Chapter Ten

Finnick blinked. "What?" he asked, frowning.

"Everybody thinks we're having sex. Why?" Annie asked, looking at him.

"I don't know? I didn't tell anybody that..." He looked right back at her. After a moment, he sighed. "My first year older than the tributes..." he murmured. "Somebody must have tried to find a way to spin it for the audience's amusement. I'm sorry, Annie."

She tilted her head, looking at him.

"It's not about you. It's about me. I'm sorry." He sat on the edge of her bed.

She sat next to him, still looking at him. "They don't torture you enough?" She asked.

"They sure try." He replied. He glanced at her when she touched his arm.

"Will it affect your reputation?" she asked.

"My reputation as a whore? I doubt it."

"You're not a whore."

"I am, actually."

"I'm sorry."

He looked at her. "No... I'm sorry. Everybody knows I'm a whore... but you..." he shook his head. "Your parents... your friends..."

He watched a strange expression work its way across her face and then it was gone.

"What do I care?" she asked softly, "I'll be dead in a week."

"Don't say that!" He said sharply. She blinked. He took a breath. "How do you know that everybody thinks that?"

"The other tributes... things they said..."

"And what did you say?" he asked, "Did you deny it or...?"

"I didn't say anything." She replied slowly. "I didn't know if we could use it or not."

He looked at her. "Does Torsti think so too?"

"I don't know." She murmured, "He's being weird."

"Does it bother you?" he asked, "That people think that?"

She shook her head. "It probably should." She replied, "But it doesn't." He looked at her, watching her stare silently at the opposite wall. "What bothers me is getting my score..."

He sat up straighter. "I may have an idea about that..."

"Oh?" Annie asked, turning her head to look at him.

"Yeah, will you show me how you dance?"

She blinked silently. "What? Why?"

"Please..."

She sighed and got to her feet, moving to the centre of the room where she turned to look at him. He brought his feet up to cross his legs on the bed as he made a show of getting comfortable. She smiled and then clearly forced her features back into a neutral expression. "Ready?" She asked. Finnick nodded, watching. Not a few moments later he was fascinated, watching her balance on one foot as she brought the other up past her head and then turning in place and practically floating to the other side of the room where she did something similar.

After a few minutes, Annie stopped and turned to look at him. "Satisfied?"

"... do you think that'd work with your knives?" he mused. She blinked, tilting her head to look at him.

"You want me to choreograph a dance... using the knives?"

"Could you?"

He watched her think for a moment before moving to pick one of the knives up. He watched her go up on one pointed foot, do a quick turn and then fling the knife at the target on her wall. It struck well, only slightly left of centre. "Maybe..." She replied thoughtfully. "Do you think they'd like it?"

"I really do... It would look so deadly."

She grinned, spinning back to look at him. "Not just a pretty face, Finnick."

"Not just." He smirked. He sat still as she moved to pick up a few more knives.

Returning to the centre of the room, she began moving again, ending every quick turn she did with a knife flung at the target. After a few moments she stopped with a huff.

"I need more targets." She said, glancing at him. "It will be boring if I have to keep turning the same way to throw them."

"Well, when you're doing it for them you can have as many targets as you like... You just need to decide where you want them."

"Right..." She looked at him. "Do you have a pen?"

Finnick blinked and reached into his pocket. "I do, actually..." He passed it to her, and watched as she moved around to blank walls drawing her own targets onto the paintwork. He grinned.

"I'm aware that this is awful manners..." She commented, midway through drawing her third target. "But considering I won't be around all that much longer... Don't care."

"Nor do I." He replied, sitting back against the pillows to watch her. She tossed him his pen when she was done. Turning in the centre of the room, she looked at each target carefully.

"Okay." She said softly, "One there... and there..." She turned slowly. "... there..." After a moment, she nodded. "Alright." She retrieved her knives from the original target and returned to the centre of the room. "Finnick..."

"Yeah?"

"Don't move." She breathed, before suddenly turning and throwing her first knife. He watched her bend and arch, pivot and throw for several minutes. It quickly became clear why she hadn't wanted him to move. Two of the seven knives she'd thrown hadn't made it anywhere near their intended target. She'd misjudged the location of one target by several metres, and another had ended up embedded in a wall that didn't even have a target on it. When she stopped, she bit her lip, looking around.

"Good start." He said brightly. She looked at him.

"I didn't stab you, did I?"

"You didn't."

"Good..." She headed for the stray knife in the wall and pulled it out. Finnick watched her look at it before she retrieved her other knives and returned to the centre of the room. She began her movements again, this time taking more care when it came to releasing her blades. Each of them made it onto their targets this time and he gave a light clap. The reproving look she gave him had him stop quickly.

"What?" he asked "It was good."

"It wasn't good."

"You hit all the targets."

"Yes, but by sacrificing the movements. They were slow, clumsy and hardly smooth."

"Ahh..."

He watched her do it again and grow more frustrated. "You just need to practice..." He told her.

