Cato fell into a restless sleep sometime after two in the morning, but within a couple of hours he was awake and sobbing again.

Finch could tell he'd had some kind of nightmare, but she didn't know what to do. She held him and murmured that she loved him but he was inconsolable.

Eventually, she realized he needed more help than she could offer, and she went to wake up Brutus.

"I thought something like this might happen," he said, and opened his nightstand drawer to retrieve a bottle of pills.

"You did?"

"Yeah. It happens to all of us."

"So you're gonna give him some of those?" Finch pointed at the bottle. "What will they do?"

"They'll basically make him not care about anything and they'll help him sleep. They'll calm him down. Don't worry," he said when he saw the concern on her face. "This is a temporary fix. Just to help him rest. We'll start on a long-term solution soon. Hopefully without drugs."

Brutus was able to wrest Cato's fists from his hair and get him to down two of the pills and a glass of water, and within thirty minutes, Cato's sobs had died down to intermittent hiccups.

"He'll get sleepy soon," Brutus said, and stood up from the edge of the bed to leave. He stopped when he got to the doorway and turned around to face Finch. He looked sad, as though he wanted to burst into tears. As though seeing Cato like this was just as upsetting to him as it was to her. "You're good for him," he said. "I'm glad this whole...thing...happened with you two." And then he closed the door and was gone.

She turned to Cato, whose puffy lids were beginning to grow heavy over his red eyes. He looked miserable and her heart broke for him. "Come here," she whispered as she lay down and opened her arms wide. He was asleep within minutes, and everything about him felt heavy and sluggish. His breathing. His head on her chest. The arm he'd slung over her hip. The leg he'd thrown over both of hers.

Finch shifted beneath him so she could breathe a little easier, and eventually she, too, fell into a restless sleep.

xxxxxxxxxx

She woke to voices outside Cato's door. "I said leave them alone," Brutus was growling.

"But it's improper," came Paris's haughty voice. "And it's almost noon."

"Fuck your improper. After everything they've been through, they're more grown up than you I can tell you that much. Tell Plutarch's assistant I'll call him back once he's awake."

There was an indignant huff and the click click of Paris's boots echoing on the marble floor of the hallway.

Once the sound had faded, Brutus knocked softly.

"Come in," Finch called, and he opened the door and peeked in.

"He's still out I take it."

"Yeah." Finch was covered in sweat. The sun was beating down on her through the window and she felt stifled by Cato's weight. He had shifted onto her even more and she was finding it difficult to wriggle out from beneath him.

"Here," Brutus said, and came over to lift Cato off of her so she could slip out easily. The older man looked down at him with a sigh. "I had them leave you a plate of food," he said. "And the coffee's still on. Not sure if you drink it, but..."

"I don't usually, but I feel like I could use some. Rough night. And morning."

"Well, no offense, but you look like you could use some too."

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, but she couldn't help but grin at him.

"I spoke with your father this morning."

"How?"

"Rush had one of the mayor's people get him a cell phone."

"One of the mayor's people?" she asked in shock.

"Yes. You're very important now," he said, but there was hint of disdain in his voice. She wasn't quite sure who it was aimed it, but she knew it wasn't her. "You'll find you can pretty much have and do whatever you want. As long as it doesn't interfere with the Capitol agenda."

"How is he?" she asked, choosing to ignore his last statement for the time being.

"Overjoyed that he's getting his daughter back of course."

"They've had enough to eat?"

"Yeah."

"I wonder how," she said, more to herself than to Brutus.

"Well the night you told Cato about how you'd been providing for them, he came and told me. So I've had a guy drop off a crate of food for them every week."

"You have?" She couldn't help it. She rushed at Brutus and threw her arms around him. "Thank you! Thank you so so much!"

He tensed up and then patted her back awkwardly. "You're a sweaty little thing," he said with a grimace.

"It's not all mine," she said defensively as she pulled back. "At least half of it is Cato's. Wait," she panicked. "Did you tell my dad that Cato and I are sleeping together?! I mean we're not...you know… doing that." Her cheeks turned red. "We're just literally sleeping together."

Brutus chuckled. "No. I didn't tell him. It's not my business."

She felt a rush of relief. "Thank you!"

"You're not gonna hug me again are you?" he asked, backing up a step.

"No."

