Thanks very much to my reviewers ForeverTeamEdward13, Ro-Lee, bartmanskubs, Primrose314, justsurvivesomehow, Auguruj, and my lovely guest reviewer.

Oneshot contest information at the end!

Fourteen:

It hasn't been often these last few years that Haymitch has felt the need for a drink. It's hard to forget the horrible effect that alcohol had on him, during those dark times after his and Maysilee's Games. He'd known that he had hit rock bottom when, shortly after Ash and Rain were born, Maysilee banned him from seeing them. No father was better than a drunk father.

Haymitch had tried to clean up really quickly after that, with help from his old friends Jon Everdeen and Dell Hawthorne. But it had been Maysilee, who'd seen how hard he was trying, who had been his real saving grace. In the end, Haymitch hadn't missed out on too much time with the twins, but every day he'd been absent from their lives had been a day too many.

The stress of all the last few months, of plotting how to get his children out of the arena and to join up with District 13, had exploded the evening of the tributes' session with the Gamemakers, when Ember announced that she'd set a mannequin version of her own sister on fire. Haymitch's mind had gone wild with thoughts of the Gamemakers gunning after Em and Ced on Day 1, taking away any chances they had of waiting out the Games until it was time to escape. Thoughts of his own children turning on each other, because it had clearly been a huge mistake to trust that their natural sibling love would be stronger than the lies he had told to protect them. Thoughts of Snow taking all of his family away, as the old bastard had already tried to do once with his mother and brother, leaving Haymitch alone for real.

It's no wonder that he sought solace in a bottle of wine that evening. Anyway, Maysilee had taken it away from him sooner rather than later, so it hadn't gotten too bad.

But even then, Haymitch hadn't felt the keen, desperate desire to drown out everything—his thoughts, his feelings, the world—with drink that he does now. Every waking moment, all he sees is everyone's pitying faces as they offer him their sympathies (with varying degrees of sincerity), and every time he closes his eyes, all he sees are Ember and Cedric. If alcohol weren't banned in Thirteen, he's pretty sure he would have drunk himself into a stupor by now, unknowing and uncaring of anything going on around him.

However, the fact is there is no alcohol available, so he'll have to deal with his grief and pain in a less self-destructive way. And apparently, his wife has decided that one such way is for them to talk to others—namely, their fellow Victors who have also made it to District 13—who knew their daughter and son and to grieve together. Personally, Haymitch really hates talking about his feelings, so he doubts this will do any good for him. But it looks like it'll at least help Maysilee, so he goes along. Anything for May.

"Cedric could've had one of the greatest minds that Panem would have ever seen," Beetee laments, his face lined with sadness. Ced had idolized the Victor from Three. "A scientist. An inventor. A logician, a chemist. He could have been anything he wanted to be."

Haymitch thinks of all the times he's had to get up in the middle of the night to tell his son to stop working on whatever he's been tinkering with and go to bed. He conjures the memory of his son turning his owlish eyes toward him, large and pleading for just a few more minutes. Sometimes Haymitch resisted, but sometimes he ended up helping his son with whatever project he had, so he'd go to sleep that much sooner. Pain slices through his chest as he realizes he will never again catch Cedric up past his bedtime. Fuck, why is he doing this?

"He would've been happy to just be in a room filled with books and gadgets for the rest of his life," Maysilee murmurs. "He never wanted to become famous scientist or anything like that. Just to keep discovering and learning new things." Her eyes have been understandably dim of late, but now, as she speaks fondly of their boy, they partially return to their usual bright blue.

Right. That's why he's doing this. For May.

Anything for May.

"What kinds of projects did he work on?" Annie Cresta asks softly. The female Victor from Four has only met Em and Ced once, during her Victory Tour a few years back, but she's attending this melancholic powwow primarily to support Finnick, who has been very quiet and morose since he heard the news.

