and even though they think they know each other well, in truth they barely do.

-;-

"Katniss!" something tiny and blonde hurls itself at Katniss the moment she steps off the train, and Katniss stumbles back awkwardly, trying to regain her balance. Primrose Everdeen pulls back from her sister's embrace, eyes shining. "I've missed you so!"

At the sight of her friend, a real smile touches Katniss' lips. "Prim." Her eyes drift to the lean, towering figure behind Prim, and her smile widens. "Gale."

His grey eyes soften. "Hey yourself, Catnip."

"It's so great to have you back, even if it is on a day like this," Prim smiles, taking both of Katniss' hands in hers. "You won't believe how much I missed you."

"She's been whining about it every single day," says Gale. "It's been torture."

"No matter, you're here now." Prim laughs and pulls Katniss into another hug. "I've missed you so, so much –"

"Pretty dress," says Gale softly, gesturing at her floaty white skirt.

"Thanks," says Katniss, glancing up at Gale. Her eyes meet his, and for a moment, she is sorely tempted – even if it is just for a moment – to tell him about what she saw on the train, just like the old times, but then he looks away and the moment is broken. He's right. Nothing has been the same ever since she won the Hunger Games and moved to District 4. She can only trust Finnick now.

"Come," she says, plastering a smile across her face, "let's head for the square."

Mayor Undersee seems too old for his job already, his hair greying and his face creased with worry lines as he rattles off the Treaty of Treason, like he does every year. Katniss is barely paying attention, her eyes are on the crowd of children, herded into their respective age groups, every face tight and resigned. As usual, Haymitch is nowhere in sight, not that Katniss expected him to actually be there for the Reaping ceremony.

Her eyes fall on Rory Hawthorne, Gale's younger brother. Her younger sister, despite her efforts, is still susceptible to the Reaping, and the Hawthorne boys are like her younger brothers, and the mere thought of either Rory or Vick entering the arena is simply too much. But it won't happen, she tells herself hastily. Gale would never allow either of them to take tesserae. Prim is standing, pale and shivering, beside Rory, and Katniss sees their hands find each other.

Mayor Undersee steps off the stage, and is replaced by Effie, ever-enthusiastic as usual. Effie herself might be harmless, but it's almost impossible for Katniss to genuinely like her, knowing that every year, she's responsible for picking the two kids who get sent to their deaths.

"Ladies first," Effie chirps, heading towards the girls' Reaping bowl. Four years ago, my name was drawn from that bowl, and that changed my life, Katniss thinks to herself. Effie's smile seems to stretch even wider as she pops the little seal on the slip of paper and slides it open.

"Primrose Everdeen."

Prim is ghostly white, but she still makes her way forward unsteadily, one foot after another, one step at a time. Katniss is shocked into silence, and it's a while before she finds her voice, just staring at her younger sister trace the steps she took four years prior, to the nightmare that she's living now. Effie seems to have made the connection between the names, and casts a nervous glance at Katniss before beckoning Prim onto the stage. It seems unreal, watching her sister, with her two blonde braids and untucked shirt, fumble onstage, obviously trying very hard not to cry.

"No," whispers Katniss. Her voice is hoarse, and it cracks with that one word. "No." Beside her, Haymitch has gone silent, and his eyes are on her face, watching her carefully, his muscles tense. "No, PRIM YOU CAN'T –" she leaps from her seat and struggles to reach the stage; Haymitch is out of his chair in a flash, and even drunk, he's stronger than she is, cinching her in a headlock, unwilling to let go even as she thrashes. "PRIM, NO, DON'T – YOU'LL DIE! PRIM!" her shrieks echo around the square, which has suddenly gone dead silent. Several Peacekeepers snap into action and help Haymitch restrain her.

Katniss claws; she scratches, and she fights desperately against the restraining iron arms around her, but none of them release her. Finally she sags, all her energy drained out of her, and she slumps against the floor, starting to cry.