"Alright. I'm gonna try to wake him. See if I can get him up and get something in his stomach."

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Fifteen minutes later, Cato sat down heavily across from her at the dining room table, his eyes puffy but dry, his tear stains from the night before evident on his cheeks. An Avox set a plate that had been kept warm for him down at his place. He didn't look at Finch. He didn't say anything to her. He just picked up his fork and began to eat mechanically.

It was disturbing.

But what really scared her was that he didn't even notice that they'd served him waffles with maple syrup.

xxxxxxxxxx

She returned to her apartment to shower and prepare for her homecoming in 5 the next day.

Fascinia's team exfoliated and moisturized her entire body and gave her a facial and a pedicure and manicure.

It drove Finch nuts. "You just did all of this yesterday," she complained. "My nails don't have a single chip in them."

"Yes, but we have to have you looking perfect for the cameras tomorrow. And besides, this shade goes better with your homecoming outfit."

Fascinia clucked her tongue as she robed Finch in the dress she had designed for the occasion. "It's going to have to be taken in. Or we'll just belt it like we did your gown. That's what we'll do. You lost a lot of weight in that arena young lady," she said sternly.

As though Finch had done it on purpose.

Honestly. She liked Fascinia, but sometimes she was so dense Finch wanted to slap her.

"Ok, all done," her stylist said, and turned her toward the mirror. "Do you like it?"

She had put her in a short olive green shirt-dress made of silk and a suede belt in the same shade. And then she slipped her feet into flat braided leather sandals, mussed her hair, and stained her lips a deserty rose color. "And put these on," she said, handing her a pair of matte gold-rimmed aviators. "Oh, you look so good. So aloof and effortless. Like you just don't give a shit."

That's because I don't give a shit Finch thought.

But she humored Fascinia anyway. "I love it," she said. And the truth was, that if it she wasn't so heartsick, she probably would have loved it, just as she had the copper dress from the parade.

"Oh I'm so glad! And I designed a bunch of other outfits for you too! You're the most famous girl in Panem right now, and you have to look the part you know. Wait until you see what we've done!" She snapped her fingers and her team rushed to bring in dresses and rompers in lightweight fabrics and shades of ivory and olive and rose, as well as several pairs of sandals and sunglasses and a few belts and slouchy hobo bags and even a leather cuff for her wrist. It was the perfect wardrobe for late summer and early fall in the desert, and as she eyed the collection objectively, Finch knew that she would be the envy of all of the girls at school. For her fame. For her beautiful clothes. For her newfound wealth. And of course, for Cato.

And four months ago, Finch would have smirked at this. She would have reveled in it. She probably would have made a few nasty comments to Lacey Smalls and Gretchen Nichols and all those other bitches. Maybe she would have even toyed with Garrett Cooper just for fun.

But as she surveyed her new wardrobe, all she could do was worry about how Cato was doing three floors below her and wonder if the bright and inquisitive boy she'd fallen in love with was lost forever.

xxxxxxxxxx

Rush told her they were going down to the second floor for dinner, and she was glad. Not just because she wanted to see how Cato was doing, but because even though it had always just been her, Rush, Fascinia, and occasionally Prince in the apartment, she could feel in her bones how empty the rest of the Training Center was. It was eerie. Those apartments had been filled with other kids. Kids who were dead now. And so Finch, normally an introvert, shivered and felt the urge to be surrounded by as many people as possible.

When they arrived, Cato looked a little better. He was talking quietly to a man Finch had never seen. Well...not exactly talking. The man was asking him questions and Cato was responding with short, quiet answers, which the man then jotted down on a clipboard.

"Who is that?" she asked Brutus.

"Dr. Aurelius," Brutus said. "He's a psychiatrist and he'll be helping Cato out. He's traveling back to 2 with us tomorrow and he'll stay for a while. At least a few months. He'll come on tour with us too."

"Oh." Finch was relieved. "So this is the long-term solution you were talking about?"

"Yep."

"Do you think it will work? Do you think he'll be able to help him?"

"Well, I think in the short term he'll still be on meds, but Dr. Aurelius will wean him off of them over a period of a few weeks. And he'll help him. He helped me," Brutus said.

"And me," Rush added.

"He helped you both after your games?" It surprised Finch that these two gruff men had used the services of a psychiatrist.