"We gave him a chemistry set for his birthday one year," Haymitch hears himself say. "I have no idea what he got up to half the time in his little laboratory, in the shed in our backyard. Last I saw, he was trying to make smoke-bombs, the miscreant."

Chaff chortles at that. "Little troublemaker, just like his father, eh?"

Haymitch manages a smirk. "Believe me, he hasn't done anything nearly as bad as I have." Unbidden, memories of his boyhood, up to no good with Jon and Dell, come to the forefront of his mind. But unlike him, Cedric has never had partners-in-crime to egg him on in his mayhem. His younger son has always been a loner, but Haymitch doesn't think it was by choice. He simply never got along with other children his age. None of Haymitch's other children had problems with making friends in school, just Ced. What could he and Maysilee do? They couldn't force his classmates to be nice to him, and they certainly wouldn't force Cedric to socialize with kids who made fun of him. All they could do was encourage him to push his own limits and pursue his interests, and hope that one day he would find his own way.

No more of that. Never again.

Mags mumbles something. Finnick, who's been glumly sitting in silence with his elbows resting on his knees, lifts his head to translate. "She says it's Ember who was the real troublemaker between the two of them."

Haymitch snorts. "Don't I know it." No one ever believes him when he says he isn't a sucker for his daughters. He doesn't even believe himself when he says it. Summer, as the very last of his babies, is the only one of his children who comes anywhere near close to spoiled. Rain, the eldest of his daughters and the one most like their mother, was the first girl to ever capture his heart.

Ember, as the middle of his and Maysilee's children, could have been so easily forgotten or neglected, what with them training the twins, fussing over newborn Cedric, worrying about Ash after his Games, worrying about Rain alone in the Capitol, and then fussing over newborn Summer. But Ember was never the type of child to let anyone forget about her. Ember's spunk has always been the quality he's loved best about her.

The day Em was born is a day that Haymitch has tried to half-burn from his memory—the bad part, that is. He's happy to hold onto the good half, the half actually about Ember. He remembers the first time she opened her eyes, a small and squirming bundle confused by the new world she'd just come into, and he realized that she alone of all his children had inherited Maysilee's blue eyes. He'd been a goner then and there.

He remembers all the times she's gotten in trouble, from little everyday things like pulling the older sibling card on Cedric to bully her way into getting what she wanted, to the rare monumental events like the time she and her friends decided to camp out in the woods overnight but failed to tell any of their parents. Haymitch had never before and never since been so angry or raised his voice so loudly at Ember. And that had been the only time he'd ever made her cry—except once when she was two and he'd accidentally made her trip and skin her knees. But that had been easily remedied with some sweets.

The point is, like Mags said, Ember, although for the most part behaved, has her troublemaking tendencies. And Haymitch has never been able to stay angry at her for long. Every time, he swears he won't let her off so easily the next time, but he knows better.

No more of that. Never again.

Summer, who's sitting on his lap, squirms and indicates that she wants to move over to her mother. Haymitch acquiesces and deposits her on Maysilee's lap. His youngest has been much more subdued than usual, and Haymitch is uncertain how much she's truly absorbed the news about Ember and Cedric. He knows that Summer has never really seen Ash and Rain as her siblings, what with the sixteen year age difference and their absence from her life. So in her eyes, she's pretty much an only child now.

"They were like my siblings." All eyes look to Finnick. "I know they didn't see me the same way, but...I cared about them, all the same."

Haymitch's eldest son and Finnick have a strange friendship that's hard to wrap your mind around at first, but once you do, you can't imagine them not being friends. They won successive Games and have only a one-year age gap between them, and both have been—in more ways than one—two of the Victors fucked the most by the Capitol. Ash and Finnick bonded over their self-pity parties and jadedness: not the best ingredients for a lasting friendship. But Haymitch remembers what his son was like before his Games, clever and sarcastic and always loving a good joke. That Ash would have been great friends with Finnick, so why wouldn't the Ash now be as well?

