A/N: This chapter was originally supposed to be from York's POV, but it just wasn't working. So yeah, now the pattern has been broken. Blame my muse for that. Much thanks to Martienne for looking over this chapter-I wrote her a bonus oneshot for this 'verse, called Graphite and Papercuts, as a belated birthday present if any of y'all want to read it.

Shameless plug aside, song for this chapter is "The Good Left Undone" by Rise Against. Oh, and there is a bit of cursing in this chapter. Nothing extreme, but he's a teenage boy. They curse; that's just how it rolls. :P

I would like to remind the sub-committee members that anything is possible. Some things are probable. This is what is. And my agency, as it always has, will continue to deal with what it is.

Until it is no more.

-The Director of Project Freelancer; Reconstruction Trailer

Maine didn't hesitate.

Running so fast he was nearly invisible was his specialty. He would be stupid not to go into the heart of the Cornucopia and grab whatever he could find. He would make no point in actually hanging around the area—the Careers usually commandeered it and kept camp close by, and he wanted nothing to do with them. Not even with Massa, if she wanted to hang around them.

Or at least, that's what he told himself as he darted out of the heart of the mess with a large knapsack for his minimal trouble. He didn't dare take more than that; he didn't want to linger more than he had to. He was slower than his preferred standard anyway, as he constantly had to dodge sharp rocks and branches that littered the grass. Hitting anything at this speed would be disastrous, and carried heavier consequences than just crashing into a tableful of dead pig. Scanning over the tributes who were locked in various states of battle, bloodied and bruised and dirty, he couldn't spot Carolina, and his stomach dropped a little.

He should be relieved that she wasn't in the midst of everything…but what if she hadn't been able to get out? He began to wheeze, and he slowed his pace. In an arena this huge there was little he could do, and calling out her name would be downright stupid. If she was hiding somewhere, he'd only give her away.

He passed Wash as he darted between two cliffs, growing more and more desperate for peace in this chaos. The seventeen year old was locked in hand to hand fighting with one of the District Five tributes—CT, maybe? Maine couldn't remember the name right now, and he didn't care.

Or at least, he didn't until he heard a distinct ripping sound, right at the elbow of his jacket sleeve. The fabric was torn, and when he looked up he was staring right into the dark blue eyes of Washington, whose knife was stained with blood.

"Son of a bitch!"

Maine hadn't opened his pack; he had no idea what he had in terms of weapons. The only weapon he had was his own body, and when Wash lunged for him again Maine darted to the right, feeling a whoosh of air as the knife sliced into nothingness, barely missing his ear. He could feel the blood dripping down his forearm, and he winced, beginning to get a little light-headed.

You have to get out of here, Maine. Now.

With the pain coursing through his veins, the only thing he wanted to do was beat Wash into a bloody pulp. However, with how quickly he was losing blood, he knew this was not an option. So, instead, he took one long, ragged breath and took off.

He could hear another knife whiz past him, and he held out his hand, hoping to catch it. If he somehow managed to grab it at the wrong angle…well, he didn't need all of his fingers, right? Today, however, seemed to be his lucky day, as he felt the smooth handle in his hand instead of the blade.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he called back to Washington, blowing him a kiss with sticky, bloodstained fingers. He had no doubt the Career was seething, and so for good measure, Maine flipped him off as well.

Now where to go…

To the right of the Cornucopia there was a rocky ledge that lead to the mouth of…a cave? Something, at least, though Maine couldn't make out what.

It has to be better than this.

He made sure his backpack was secure, tucked the knife into the side pocket, and began to climb. Normally scaling a ledge like this would have never given Maine a problem; it would be effortless. Right now, though, with blood staining the entire sleeve of his jacket red, he felt himself getting weaker by the minute. The world was tilting, and he tried to clear his breath, but to no avail.

You can do this. You've done it plenty of times before. Just don't look down…

Looking up, however, didn't do him much good either. The wall was looming, tilting, and every time he tried to get a foothold he felt as though he was slipping backwards. His hands were slick with blood, and it took every ounce of his strength to keep himself moving upward. Inch by agonizing inch he did so. Every movement caused the pain in his arm to increase, his breath becoming more and more difficult to catch.

It looked endless, but finally when he reached upwards his hands touched damp moss instead of rock, and he leaned over, his head spinning.

Breathe. Just breathe.

The alcove he was in was dark and cold and he began to shiver uncontrollably. Further up he could see a brief shimmer of light, and he wondered if he was hallucinating. But when the wind began to pick up, howling against the stone walls, he decided he didn't care if it was a mirage; he was getting out. He attempted to stand upright but dizziness threatened to overpower him, so he made his way on his hands and knees. The path of light got wider as the rocks shredded the knees of his pants, beginning to scrape the skin of his kneecaps. But that didn't matter; nothing did except the light, which opened up to another wide ledge, offering a view of the most breathtaking canyon Maine had ever seen in his life.