"Well not right after," Brutus said. "Plutarch met him about six years ago or so, and he introduced us all to him. That was why Plutarch's assistant was calling this morning. To see when the doc should stop by. Most of us have seen him at some point or another. To deal with the aftermath that comes along with surviving the games."

"Most of you?"

"Yeah. Most of us victors."

"Speaking of that," Rush said. "How are you doing with all of this?"

"It's awful," she said. "Seeing how this is affecting him." She nodded toward Cato.

"Ok, but how are you doing with this. You yourself," Rush said.

"I...am fine." Finch said. Because she was pretty sure she was. "Yeah, I'm fine."

But she felt their eyes on her, Brutus's and Rush's, as they studied her. And then she glanced up to see them exchange a look of deep concern with one another.

xxxxxxxxxx

Early the next morning she said good-bye to Cato, and it was awful, but not for the reason she had thought it would be.

She had imagined they'd cling to each other and whisper I'll miss you.

But he just looked at her with dull eyes, his pupils huge from the sedatives they had him on, his speech a little slower than normal. "Bye Finch," he said quietly. "I'll see you in a couple of months."

Her heart broke. Something was so, so wrong.

She burst into tears and threw her arms around him. "I'll miss you," she whispered.

But he didn't say anything in return, and he didn't kiss her or cling to her. He just stood there like a statue.

"Come on honey," a hoarse voice said, and Finch felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She turned, surprised to see Brutus standing behind her, looking again like he wanted to cry. "Go home and focus on your family. He'll be better by the tour."

xxxxxxxxxx

As they approached 5, Fascinia tried to erase the signs of her sorrow with eye drops and concealer and some kind of de-puffing gel, but her success was limited. "Good thing we have the sunglasses," she sighed. "Cheer up doll. You're gonna see your father and brothers soon."

Finch sniffled and shook herself. Fascinia was right. They would be so excited to see her. And she was excited to see them. She really was. Her joy was just overshadowed by her sorrow over Cato. And maybe something else? she thought. But she couldn't quite figure out what that something else was, so she ignored it.

As she stepped off the train and onto the platform, her eyes went straight to her family, and her throat closed up. She wanted to sprint into their arms. But she was supposed to stand there and wave to the crowd for at least a minute. So she bit the inside of her lip to keep from crying, and silently thanked Fascinia for the sunglasses as she held her hand up in greeting.

The tears began to spill when she was about ten feet from them, and she leaned over her father while her brothers each clung to one of her sides. The four of them huddled with their heads together for a few minutes, bawling their eyes out. Then she kissed her father and turned to take first Gavin's and then Hyde's face into her hands and plant a kiss on their foreheads.

"I brought it back to you," she said to her father later that night, once they were settled around the dinner table. And she slipped her mother's copper band off of her right ring finger and held it out to him.

"You brought you back to me," he said, taking it from her and placing it back on the chain he wore around his neck.

"With the help of Cato," Hyde piped up cheerfully.

"Yes," her father said. "That was really surprising. I gotta say Little Bird, never in a million years would I have pictured you with someone like him."

Finch looked down at her plate. She'd been worried about this, worried he'd disapprove. "Dad, you don't understand," she said hurriedly. "He's not like everyone thinks-"

"Well that's obvious," he said. He was smiling. "He shocked the entire nation. They love him here in 5. You should have heard them all yelling at the screens during those awful few minutes. As though if they all screamed loud enough and long enough it would somehow travel through the airwaves and straight into his brain. Lucky you were so successful at distracting him," he teased, and her brothers both giggled.

"Oh my god, Dad!" she burst out, her cheeks burning. "Can't you at least wait until tomorrow to start giving me a hard time?"

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School was awful. She didn't really have to go anymore if she didn't want. She was a Victor. Like Brutus had said, she could pretty much do whatever she felt like. But she just wanted some semblance of normalcy, of her past life, even if that meant returning to a place that didn't hold any fond memories for her.

But they all stared at her as though she were superhuman. And the girls all wanted to talk to her. Even Lacey. They sidled up to her at lunch, telling her that they loved her outfit and asking her question after question.

Did her cut hurt? Why didn't she have to wear her glasses anymore? Was she scared while she was in the arena? What was the Capitol like?

And, of course they wanted to know about Cato.