Not a single sound in the entire of the square can be heard save her crying, and Effie seems a tad unnerved as she goes on with the ceremony. "Um, I suppose I'll pick the boy next –"

"I volunteer."

All eyes flash to the girl stepping from the seventeens. Her hair is curled and blonde, her eyes are wide and blue, and her smile is thin and grim. "I volunteer as tribute." She moves swiftly towards the stage and takes the place of a trembling Prim, who almost collapses in her hurry off stage. Effie tries for a tentative smile. "Hello, dear. What's your name?"

"Madge Undersee," responds the girl. She looks towards the mayor, who can only be her father, and his eyes are shut, his face scrunched up tightly as if in pain. Effie clasps her hands together in delight. "Why, thank you for volunteering, Madge Undersee!" She embraces Madge dramatically, before she totters over to the other end of the stage, and digs around in the boy's Reaping bowl before finally producing another slip. One polished fingernail slips under the seal, and it cracks, both ends of the paper fluttering open to reveal –

"Rory Hawthorne."

Katniss' ears perk, her tear-stained eyes widen, and she digs her nails into the dirt, because this can't be true, but lo and behold, the crowd of fourteens parts to reveal Rory Hawthorne, pale and shivering. She barely just recovered from the shock of her sister being Reaped, and here another blow smacks her right in the face. It can't be a coincidence. By now, Katniss is inconsolable, and she buries her face in her hands like she did that faithful day that Peeta Mellark died, the day she cried into her bloody fingers by his corpse.

And right now, she reflects, the situation isn't any better.

-;-

Sometimes she wonders if she actually truly loved Peeta.

She thinks of the many kisses they shared in the cave, of the tender touches and whispered secrets that passed between them. But none of it actually felt real, on the contrary it felt utterly surreal, as if they had been in a dream. The Hunger Games are but a distant memory now, but she still remembers them in vivid detail, able to hear every single drop on the roof of the cave, feel the coarse bramble woven to mask the mouth of the cave, the texture of the cold stone floor – all of it is etched permanently into her memory.

She remembers his lips, soft and warm on hers, but there was nothing to those kisses, no hidden passion. Once – but only once – she felt something stirring within her, but her head wound split open as they kissed feverishly and she pulled away to lie down once more. After that, every touch was a flatline, none bringing that strange lust from within ever again.

She thinks of his story, the one about her on the first day of school with her red dress and the valley song. That tale actually holds some elements of truth, but it can't be real. She saw it in his eyes, after the first kiss. He didn't really love her, despite what she thought. She'd speculated – maybe even hoped – for a split second that it wasn't all an act, but after the first time she kissed him, when she pulled back, she saw nothing in his cold blue eyes. That was when she knew everything, from the interview to his dramatic self-sacrifical act, had all been for the audience.

Which suited her just fine, too, because then she didn't have to lie to him. And if there was one thing Katniss Everdeen hated, it was lying.

"I love you."

The raindrops slide down his cheeks, giving off the impression that he's crying as he cradles her face in his hands. She looks up at him, eyes brimming with tears and full of hope.

"Really?"

"Of course. I'd never lie to you."

At this she relaxes, sagging against his chest, and hugs him tightly, never wanting to let this moment pass.

"Hey, Luck, is Finnick here today?" Katniss slips onto one of the high stools by the bar, flashing a smile at the bargirl that she's come to befriend. She's at one of the more popular nightclubs in the Capitol, District Fourteen, where she knows Finnick frequents. The only part of District Fourteen she ever visits is the bar, usually Finnick will come to find her. She's not one for dancing, and the rooms at the back of the club are out-of-bounds without special permission, which she's never needed. She can only wonder what goes on in there.

"Is he ever," snorts Lucketta, gesturing in the general direction of the rooms at the back of the club. Katniss frowns, and Lucketta goes back to polishing dusty wine glasses. "Room Four. I usually wouldn't give these keycards out to people not . . . involved in the business, but I'll make a special exception for you." She lifts a keycard dangling off a hook from the wall behind her and hands it to Katniss. "Here you go, Sugar."

