A/N- Not much to say, other than thanks for reviewing, and I really hope you keep it up. I do apologize for starting and stopping in such strange spots, so I'm sorry if you get confused, but this part of the story just seems to run together, so I don't know what else to do without making huge chapters. Well, please enjoy. :-)


By the time we get back onto the sandy shore, I'm on the verge of losing it. It's too much, Mags being dead, the war so close to starting, and Annie, off in District 4, with no other rebels anywhere near her.

"Why don't you two get some rest?" Katniss suggests. "I'll watch for a while."

I force myself to focus on her and shake my head. Sleep would be impossible right now. I just want to be alone. Well, as alone as I can be with most of Panem watching me. "No, Katniss. I'd rather." She looks up into my eyes, and I look away quickly, uncomfortably.

"All right, Finnick, thanks," she says, then lies down beside Peeta. I watch her for a moment, judging whether she's really asleep, then bury my face in my hands, trying to hold back tears.

I can feel myself getting ready to fall apart, getting ready to truly comprehend just what it means that Mags is gone, dead, that I'll never see her again. I know that she believed in heaven and hell, but even if there is something after this, there's no way I'm avoiding eternal damnation. It seems like heavy walls are starting to close into me, to box me in.

I can't let that happen, not at the Games, not when there could be people hunting us. Jumping to my feet, I start pacing furiously, staring at the rolling waves, tears streaming down my face.

Eventually, I end up gravitating towards the water. It makes me think of home, of Annie, and Daisy, and even Rafe, despite everything he's put me through. It makes me remember fishing on my father's boats, hanging out with friends on the beach back when I still had them, before the Games wiped them away. I think of laughter and splashing and home and smiles. Without even thinking, I dive in again, letting the cool waves wash over me, soaking my hair. The salt burns my skin, but I don't care. It just feels right.

Like earlier, I start out slowly, just gliding through the water, before I let myself relax again, before I start launching myself through the water, racing easily through the waves. As I swim, I get the strangest feeling of drowning, like I'm choking on thoughts and feelings and memories, but I keep going, because if I stop, it'll be like letting myself sink into a whirlpool. Even though swimming doesn't let me outrun them completely, that I still find myself mourning Mags as I try to escape, it's better than giving in, better than letting myself choke on a blackened past, a mangled present, and a very cloudy looking future.

I'm not sure how long it is before I tire out and end up crawling onto the beach. It must be a while, because the sun is creeping over the horizon while I lie there, feeling somewhat better, although nowhere near as well as I should be.

Then I hear a noise behind me and jerk around, but it's only Peeta, shifting position. I remember that I'm not the only person here, that there are other, more important people who I need to help, and that moping isn't doing anything. With a sigh, I heave myself out of the sand and get to work.

By midmorning, I have a decent shelter erected over Katniss and Peeta, protecting them from the sunlight. Another tree has been tapped, two bowls I wove filled with fresh water, another bursting with shellfish that I decided to collect when I had a little bit of free time.

I'm tired, itch like hell, and haven't managed to get through an hour without crying again. But I'm alive, and Katniss and Peeta are alive, and I say that I can't exactly ask for much more at the moment.

Settling myself into the warm sand, I start idly cracking open shellfish with a rock, ripping the flesh from the shells and popping them in my mouth, trying not to think about anything. After a few moments, I notice Katniss start stirring, looking around quickly before her eyes settle on me, staring for a moment too long.

I look away, hastily holding up a shellfish for her to look at, although she had to have noticed my eyes, which are no doubt red. She doesn't need to focus on the fact that I've been crying.

"They're better fresh," I say, as normally as possible. She reaches for one, thankfully not asking any questions, before she pauses, her eyes settling on her hands. I look too, and manage a weak smile. They're caked with blood, and when I look, I see her arms and face are covered with scratch marks. Seeing her, I try not to think about what I must look like.

"You know, if you scratch, you'll bring on infection," I say, even though there were several times over the night where I completely blew off her advice.

"That's what I've heard," she says before she goes down to the beach to wash off the blood. I pop another piece of the shellfish in my mouth before Katniss stomps rather dramatically back to the beach.

"Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin," she snaps. I give her a strange look, which soon turns into another half-smile when I see a parachute actually flying down towards her. Now that is the service that should be given during the Hunger Games.

