Did you guys see who they cast as Finnick?! Sam Claflin. Look up imhappyplz on Deviantart and you will see my face when I found out.
Anyone seen the fourth Pirates movie? He's Phillip - aka the guy who fell in love with the mermaid. ...Anyone else seeing the humor there...? Well, anyway, posting this chapter today in honor of the casting! And, just so you know, this chapter has absolutely nothing to do with Finnick :D He's mentioned like...once.

College has officially started. And, since they say everyone will say this once in their first week, imma just gonna say it now. What the hell have I gotten myself into x-x I love history, but I can tell my history class is gonna be a bitch. Love my TCOM101 professor - Dr. Mike. He funny :D

There's a guy on campus. No one knows who he is. He shows up every Friday, running and riding around on a scooter, wearing a solid blue onesy with goggles, a cape, a helmet, and shirt/shorts - shouting "HAPPY FRIDAY!" ...then disappears. ... And on Fridays, a group lingers around the Scramble Light and gives out FREE HUGS!

And today during Math class, I got bored and drew Nightwing finger stripes on my hand. I was listening to the professor, I promise.

"Wait."

"Don't be scared."

"It's gonna hurt…"

"You'll be fine."

"Maybe we should wait…"

I cuff him over the head. "Just sit still so you can get it over with."

"But, but…"

I glance at Ursa who has an amused look on her face, her arms folded across her chest, and a pair scissors grasped tightly in one hand. Ronan's been in the surgery cast for several weeks now and it's coming off this morning. She just woke us up for it.

"Ronan, you've got to suck it up. You were going to be a tribute in the Hunger Games. You can handle a little pain. Now hold your arm out or I'll go get Finnick and Beril and we'll make you."

Ronan gives me a wounded puppy look, the cast tucked securely under his arm. He's been used to coddling his arm for the last month, learning to do things one-handed and all but snarling at anyone who tried to touch his right arm. Well, everyone except me and Ursa. He's afraid it's going to hurt when they cut the cast off, I think. He's been living in the infirmary this whole time and I'm the one visiting his room nowadays.

"That won't be necessary," Ursa says, bringing me back to the matter at hand. Literally. "Ronan's going to behave and let me do my job or I'm going to start telling you about some embarrassing injuries he got when he was younger. Like the one on the swinging bars…"

Ronan's eyes widen at the reminder of her incredible memory. "You wouldn't."

"I will."

Ronan grumbles something I can't make out, throwing her a mutinous look, but slowly pulls his arm out and holds it up. Ursa smiles, unfolds her arms, and carefully starts to snip away at the cast, cutting and peeling away layers of fabric, gauze, and stuff I can't even name and tosses them into the trash by the bed. The more she removes, the more Ronan trembles. She kicks his leg and tells him to sit still and for a moment, he is, then she starts working and the tiny shakes resume. His remaining hand which is resting between us, holds onto my hand for dear life, squeezing the feeling out of it, but he's not in pain, I can tell. He's just…

Scared.

I realize that when he closes his eyes and looks away from both of us and his arm and the trash can. Ursa, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, continues to snip away at the wrappings hiding his arm from the world. When the last of the cast has fallen away and she is peeling a layer of gauze stained with dry blood from the stump of his arm, he goes still and I realize I've been holding my breath. Suddenly I, too, am unable to look. I stare at my knees intently.

"Well, it's recovering nicely. Those stitches should fall out in a few days, now. Once they're out, you can resume your normal activities. I'll be right back with some alcohol wipes."

She leaves and neither of us move. I have to be brave for him. I'm the victor; I'm the one who's survived hell. Slowly, I look up at the stump that is now his arm, still held aloft. I swallow at the sight of the two horrid rows of thick black stitches holding the flesh closed to heal. My stomach flips and tears well up. I blink them away quickly and take a deep breath of air.

"Ronan?"

I want throw up. I want to cry.

"Ronan."

I have to be brave.

"Ronan, you have to look."

"N-no!" he says. "N-no, I…I…d-don't…I can't…I…I w-won't…"

I remove my hand from his and carefully place it on his right forearm, a few inches from the end.

"How bad is it?"

"Well, Ronan, I don't know how to say this, but it appears you're missing a hand."

Ronan exhales something that sounds like a laugh and his head turns forward, but his eyes are clamped shut. "Really? I hadn't noticed. …I can still feel it, sort of. Sense it. If I don't look, I can pretend it's still there. Please, just let me feel normal for a few more moments."

I reach up and gently touch his cheek just under his eyes. "Ronan," I murmur. "Just remember, you will always have me." Be strong, be strong.

Ronan takes a deep, shuddering breath then slowly opens his eyes. I feel his body tense next to mine as he stares at the horrid stump that is the end of his right arm. Then he begins to shake, his breaths coming in quick gasps. He looks at me, tears, pain, and fear so clear in his green eyes that tears begin to well up in mine as well. "It's gone," he croaks,. "It's gone…"

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"It's gone, it's gone!" he repeats, his voice growing slightly more frantic.