"Thanks, Luck!" she smiles, and slides off her stool, swinging the keycard and humming as she heads down the carpeted corridor, to the door labelled "4" in large block letters. There's a sharp beep as she waves the card before the lock, and the little flashlight beside the knob glows green. Her smile widening, she turns the knob and yanks open the door.

And stares.

Finnick freezes, stands up and seizes a nearby towel, tying it around his waist. The girl lying sprawled against the sheets murmurs some complaint, before sighting Katniss and crawling beneath the duvet without another word. Finnick's eyes are shut, as if warding off some bright light, and he presses a hand against his temple as he leans against the doorframe.

"Katniss," he asks, almost tiredly, "what are you doing here?"

-;-

"You know, I think it's actually better that Cato killed Peeta," Katniss remarks hollowly as she and Rory sit together in the holding room, waiting for his friends and relatives to come visit him in the one hour before they're all shipped off to the Capitol together. Madge and Haymitch are in another room, where, presumably, he is drunk, and she's watching over him in dismay.

Rory looks at her, startled, confusion showing through the fear on his face. "Huh? W – why would you want that?"

"Because then I didn't have to kill him myself," she answers, tilting her head to look at him, a bitter tone to her voice. Her face is shadowed against the dusty light filtering through the grimy window, adding a sinister edge to her gaunt features. "Always remember that, Rory. No matter who you ally with – even if it's your district partner – you're going to have to kill all of them, anyway. So even if you end up allying with Madge –" at this point, her voice catches in her throat, but she swallows hard and goes on, "if you want to live, you have to kill her. And would you rather do that yourself or have someone else do it?"

Rory has no response to this, so Katniss squeezes his hand and looks him in the eye. "Just tell me this, Rory. Do you like my sister?"

A pale flush spreads through Rory's cheeks. "Y – yes."

"Do you want to win the Hunger Games, and come back to her alive? Or do you want to cause her grief?" Rory pales even further, and he hiccups a little, but answers all the same.

"I want to win."

"Good." Katniss manages a small smile. "Rory, believe me when I say that I will try everything in my power to allow you to win. Are you willing to trust me with your life?"

Rory's expression hardens. "Yes."

Katniss nods, slowly, looking almost relieved. "That's a start." For Rory, I need to pull myself together, she tells herself. I can't lost control now. I have to be able to make the best choices, the best decisions, the best deals in order for him to win. She takes a deep breath, and exhales through her nose. And I'm going to start with his stylist.

"How long have you been designing?"

"A while."

"And this is your . . . "

"First year in the Games."

"Ah, so they gave you District Twelve." Katniss flicks through the pages of highly detailed designs, each one vivid, and colored to perfection. "No," the person in front of her says, and she looks up, a tad startled.

"No," Cinna Pelhure repeats, more forcefully this time, his hazel eyes meeting Katniss' cold grey ones. "I asked for District Twelve."

She is momentarily stunned by his tone of voice, the hidden passion beneath it, but soon dismisses it and looks back down to his portfolio, starting to browse once more, examining each design in great detail. Then one particular design causes her to freeze, and she looks at it more carefully now. It's a white dress, flickering with flames to reveal a darker skirt beneath. The entire page recounts the process of the snow white dress burning up, one diagram melding into the other seamlessly, and when it's complete the dress is an ashy grey, with white spots dotting the draping spidersilk sleeves. It's a mockingjay, she realizes, her grip tightening on the folder. Almost involuntarily her eyes glance down to the golden mockingjay pin resting on her collarbone. When she looks back up to Cinna, his eyes are solemn.

"You have a . . . very impressive resume, Mister Pelhure." She snaps the file shut and rests her elbows on the table, her eyes steely and determined. "I'm sure it will be a pleasure working with you."

Tear-filled blue eyes, fingers digging into her palms. "You have to help Rory win, Katniss. You have to, and I know you can." She tries to pull away from his sister's grasp, not willing to meet her eyes.