Some years after Ash and Finnick had struck up their friendship, the latter had begun to hang out with the rest of their family more. Haymitch and Maysilee, knowing too well the power that Snow wields over Victors, thought and said nothing about Finnick's endless string of "lovers," except when the boy from Four himself brought up the subject. And they like their son's friend. As far as they can tell, Finnick helps keep Ash in check. And in some ways, Haymitch and his wife look forward to going to the Capitol each year, because that's the only time Ash and Finnick are able to hang out, and when they hang out, Ash is more like his old self.

And Haymitch knows that they owe a debt to Finnick. The Victor from Four has never mentioned it; Haymitch wouldn't even know about it if Snow hadn't informed him and Maysilee, as yet another thing to hold over their heads. Besides Ash, none of their other children is a Victor, but that seems to make no real difference to Snow in terms of whether he can use them, manipulate, sell them, do with them as he pleases. Having grown up under the public eye, Haymitch's kids have, at some point or another, all attracted unwanted attention.

"After all, you do have beautiful children," Snow had told him and May once.

Haymitch has always known that the Capitol has more than its fair share of depraved souls, but he'd never known just how depraved, until Snow had seen fit to share with them some of the offers he's received over the years, to borrow one of the Abernathy children for a night. Legally, they were untouchable until they were sixteen; not even Snow could breach that. But when the twins hit that fateful birthday, Ash had other problems to worry about, and Rain had been given her unique sort of immunity due to her future Gamemaker status.

Then the days until Ember's sixteenth birthday trickled away. Haymitch and Maysilee had worried themselves sick that they would receive a very unwanted phone call one day soon, or that a hovercraft or train would come without warning to snatch up their oblivious daughter. They hadn't wanted Ember to look ahead to her special day with the same fear they felt, so she had known nothing about Snow's threats.

But her birthday came and went without much fuss. Months passed, and still nothing from the Capitol. He and Maysilee hadn't dared hope overly much, because it would be just like Snow to play mind games with them, lulling them into a false sense of security. Then, very recently, they'd learned what had happened to spare their daughter from a horrible fate beyond imagining. Very recently, as in mere weeks ago, after they had escaped the Capitol, and Finnick finally confessed to them how he had heard through his network of lovers that Ember's birthday had been a highly anticipated event amongst certain circles. He'd pulled strings, made deals, and offered favors wherever he could to ensure that she was left unharassed. He also admitted that he wasn't sure how long he would've been able to keep it up, so the sudden advent of the rebellion was quite fortuitous in that regard, otherwise not even he could have kept her safe for much longer.

Haymitch doesn't hug people outside of his family. But he'd hugged Finnick then.

Now, though, he can't even tell Finnick that Ember and Cedric had held as much fondness for him as he had for them, because Haymitch knows they didn't. They didn't, because Finnick was too good at hiding his affection, a harsh lesson learned from having almost all the other things he's ever cared about taken away by Snow. So all Haymitch can say instead is, "We know."

His children will never know what Finnick has done for them. But Haymitch does, and Maysilee does, and they'll remember.

Cecelia, a Victor from Eight with whom Maysilee gets along very well, chimes in. "They were good kids. There was so much about them for you two to be proud of. The night of their interviews, before the Games, they were magnificent. Both of them. They could have… They could have been…"

She doesn't finish her sentence, but she doesn't have to. It's more apt to leave it incomplete, anyway, and allow for them all to wonder about the many possibilities that could have been for Em and Ced.

It becomes too much for Haymitch, and without bothering to excuse himself, he gets up and leaves the room. In the hallway, he sinks against the wall, feeling a headache coming on. But no tears. He and Maysilee finished shedding those in the privacy of their room.

"Hey." Chaff leans against the wall beside him. "You look like you could use a drink."

Haymitch laughs bitterly. "When do I not?"

"You're such a family man nowadays. I almost forget that you're a miserable bastard deep down." Chaff reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small flask. "Want some?"

Haymitch stares. "Alcohol is contraband here."

"Yup."

"They don't allow any in the district."