"I don't have time!" She replied. "I have to do it tomorrow!" He got up and moved toward her.

"Listen to me." He said, taking the blades she'd retrieved from her hands and setting them aside. "You do have time. It doesn't have to be perfect." She began to protest, but he stopped her. "They just want a show. As long as you show them that you can give them what they want, your score will be fine. And, Annie, trust me, what you're already doing will excite them." He watched her sea green eyes search his for any signs of deceit. He smiled, "It'll be pretty obvious to them that anybody who can throw a knife and hit a target with one of their feet way above their head will be of great interest to their audience." He tucked the green piece of hair behind her ear and she nodded silently. Resting his hands gently on her shoulders, he looked carefully at her. "Breathe." He told her. She nodded again and took a slow, deep, breath. "Good..."

"I'm scared." She said softly.

"Of what?" he asked, and then wanted to punch himself in the throat. Of what? Did he expect her to pick just one thing?

"I'm scared that I'll stuff up and they'll think that I'm useless and give me a one or two..." she murmured, "Then everybody will think I'm pathetic and I'll die about twelve and a half seconds into the Games." Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke and Finnick wrapped his arms around her.

"That's not going to happen." He told her firmly. "I promise."

"It could." She murmured into his shirt.

"No." He stroked his hand slowly down her hair. "No, there's no way that is going to happen." He felt Annie's arms wrap cautiously around his waist and he held her more tightly, still stroking her hair. "You're going to go in there tomorrow, show them that you're absolutely amazing, impress the pants off them, and then bask in the glory of your brilliant score."

"Impress the pants off them...?" She murmured.

"Oh, right, sorry... that's my job."

"That's not funny." She breathed.

"It's a little funny..."

She shook her head.

He kept stroking her hair gently. He wanted to tell her that everything would be fine, but how could he say that? He wouldn't lie to her.

"Tomorrow is going to be fine." He said. There. Truth. After a moment, she nodded.

Annie rested her cheek against Finnick's chest. Closing her eyes, she listened to the slow, steady, beat of his heart, and slowly, she began to relax. As he stroked her hair gently, she tightened her arms around his waist and settled against him. For the first time since the morning of the reaping she began to feel calm.

"Thank you." She said softly.

"For what?" He asked, and she could feel his breath against her hair.

"I know this probably isn't a part of your duties as a mentor..."

She felt him stiffen. "You're right..."

"But I appreciate it." She breathed, and a moment later he'd relaxed again and his hand had resumed its slow stroking down the length of her hair.

"It's okay. I'm not going anywhere..."

She nodded and was silent, thinking of home. After a moment, she spoke again. "Finnick..."

"Yeah?"

"When you get back home..." She began, "Would you find my parents and tell them it isn't true...?"

"What they're saying about us?"

She nodded. "Yeah... I just... They'll think they didn't know me... and that would make this whole thing so much harder for them to bear. It would make it more awful. They did know me. I want them to know that."

"When you go home, you can tell them yourself..." he murmured.

"But if I..."

"I know. I promise." He answered softly.

"Thank you." She murmured.

"I don't know if they'll believe me..." He told her, his hand moving down her back. "I saw your dad when they came to say goodbye to you. If looks could kill..." he stroked her hair. "Never even met the man and he hates me. I doubt he'd believe anything I say."

"Mum will." She replied quietly.

"Alright." He kissed the top of her head lightly, and Annie's eyes opened. What was that? He let her go then and stepped back. She watched him run a hand through his hair, not looking at her. "You, uh... You should practice your thing..." he said, still not looking at her. "I... I'll talk to the mentors from Districts One and Two and see about this alliance..."

"Okay..." She said softly, watching him. He looked at her then and she couldn't read the expression on his face at all.

"Goodnight, Annie."

She didn't even have time to reply before he'd turned and hurried from the room. Annie watched the door close after him, and then blinked. Well, she thought, that's that, then.

Frowning as she moved to retrieve her knives again and return to the centre of the room, she tried to work out what had just happened. He'd kissed the top of her head. Okay. And then he'd run away. Why? Did he think he'd crossed some line? Had he? Was there some kind of rule that said mentors couldn't be affectionate with their tributes? Well, it would probably be a good rule to have. It would only make it harder to watch tributes die year after year if you'd spent time getting to know them better and forming attachments to them. Was that why he'd reacted the way he had? He didn't want to form an attachment to her... ? Maybe he already had and it had begun to freak him out. He was only a year older than she was. She knew that she would have trouble watching people she liked die year after year. Maybe she should distance herself from him a little. It might make it easier for him then when he had to watch her die.

Annie didn't know if she could do that. Finnick was the only part of this whole thing that had helped her control the utter terror waiting to come screaming out of her. It was probably selfish of her, but she didn't know if she could give that up.

Sighing, she realised that she was probably overanalysing the entire thing. She'd just see what he had to say tomorrow. She had to practice was she was going to show the gamemakers. Turing, she lined herself up for the start of her sequence and let the first blade fly.

Author's Note:

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