The image swam before his eyes for a few moments, and he could feel his eyelids getting heavier. He wanted more than anything to sleep, but he knew the danger in doing so—what if someone else found this ledge, too? He sat down on the sun-warmed moss, with his good arm on his pack. Opening it with one hand was a challenge, and after several minutes of swearing, he managed to do so, spreading the bounty out item by item.

A small flask of water. Some bandages. A few cans of…some fruit Maine had never seen before. Bread. A small first aid kit, with a few fever reducing pills, and a solution to clean wounds with. Beef jerky. A sleeping bag. A rain jacket.

All in all, pretty good.

Maine grabbed a bandage, and very slowly rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, prepared for the worst. What he wasn't prepared for, however, was a wound so deep that the bone showed just a little. Nor was he prepared to retch up his breakfast on the rocks next to his pack. But he did, and when the overwhelming tiredness returned, Maine gave up on attempting to patch up his arm, and gave into the darkness that followed.

"Well, I'll be damned. I have two of them now."

"Wha?" Maine shot out of his stupor, his hand reaching for his knife on pure instinct. He nearly doubled over from the agony of his bad arm, and he gritted his teeth to keep himself from crying out, or vomiting again. His mouth was still bitter from the morning, and judging by the sun in the sky, he would guess it was a little past noon now.

"Whoa, calm down there. I'm not gonna hurt you."

"And…" Maine panted for breath, "I should believe you because…?" He would turn to face whoever was addressing him, but his body was telling him that was a terrible idea.

"Touché, I suppose. But considering I have Carolina with me—"

"You have Cara?" With that, Maine forced himself to rise to his feet, and the wave of pain electrified his nerves in response. He quickly shifted the knife to his good hand, and took a good look at the person addressing him. Olive skin, thick black hair, and grey eyes. The tribute from 12, maybe? Maine's mind was still fuzzy, and names were the last thing on his priority list at the moment.

"Yeah. She's passed out again, though. I left her in the cave, but within eyesight."

"What did you do to her?" Maine made unsteady steps towards the boy, his hand with the knife trembling. "What the hell did you do to her?"

The boy threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Nothing! I swear! When I found her she was already knocked out. Someone hit her in the back of her head."

Maine made a noise of disgust. "Yeah, take out the weakest first. That's the Hunger Games for ya'."

Watch your mouth, Maine. It's far too easy for Gamemakers to make your last days hell.

The boy's grey eyes did not focus on Maine's face, only the knife in his hand, but Maine made no movement to lower the weapon.

"Look," said the boy. "Can't we just…I dunno…talk or something? I'm not big on…well…confrontation."

"Yeah, 'cause diplomacy is really gonna get you places here." Maine rolled his eyes. "Just leave. I'll watch over Carolina from here. She's my responsibility, not yours."

For now. You can't watch over her forever.

"You'll do a damn fine job protecting her when you can barely stand upright!" The boy shot back, and Maine hated him for being right. Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

"Like you can do any better." Maine cleared his throat and imitated the boy, "I'm not big on…well…confrontation."

The boy's cheeks flushed, and for the first time, he looked Maine straight in the eyes. "Do that again, and I'll make sure to finish that job on your arm."

Maine grinned, and took another step towards him. "Now we're getting somewhere. Though you don't look like much of a fighter to me."

"Want to bet on it?"

"No, not particularly. Not that there's any point in doing so. I'd only win."

The boy crossed his arms over his chest. "Prove it."

Maine lunged towards the boy, only to stagger a few inches to the right, and fall to his knees, shaking. The throbbing in his arm was too much. It had nothing to do with fear. Nope, not one bit.

Yeah, right. If you're afraid to kill, how do you expect to survive?

The boy raised his chin, wearing an expression of both pride and amusement. "That's what I thought."

Maine seethed. "Now that you're done proving me wrong, are you going to just stand there and leave Carolina in that cave?"

"It's better than nothing," the boy replied.

"And it's freezing in there."

"But she's hidden, at least. I could spot you a mile away, when you were passed out here."

It took all of Maine's self control to not punch the boy in the face. That, at least, he'd be able to manage.

Maybe. Possibly. Probably not.

"Why do you have to be so damn right?"

"I'm gonna ignore that," the boy muttered. He held his hand out to Maine, pulling him up from the ground. "Name's York."

"Maine," Maine replied.

"I knew that already."

"Good." Maine gave York the most confident look he could, considering the circumstances. "I like to think I'm unforgettable."

York sighed. "Are you always such an arrogant jackass?"

"I try."