"There's always a way. Prohibition never works. I swear it's legit, not any sort of shitty moonshine that's gonna kill you."

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. He's better than that.

But damn it all, his children are dead. He deserves a bit of whiskey or brandy or whatever the fuck is in that flask. So Haymitch takes it, and he raises it to his children whom he will never see grow up, and he drinks.

Finch has been acting skittish lately. I figure out why, once I spot enough of Marvel's disappointed looks of confusion sent her way and I realize they never seem to be within twenty feet of each other.

"Are you avoiding him?" I ask her, after I wander from my usual place at the front of the pack so I can walk beside her.

"Who?"

"Don't act like you don't know whom I'm talking about," I say dryly. "You're smarter than that."

"I'm not avoiding anyone," Finch says with such a straight face that I almost believe her.

"So you won't mind if I call for Marvel right now to join our conversation?" I look his direction and raise my voice. "Hey! M—"

Finch slaps her hand over my mouth, muffling my voice. "Fine. I'm avoiding him. Happy?"

I move her hand away. "But why?" I recall my conversation with Marvel when we were hunting after the mutt attack, about his crush on Finch. She can be hard to read sometimes, but I haven't been getting any vibes from her telling me that she likes him back, or that she even enjoys his presence. Ooh. This might be a little tricky. "Did he, uh, make unwanted advances on you or something?"

She shakes her head, looking suspicious. "How did you know he likes me?"

"How do you know he likes you?"

"It's not that hard to figure out."

"When did you figure it out?"

"A few days ago."

I smirk. "Day Two." But to be honest, knowing about it isn't really something to gloat over. I don't think Marvel is trying to hide it, he just wants a fair shot at Finch—which, if she continues to avoid him, he'll never get. "So what did he do, then?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" I repeat, eyes narrowed. She nods. "Then you're avoiding him because?"

"I don't know."

Ah. Very informative. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Finch's brow furrows. "I just don't get it."

"Get what?"

"Why he would...like me."

I feel the strong urge to hug Finch. So I do.

She squirms. "What are you doing?"

"Suffocating you with my arms."

"I like breathing, thanks."

I release her and continue walking again, ignoring how people are staring at us for temporarily halting the column. "Do you really have no idea?"

Finch folds her arms. "He thinks I say interesting things and it keeps him on his toes."

When did he say this to her? I'm guessing sometime after Finch came back. "Well, the way I see it, that means he sees what a wonderful brain you have, and good for him for realizing. Intelligence is one of the better reasons to like someone."

She frowns. "But…" She trails off and looks away, contemplative. Not wanting to interrupt her train of thought, I wait for her to speak again. When she does, she seems to have completely changed the subject. "Cato thinks you're pretty."

Whoa. Where did that topic come from? "I...suppose he does, yes." I'd have to be blind not to realize Cato is attracted to me. What I don't realize is why Finch is bringing this up.

"And smart. And funny. And interesting. And—"

Too much. Too much. Too much. "Not that I'm not flattered by your listing off all my supposed virtues, but is there a point to this, Finch?"

"Marvel thinks I'm smart. That's it. Nothing else. I don't see how it's enough for him to like me."

I blink at her. "How do you know he doesn't think those other things?"

She looks at me blankly. "Because I'm not any of those other things," she says matter-of-factly.

Pretty. Funny. Interesting. She really doesn't think she's any of those things? "What? Finch—"

"None of this is important," she blurts out, face turning as red as her hair. "I was being silly. Sorry for wasting your time."

"No, Finch, wait—"

Well, there she goes. Finch darts to the back of the pack, behind the sled. I could follow her, and I want to. But I'm sure she'd just avoid me as easily as she's been avoiding Marvel, so there's no point in stalking her.