Katniss walks over to me, a somewhat wistful look on her face, before she replaces it with her usual scowl and plops down beside me. At first, I watch her, impatient for her to finish so that I can go, but then I see what she's actually doing to her skin. The dark goop that she's slathering over her skin smells horrible, not to mention that it leaves a very disgusting greenish-gray tint on her skin. Given the scabbing that's already there, it looks especially nasty. She starts on her second leg and tosses the tube to me. I resist the urge to bat it away, eyeing it carefully.

Okay, I'm not vain, but when you grow up constantly being reminded how godly you look, you kind of get used to it. I'm sure that I'm already bad enough, and I'm not too keen on getting any worse. It bothers me.

"It's like you're decomposing," I inform her, feeling the need to explain myself at her somewhat amused look. I swear that I can see her eyes laughing at me. That, along with the way the itching seems to get worse since I now know that there's something to help, has me opening the tube and squeezing the disgusting ointment across my skin after only a few minutes. I swear that I can see my skin rotting.

"Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" she asks. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I kind of wonder what all my 'fans' are thinking about this. The thought makes the whole thing seem a lot more bearable.

"It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it."

"Not if I keep looking at you," I say, but we keep slathering the stuff all over ourselves until we probably look like rotting corpses. At least Katniss does. I pray that I'm not that bad, although I'm probably worse, seeing as I took more of the fog.

"I'm going to wake Peeta," Katniss says when we're finished. For a moment I'm going to let her go, but then I get an idea.

"No, wait. Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his." I figure that since I have no idea when the next time I'll be able to do something fun is, I might as well go for it while I have to shot.

Both of us position ourselves on either side of Peeta and put our faces only a few inches from his nose. I give him a gentle shake while Katniss says, "Peeta. Peeta, wake up."

His eyelids flutter open and focus for a moment before he jumps quickly backwards, letting out a small scream. The look on his face has me falling back into the sand, laughing my head off. Katniss is right beside me, and every time we try to stop, the look on Peeta's face just sets us off again.

Eventually we manage to pull ourselves together, and I come to the conclusion that Katniss Everdeen isn't just the Mockingjay. She has a human side, behind all her glares and overly self-righteous stunts, behind all the mechanical analyzing she does. Only moments after the thought passes through my head, a silver parachute lands next to us, complete with a fresh loaf of bread.

Thinking of the mission, I immediately grab it and start turning it over in my hands. It can't mean that we have to do something, we don't have Beetee yet, not even Wiress. I do some quick thinking. It's from Four, I know that immediately. That'd mean fourth day. One loaf. First hour. No, they wouldn't start the plan yet, not when there are still so many wildcards to factor in. They'll wait until we find someone from District 3 who can help us, then send the bread.

Remembering the cameras on me, as well as Katniss and Peeta's curious eyes, I say, "This will go well with the shellfish." Both of them give me looks, but I pretend not to notice and walk away from them.

While Katniss and Peeta coat his skin with the ointment, I clean the meat from the shellfish. When we're all finished, we gather around and have something that's a semblance of a peaceful meal.

Except it isn't exactly what I'd consider peaceful, because about ten minutes into the meal, someone starts screaming. Almost as soon as the screams start, one of the wedges of the jungle starts vibrating. Then, moments later, an enormous wave starts high on a hill, reaching higher than the trees before it comes roaring down the slope. Almost like one of the tsunami that hit District Four back when I was ten, it seems to eat up everything it hits until it crashes into the existing water with enough force that the surf rises up to our knees, even though we're across the arena, and sets all of our things afloat.

As we're collecting our things, a cannon fires. I stop for a moment and look towards the sky, wondering if Plutarch is watching me, and wondering if he is, if he can see the desperation in my eyes. That's twelve left. Only three or four that we actually want to kill off. We're running out of time for this plan to work. Something needs to happen, and fast.

It's almost funny, how quickly something does happen. Peeta and I are sorting through the supplies we recovered, making sure everything is still there, when Katniss whispers, "there", and nods towards three figures stumbling onto the beach.

Automatically, the three of us retreat back into the shadows of the jungle, before I really even get a chance to look at the trio. When I finally lay eyes on them, though, I can tell instantly that they aren't dangerous. One of them wanders in circles. Another one who can't even walk, is getting dragged out by the last one. All three of them seem to be the color of dried blood, and my first thought is muttations, but that doesn't make sense.

"Who is that? Or what? Muttations?" Peeta asks. I start to answer, to tell them that no, they're tributes, when one of them starts throwing a temper tantrum, stamping on the ground and shoving the one who's walking in circles to the ground. That's when I realize exactly who those tributes are, because I know only one person who throws tantrums like that.