"Tell us everything. How did you guys fall in love with each other?" Umm, I don't know. We just talked a lot when we trained together.

"What does he smell like?" Cologne she lied. Because she thought saying iron and sighing dreamily might just be a touch too weird.

"What do his arms feel like?" Rocks she said.

"Don't you think it's so romantic that he killed people for you?"

"Ummm, no," They all stared at her, eyes blinking, mouths open. "I think it's horrible that any of us, including him, were in that situation to begin with."

No one said anything for a few seconds. And then one girl piped up. "What's he kiss like?"

She thought about that one for a minute. Their first kiss was heartwrenchingly painful, actually. Because they'd both been convinced it would also be their last. And the next time he'd kissed her, after he dragged her up to his room in nothing but her paper gown, her bare feet skittering over the cold marble floors to keep up with him, he'd completely overwhelmed her, literally taking her breath away until she thought she'd faint.

But later that night, after she'd showered and climbed into bed with him...she almost sighed out loud at the memory of it, and she could feel her eyes glazing over. She had felt both light and heavy at the same time when their mouths met. Like she was floating and sinking. Like she was drugged and out of it, and yet hyper-aware of every sensation. Like the cells of her body were both condensing in on themselves and breaking away into the atmosphere. Like she was absolutely content but wanted more at the same time. She had felt safe and loved and warm and he'd tasted like metal and she remembered the feel of his jaw under her fingers and the soft sounds their lips had made and how he had cupped the back of her head in one hand and placed his other against her neck and she was convinced she'd experienced heaven.

But that was too private to share. It was too intimate. So she just said "He's very sweet," and left it at that.

"Have you guys, you know...done it?" another girl asked, and the whole group leaned in toward her. Finch jerked her head back and blinked, startled.

"I'm not gonna answer that," she said with a glare.

"That means they have," one girl whispered, at the exact same time another one said "That means they haven't."

"Alright, alright, girls, that's enough. Leave Miss Crossley alone now," one of the teachers said, and Finch shot the woman a relieved glance.

But it wasn't just the girls. All of the boys stared at her too, though not one of them would approach her. They looked at her appreciatively, trying and failing to be discreet, and they ran their eyes over her face and down her body in her light, filmy dresses, and she realized that having the most famous boy in the nation call you beautiful and kiss you and almost sacrifice his life for yours on live television instantly made you attractive to just about every other straight male, even if they wouldn't have given you the time of day previously.

Even Garrett fucking Cooper looked at her like she was some kind of goddess who'd come down from above to walk among all of them.

Finch didn't kid herself that all of this attention was for her. It was partly because she'd won the games, but she knew it was also because she had won the heart of the hottest, most ruthless, most unattainable Career.

And even though it was annoying, she couldn't really blame them. If some other random girl were in her place she too would probably look at her curiously and bite her tongue to hold back the questions she wanted to ask.

What bothered her was that not one of them seemed to realize what was so obvious to her. Twenty-two other children were dead because she had lived. Twenty-two other families were grieving because of her. Cato was an absolute wreck because of the things he had done in that arena. Things he had done to save her life.

And why? Why her? What was so special about her? Why was she so different from any of the other children who'd been reaped? Why had fate and Cato singled her out?

Why not Rue, so pure and innocent? Why not Peeta, so sweet and good? Why not Thresh with his dimples and his warm laugh and his delight in the ridiculous? Why not Brigita with her kind eyes? Why not...why not...and her eyes landed on the face of the one person in that lunchroom who wasn't staring at her with awe. Trent Odom. Tate's seventeen-year-old brother. He watched her, just like the others, but his eyes were full of sorrow, a pure sorrow unmarred by blame or hatred or judgement.

It was too much. All of these eyes on her, none of them understanding. Not even Trent Odom. She looked around the room again. They were all staring at her and her body began to cave in on itself like an aluminum can, crushing her organs and expelling the breath from her lungs. The buzzing of their whispered conversations about her grew louder and louder, pressed in on her eardrums until they ached.

She had to get out of here. She had to get away from them all. She eyed the lunchroom doorway with relief, and stood, gasping desperately for air. Forty feet. Forty feet until freedom. But the room started to spin and her vision went spotty and her heart was pounding and she couldn't suck in enough oxygen.

And then, thank god, everything went black.