Wow. I was not expecting our conversation to turn that direction. I'm actually reminded of some of my girl-talks with Madge back home. Although she nurses a secret tendre for Gale and has never looked in another guy's direction, that hasn't stopped her from getting a handful of admirers of her own. Since she's the mayor's daughter, the boys are usually too hesitant to approach her, but of course I've noticed them sneaking glances at her—I like to keep an eye out for when someone is crushing on my friends. And of course, I duly report these observations to her, which bewilder her because Madge is, admittedly, very quiet in public, so she has no idea what about her has gotten their interest. Katniss is like that, too (although in her case, I take care not to mention Peeta, because he's currently in the friend-zone, which is already cruel enough).

Now I can add Finch to the list. She's quiet—but she's also funny (she's made me laugh a few times), and smart (goes without saying), and pretty (at least, I think so, in her own unique way), and above all, interesting (her air of mystique really makes you want to learn more about her). I don't see why she thinks she isn't crushable.

But it's not my feelings we're talking about. It's Finch's. So what do I do? Do I corner Finch and make her talk? Do I wait for her to approach me? Do I bully Marvel into lavishing her with compliments? The last one is tempting, but it would probably backfire.

Regardless, I think it's time that Marvel and I had another chat.

The boy from One has taken my usual spot beside Cato at the front. They're in the middle of a conversation (comparing ancient and medieval weapon-making techniques versus modern—Careers, I swear), and Marvel is mid-word when I loop my arm with his and drag him off to the side with me, into the woods where we can talk in privacy.

Marvel is nonplussed. "Uhh, if you're looking for a woodsy makeout session, I think you meant to pick the guy next to me."

I do not condescend to respond to that. Instead, I forge on with the not-makeout-session reason I hauled him over here. "So why exactly is it you like Finch?"

Marvel is taken aback, but once he gets over it, he looks at me suspiciously. "Are you seriously asking me to confide in you my thoughts about Finch, when you're closer to Finch than you are to me, and there's a good chance you'll spill everything to her the instant this conversation is over?"

He makes this sound so poorly thought out. Which it is. But I'm nosy, and I'm determined to get all the facts of this Finch and Marvel situation. "Marvel, Finch is my friend. But so are you. And right now, you both seem unhappy, so call me a meddler, but I want to try to fix that." Maybe the two of them should get together. Maybe they shouldn't. I don't know which would be better for them. So I'm trying to figure that out.

Marvel's ears perk up. "She's unhappy?" he asks, looking perturbed. "But—did she say why?"

"Mmm, more or less, yes." I hesitate at breaking Finch's confidence, even though I know information exchanges of this sort usually require that I, you know, exchange information of my own. It's not like Finch swore me to secrecy, but I think she assumed I wouldn't go blabbing to someone else, least of all Marvel. "And that's why I need to know why you like Finch, because the 'why' is part of the reason she's unhappy."

He looks thoughtful as he considers it. "How will telling you these things help, exactly?"

"Let's just say...Finch is preoccupied by what you think of her. I'm of the opinion that her reading of your thoughts is inaccurate, and that she really doesn't have anything to be upset about. If I'm right about you, then that should make her less unhappy, I hope."

Marvel still hesitates. "Are you going to tell her everything we talk about?"

"Marvel, I promise I won't tell her anything without your permission. In fact, if we do talk about something that I think she would benefit from hearing, then I would want you to tell her." I can see him cracking. "Come on, pal. Spill."

Marvel exhales loudly. "Okay, then." He drums his fingers against his spear as he gathers his thoughts. "Well. I got interested in her at first because I have this thing for redheads."

Hmm. I was hoping for something more profound than that. "So if, say, Glimmer dyed her hair red—"

"No, no, no, Glimmer and I would never work out. We're friends, but no." He shakes his head. "And the hair is only what turned my head, not what actually made me start liking her."

Promising. "Which was?"

"You know this already, but Finch is really, really smart. Almost scarily smart. And she doesn't even try. Back home, everyone just assumes I'm not interested in school or book-learning, like I'm only interested in working out and fighting. Which I do enjoy. But I also just as much enjoy things that are intellectually stimulating."

"Like the history of spears?"