"Well…" York cleared his throat, applying the last bandage. "I've seen worse."

"Oh, really?" Maine had to admit, York had done a pretty good job of cleaning up his arm, though Maine hadn't asked for his help. 'I'm here to assist' was what York had said in response to Maine's weak protest.

York shrugged his shoulders. "From the mines. One of my mentors—"

"Katniss Everdeen," Maine broke in. "She's kinda hot, you know."

"Thanks for that necessary tidbit of information. Now can you let me finish without interrupting?"

"Sorry."

Not really.

"Anyway." York put the bandages back into Maine's pack. "Her mom is a healer. Been a few times my Dad needed her. Or my sisters, when they get sick. Usually afterward my mom sends me over with a little food. We can't pay much but…it's something, at least. My mom's a great cook." York rummaged through the backpack, pulling out the beef jerky. "Do you mind?"

"Nope."

Yes.

York tore into a piece, and continued talking, this time with his mouth full. "Miss her a lot. 'Specially when all we have is this." He gestured towards the minimal food. "You miss yours?"

"Huh?" Maine was busy testing his arm, moving it this way and that. The bleeding had dried up, and even though he still felt a bit woozy, it was beginning to wear off.

"Your family," York said, taking another bite. "You miss 'em?"

Maine squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. He hadn't allowed himself to think of his Dad since he'd said goodbye, and here was the last place on Earth he wanted to talk about his mom. It wasn't long after her death that he began to run more, to refine his raw skill. Better to move away from it. Because if he ran fast enough, he didn't even need to think; it was pure instinct. He only wished it could be that way all the time. So, instead, he snatched a few pieces of the beef, and then put the rest in the pack.

"Gotta ration, unless you know how to hunt or fish or something."

"Yeah. You're right. Sorry." York looked a little sheepish. "And I don't. But…" He leaned in towards Maine, and lowered his voice a little. "I know how to steal."

Maine shrugged his shoulders and tilted his body towards the afternoon sun, letting it warm him. "Who doesn't?"

"I consider it a hobby. Pick-pocketing, lock-picking, breaking and entering."

Maine yawned. "Am I supposed to be impressed or something?"

"A little appreciation would be nice, considering I just fixed up your arm."

"Okay. I appreciate you, and your oh-so-skilled hands, my dearest York."

"I can see the gratitude oozing from your pores," York said, standing up and dusting off his pants.

"Damn straight," replied Maine lazily.

"I'm going to go check on Carolina." York fiddled with the straps on the backpack, grabbing the flask of water. "See if I can wake her up and get her something to drink."

"Take some of the bread, too. And clean her head up real good. Countin' on you and your skills here."

"Asshole," York muttered, but did as Maine said, disappearing into the mouth of the alcove.

Maine could hear the low murmur of Carolina's voice, and York's reply, but they were just far away enough that Maine couldn't make out what they were actually saying. It didn't take long for both of them to return, York's hand in Carolina's tiny one.

Seeing her like that caused Maine's anger to rise to the surface again—he wanted nothing more than to get the person who had hurt her. And Wash, too, for good measure. Maine generally wasn't the type to hold a grudge but pain, lack of sleep, and food made him less forgiving at the moment. He tried not to show it when Carolina was near, and he was reminded of his father, who had tried and failed to hide his inner turmoil from Maine. The thought only soured his mood further, and he tried to keep his tone neutral.

"How ya' feeling?"

"Sleepy," Carolina murmured, leaning up against York, who began to stroke her hair, supporting her around the waist.

"There's a sleeping bag in the pack," Maine said, looking pointedly at York. "That's gotta be better than being in the alcove."

York reached into the pack, letting go of Carolina to do so. The twelve-year-old swayed on her feet a little, and she pressed her hand to her forehead. Maine's heart twisted a little at the sight. Simmons had told him privately to stay away from alliances, but Maine couldn't bring himself to abandon her. York, he could give or take, really, though the fifteen-year-old was starting to grow on him a bit. As much as an annoying, prideful, know-it-all could do.

"Do I have to go back there?" Carolina looked up at Maine with those big brown eyes. "I, um, I…don't like the dark much."

"No, you don't." There was no way he could refuse a look like that.

Carolina nodded, and yawned. "Okay."

She curled up on the sleeping bag and closed her eyes, instantly back asleep. Maine was reminded of a kitten he had found once, curled up in the same way, weak and pink-nosed and sniveling. His mom had cared for it for a few weeks, but some wild animal or another had carted it off one night, never to be seen again. He swallowed, the nausea coming back full force, though this time it had nothing to do with his arm.

He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, just like he had the night of the interview. "For luck," he said, echoing words that felt a lifetime old.

'Cause we're gonna need as much of it as we can get.