"Prim, I can't promise you anything –"

"You have to," Prim repeats. "You promised you would come back. And you did. Katniss, please."

She bites her lip, but she can already feel her will dissolving. "Fine," she whispers. "I promise."

-;-

"She didn't mean anything, I promise," he whispers, fingers ghosting a touch along her jawline, coming to rest against her arched cheekbones. She pulls away, inclining her head and turning away. She's barely taken a step back when his arms go around her from behind, embracing her tightly. Once again, she shrugs free of his grasp, and starts to walk away as the skies rumble overhead.

A single drop lands on her head, and she looks up in surprise, blinking back tears; she holds out a hand and another drop lands on it, sliding between her fingers. Slowly more and more raindrops start pouring down from the grey heavens, pelting them and soaking them through. Almost immediately she starts to sob, loud, noisy, heartbroken sobbing, because the first day he said he loved her, it had also been raining.

She looks back at him, and his face is twisted in anguish and pain, fringe plastered to his forehead by the oncoming downpour. She stares at him for a while, long and hard, until her resolve finally cracks and she all but lunges for him, her fingers twisting into his shirt as she kisses him, full, on the mouth. His hands skate down her back and lock around her waist, as hers make their way up to his head, running through his matted, tangled hair; and she kisses him until she can no longer breathe, pulling back and panting through her swollen lips.

"I promise," he repeats, gripping her shoulders firmly, and she stares up at him through her damp fringe, utterly solemn.

"You'd better mean it."

"Of course I do."

The second time she walks in on him with a woman is almost as, if not equally, startling. This time it's at his flat, which she has a key to, and she's there because she bought him a new set of china. When she sees the two of them spreadeagled against the sofa, she drops the package she's holding; the china teacups burst free from the brown paper and smash against the floor, sending shards of porcelain skittering everywhere. Thankfully, however, both of them are fully-clothed, and he's up in a flash, steering the other woman towards the door and agreeing to another appointment later that week. With a coy wink she's on her way, and he slams the door shut behind her.

For a while, neither of them say anything, until Finnick breaks the silence.

"This is what I am, Katniss," he says, his sea-green eyes not leaving her stony grey ones. "This is who I am. A common whore, and nothing more." He sighs heavily and turns away, before curling his fingers into a fist and smashing it against the cement wall. She gives a start of surprise, and he pulls his fist away bloody, but merely stares at it, as if not comprehending what is happening.

"You're – you're bleeding," she stammers, standing up. He waves her off.

"President Snow . . . sells the victors," he says after a while. "You're too young. It hasn't started for you yet. But trust me, it will, and when it does, I – I don't know what I'll do. If it's me, it's still okay, but you, Katniss . . . you . . . "

"Finnick," she gets out.

"I'll probably go and get drunk, like Haymitch," he laughs, bitterly. "That'll make it less painful."

"Finnick," she repeats, more firmly this time.

"How could you love me, Katniss?" he turns his head to look at her, now; his eyes are glittering with tears, a hidden sorrow deep within them. "How could you stand to love me, knowing what I've done, how many women I've slept with, how many men I've slept with –"

"Finnick!"

He seems to jolt back into reality, and falls silent as she moves towards him, tentatively at first, until she reaches him, and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "No matter who you are, what you are, you're never going to be anything but Finnick Odair to me." She says gently, her voice soft. "Because you're mine and I'm yours, and that's all that matters."

He blinks even harder, now, and a single tear rolls through his eyelashes and spills down his cheek. "Katniss –"

"Hush, now," she says, and pulls him into a hug, burying her face in his shoulder. It's a while before his arms go around her in response, but all the same, it's worth it, because she is his and he is hers, and they love each other.

And that's all that matters.

A/N –– this was beta'd by Diana and looked over by the lovely Louise. Applaud them both, will you? this is going to be a multichap, my first one, which i'm pretty excited for XD thanks for reading till here, and please review? :3