"Well...yes. Actually, did you know the ancient Romans—eh, never mind that. Anyway, my friends in One always thought I preferred pretty girls over smart girls, and you know, pretty girls have their merits, but if they don't have much brains, it's...it doesn't last long. I get bored if they can't keep up with the conversation. But I never get bored with Finch. She's not chatty, true, but when she does talk, it's always something interesting or informative or surprising. She makes me think. She makes me want to learn more from her. And I like that."

Wow. If I were Finch, I'd be extremely flattered. But she said that Marvel already told her she says interesting things, and that wasn't enough for her, apparently. So for her sake (and my own curiosity), I prod a little more. "But do you also think Finch is...cute? Or pretty?"

Marvel purses his lips. "This is starting to feel like a conversation I ought to be having with Cato."

"Have you talked with him about this yet?"

"I haven't talked to anyone about Finch, really. Except you, right now." He scratches his head. "I will admit that Finch isn't conventionally pretty. But she has a...striking face. You know what I mean? She's really good at making you forget she's there, but when you really, really look at her, it's hard to look away."

I don't quite feel this pull towards Finch's face that Marvel evidently feels, but we're talking about his feelings here, not mine. And I do get what he means, about her face being striking. Her features are rather narrow and sharp, like a fox, and her face has an almost mystical quality to it. Like Marvel said, sometimes it's hard to see Finch's face, because she's so low-key. But once you see it, it's hard to forget.

All in all, I see nothing wrong with anything Marvel said, and I really think it would behoove Finch to hear him elaborate on his opinion of her. To me, it looks like Marvel's crush on her occurred via a series of steps: first her hair, then her intelligence, then pretty much everything else.

I could get behind this pairing.

I'm about to tell him that he should say everything he just told me to her, when it occurs to me that I don't know for sure if Finch likes him back. She doesn't seem repulsed by him or his attentions, but I'm not sure if his feelings are reciprocated. Like I told Marvel, he's my friend too, and I don't want to encourage him to bare his heart to Finch, only to have it broken. More investigation is required.

Ember Abernathy: Private Eye-cum-Matchmaker.

"I need to talk to Finch," I begin, and I spot the alarm on his face. "Hey, I promised I wouldn't tell her anything. And I won't. I just need to find out for sure how she feels about you."

Marvel's face lights up, and he clears his throat. "Uh, any ideas what those feelings may be?"

"Not for certain," I admit. "That's why I need to talk to her."

"Will you let me know?"

I think over it before nodding. "If she doesn't mind me telling you either way, sure." But if things work out, maybe I can get her to tell Marvel herself, just as I'm hoping to get Marvel himself to tell her his feelings. I'm going to end up orchestrating their whole conversation at this point. Finch, say this. Marvel, say that. Finch, reply with this.

Marvel scuffs his shoe on the ground. "Do you think it's possible she might like me back? Maybe not today, but...would it be possible?"

It's jarring to see Marvel, who's usually brimming with confidence, so unsure himself. Maybe he and Finch have more in common than I thought. I sigh dramatically and clasp my hands together, as if swooning. "Oh, Marvel. You're so funny and kind and thoughtful and cute, but there's nooooo way I could ever like you." I drop my arms. "You'll be fine."

He looks hesitantly pleased, like he's cautious of being optimistic but still can't help hoping for the best. Then he jerks his head as he stares the other way. "Crap. Where's the pack?"

Whoops. We've been so engrossed in our conversation that we've stopped walking and have been standing in the same place for the last however many minutes. After exchanging a quick glance, we take off, following the group's tracks. It doesn't take long for us to catch up, sweaty and out of breath. Marvel resumes his place (my place) next to Cato, while I quickly check on Ced, whom I've been neglecting today while preoccupied with my matchmaking endeavors. Once I make sure he's fine, I backtrack to seek out Finch.

As I part ways, Marvel calls after me, "Great makeout session!"

Recalling his comment when I first dragged him away for our conversation, I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I sarcastically blow him a kiss before turning my back on him and searching for his favorite redhead. That is, if I can corner her and stop her from pulling her trademark disappearing act.

It doesn't bother him when Ember hooks her arm with Marvel's and hauls him away into the forest.

It doesn't bother him when Marvel makes that comment about a makeout session, because it's Marvel. He makes stupid comments like that all the time.

It doesn't even bother him when she blows a kiss back at Marvel, because the two of them have the sort of dynamic where things like that don't mean a thing.

But it does bother Cato when shortly after Ember leaves for another part of the pack, Marvel starts, for lack of a better word, glowing. He also starts to blab away, his enthusiasm bubbling over, and the more he talks, the heavier Cato's gut feels. And despite his attempts otherwise, the redder his vision.

"Isn't she great?" Marvel queries, a dreamy expression on his face. "I wasn't sure what Ember wanted in the woods back there, but I'm very glad she made me go out there with her. I think things are starting to fall in place now."

Cato is confused by Marvel's words—and put on edge. "What are you talking about?"

Marvel slings an arm around Cato's shoulders, grinning like an idiot. "You know, I was starting to give up on all hope she might like me back. But Ember has assured me that isn't the case."

What?

"Ember said I'm funny and kind and thoughtful and cute. She's gotta like me back, right?"

What?

"It's just that Ember said she was unhappy, but not because she doesn't like that I like her, but—well, it had something to do with why she thought I like her, apparently. So I told Ember why, and she seemed pretty satisfied. I told her—"

"Marvel, go watch the rear."

The other boy stops mid-sentence. "Well, if you didn't want to hear it, you could've just said so," Marvel huffs, before departing for the back.

Cato doesn't watch him go. His head is too busy swimming with various iterations of What the fuck?

Since when did Marvel like Ember? And since when did Ember apparently like him back? There is a pang in his chest as he is flooded with imaginings of the guy who's the closest thing he has to a best friend sneaking around behind his back with the girl whose very smile does strange things to his heart. There is searing heat from his anger, biting cold from his hurt, and pervasive numbness from his realization that everything he's done—returned to save the pack, rescued her brother from burning to death, sat and talked with her every time she's looked anything less than happy—has amounted to...this. That he's been played. That the two of them have probably been laughing these last few days, weeks even, at how gullible and stupid he is for thinking he could ever win over Ember Abernathy.

An errant thought flies into his head. Monsters never get the girl in the end. Not knowing where it came from, he tries to shake it out, but it sticks stubbornly.

His mind runs rampant with memories of anything and everything that has ever involved both Ember and Marvel at the same time. He can go as far back as the Tribute Center, when the world had still been an entirely different place, with a whole different set of rules. And as a rule, it's a horrible idea to befriend your fellow tributes, even if they're in the Career pack with you. But Cato and Marvel had hit it off straight away, way better than Cato has ever gotten along with anyone from back home. One evening, the two of them had gone down to the Training Center for some extra practice, and conversation between them had steered toward the topic of girls. And Cato, against his better judgment, had decided it wasn't such a big deal to tell Marvel about Ember Abernathy. One of them was going to be dead in several weeks anyway, so it wasn't like Cato was going to be too concerned about the other boy spilling his secrets.

But now, Cato wonders if the whole time Marvel had been listening, the boy from One had been contemplating his own feelings about the Girl on Fire.

She's pretty hot. And not just because of the fire. Those had been Marvel's exact words about Ember, as the two of them had lain in wait for the Peacekeepers following them in the arena. Cato had thought that Marvel's insistence on bringing up the subject of Ember had been inappropriate for the moment but had quickly been distracted by more important things, like the Capitol goons bent on either killing or kidnapping them all. Had Marvel tried to start a conversation about it because he'd wanted to gauge Cato's own interest as competition?

And don't even get him started on all the times that Ember and Marvel have gone hunting together. Granted, it's never the two of them alone who go out, because Cedric and Clove usually hunt as well. But Cato knows for a fact that the four of them rarely stick together as one group, and more than once Ember and Marvel have parted ways from the other two. So they've definitely been alone before.

Then there was how in the days after the fire-bombs, while Cato had been recuperating, Marvel and Thresh had assumed his duties. Cato had been far from invalid, but it had taken him time to return to full-strength, and in that time, Ember had consulted as frequently with his temporary substitutes as she'd used to with Cato. Plenty of time for Marvel to talk to Ember. Plenty of opportunity for him to take advantage of the not-so-reconciled rift between her and Cato—despite everything Ember said about putting it behind them—that resulted from Cato's departure.

Now this. Ember seeking out not Cato but Marvel, dragging Marvel with her for privacy in the woods, returning to the pack all flushed and mussed and red-faced with Marvel, blowing kisses at Marvel in answer to his comment about making out.

Cato senses someone staring at him, and he turns his head sharply to see Cedric watching him with no little wariness. "What?" Cato growls.

"You look angry."

"And?"

"Do you want—"

"No."

"Okay." Cedric wisely returns his attention to his GPS.

Cato stews in silence for the rest of that day's march, trying and failing not to think about what Ember and Marvel's woodsy rendezvouses may have involved. As he stews, he realizes that the majority of his anger is directed not toward Ember. He can't force her to like him back, and he wanted her to pick him of her own volition. If everything he's done these last few weeks has been insufficient to sway or woo her, well, he has no idea what more he can do. He'd been hopeful that her warm, open countenance toward him meant that there was promise in their future, but obviously it's just been his wishful thinking again. He can't be mad at Ember for rejecting him.

No, it's Marvel he's pissed at, because Marvel very clearly knew how Cato felt about her, but it seems he didn't give a fuck about any of that before going after her. Apparently, they aren't as good friends as Cato thought.

When they stop to make camp, Marvel beelines over to Ember, and Cato sees red. As he seethes and watches them with their heads bent toward each other, whispering, Vidal approaches Cato, starts to ask a question, realizes something is very wrong, and quickly retreats. Cato barely notices the boy from Ten come and go.

Ember heads in Finch's direction, and Marvel struts toward Cato, grinning like an idiot. "So have you stopped being so pissed off for no reason yet?"

Cato thinks there might be a vein throbbing in his forehead. He looks away. "I don't know, what have you and Ember been up to all day?"

Because Cato has turned away, he misses the understanding dawning upon Marvel's face as the other boy realizes what has been going through Cato's head all day. He also misses the moment that Marvel smirks as he makes the unfortunate decision to have a bit of fun by exacerbating the misunderstanding for a few more minutes. "Oh, you know, the usual. Making out in the woods, taking off each other's shirts, feeling up her—"

Fuck it.

Cato slams his fist in Marvel's face.

A friendly reminder that Cato still has a nasty temper, and Marvel can be kind of a dick sometimes. :D

The oneshot that I wrote for the latest winner, justsurvivesomehow, is online! It's called "So Says the Fox," and the prompt was for Finch to be upset about something and go into the woods alone, for Marvel and Cato to save her from a mutt (or some other creature), and for Marvel and Cato to be bromantic. Very fluffy.

As mentioned previously, now that this latest oneshot contest is concluded and published, I'm going to open up yet another one! Let's try to hit a total of 81 reviews this time? Otherwise, the rules are the same: each review between now and when I next update counts as one contest entry, so the more you review, the higher your chances. ;) Shortly before I post the next chapter, I'll randomly select one of my reviewers, who can then give me a oneshot prompt of their choosing—almost anything you could possibly want, very limited rules.

Warning: also mentioned previously, I'm now studying abroad, and I'm swamped with work, so I can't say with certainty when I'll next update Sweetest Mockery or when I'll be able to publish the next oneshot. Reviews will, of course, encourage me to work on fanfiction. *indiscreet hinting*

Thanks for reading, and please review!