His stump-ended arm is shaking when he throws his good one around me, crushing me close and I hold him as he trembles and cries. He holds my lower back with his right forearm, carefully keeping the end off my body. I run my hands through his hair, up and down his back, murmuring to him while tears trickle down my own cheeks.

"It's not there."

"I know."

"My hand…it's just…"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"You've still got one good hand, Flit." Ursa inturrupts in her no-nonsense voice, walking towards the bed with a sling and wrap and alcohol wipes. "Don't go moanin' over the one that's gone, get up and get used to your new life. You're nothing but deadweight if you don't. Dylan doesn't want a deadweight, does she?"

"Of course I want him, but, Ronan...I can't just–"

"There, you hear her?" Ursa stands over us. "Don't you dare expect her to just carry you along because you've lost your hand. It's your right hand, boy, and if memory serves, you're primarily left-handed. It's not the end of the world. You've fallen, now get off your ass and get back into the fight."

"I can't," Ronan says brokenly. "Don't you get it? I fight with both hands. I can't fight with just one."

"Well if fighting means that much to you then you'd better learn how!" Ursa swats his arm. "Arco and Zaire did."

"They got those fake things."

"So? You think they're just like normal body parts? No, they had to adapt, too. Get off your ass, boy. …I mean it. Stop snuggling and stand up."

Ronan looks down at me and I lean away, dropping my arms giving him a 'you better do as she says'look. He lets go of me and stands up. Ursa grabs his arm, though gently, and holds it right up to his face. "Take a good look at it, boy. That's what you're living with for the rest of your life. Best get that through your head right now and then get on with it! I'm serious, look at it."

Ronan does, and struggles to swallow for a moment. His left hand is clenched into a shaking fist. She lets go of his arm and as he starts to hold it to his chest protectively like he always does, she lashes out to strike him in the face. He brings the arm back up reflexively, blocking her hit with his forearm and his hand comes up to punch her in the face, only to be caught by her other hand. It all happens so fast I almost missed it. They remain that way for a moment, poised to fight, then Ursa smiles and lowers her arms.

Ursa smiles, "See? You're not helpless." She says as he stares at his arm in shock. "No, things won't be the same as before, but you'll learn. Now, put on your big boy pants and hold out your arm so I can wrap it, I've got a fresh sling, and then I'll get you some pain medicine because I imagine that process hurt quite a bit."

He nods and holds out his arm to her, noticeably calmer than before. Sometimes you really do just need to be slapped, or almost slapped, to get some sense into you. I couldn't have done that for him and I'm glad we have people like Ursa around to keep our heads on straight. A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch her carefully clean the dried blood and Posiedon-knows-what-else from his arm. He winces when she dabs around the stitches but doesn't complain beyond a small hiss. She carefully wraps his wrist with a thin bandage and slips his arm through the new sling.

"Go easy on it, today. You don't have to stay here but remember, if it starts bleeding, get your butt back here immediately," Ursa says.

"Yes, ma'am."

Ursa looks at me. "If he starts giving you hell, you be sure and let me know. I'll straighten him out for you. You're too easy on him."

"No, she's really not," Ronan says.

Ursa just grunts, giving him a doubtful look, then shuffles off towards her office. Ronan stands there, taking a few deep breaths, then slides his arm out of the sling, wearing it near his shoulder like a sheath.

"Just in case I need it." He tells me.

I smile. "So, what do you want to do today? Now that you're not confined to the room…"

Ronan scrunches his mount up, thinking. "Maybe…we could go see my parents?"

"Uh, Ronan…they don't like me."

"They don't really know you. And, from what you told me, you were all stressed to the max when you met and you've only seen each other to argue over me. How about a do-over? Meet them properly and everything."

"Um…I don't know if that's a good—"

"It would really mean a lot to me."

"But—"

"Pleeeaaassseeee?" He gives me that damned puppy look.

"Okay, fine. Fine." I stand up. "Why don't you try to get into a shirt that's not an infirmary one and I'll get something that's not, you know, hanging off my shoulders." I shrug back into the baggy shirt I slept in.

"Um…"

"I'll meet you in your room and help you into it." I promise, kissing his cheek. We walk to the dorms together, his arm around my shoulders. When we reach the fork between the trainer and student dorms he kisses me right out in the open then heads for his room, which hasn't been used since his injury.

To heck with secrecy, the only ones who don't know about us now are the new recruits. It's kind of blown my supposed relationship with Finnick out the window, but I don't really care right now.

In my room, I throw on a nice pair of capris and a sleeveless light blue tunic and a pair of tan shin-high boots, since I know the roads of Gull Cove are mostly unpaved and uneven. I put on a necklace and tuck a holster around my waist and one near my bra under the shirt. Cove can be a bit dodgy, Ronan says, and with what I'm wearing, I look like I have money to spare. A rich girl and a wounded boy could be considered easy pickings. I'm not going to get mugged.

Damn, I can't believe I'm doing this. I've spent the last month trying to avoid them.

I take a few minutes to give Nixie some much-needed attention, grab my satchel, then head out into the hallway. As I'm heading into the student dorms, a chorus of giggles makes me lift my head up and groan quietly.

It's group of four Pre-Finals girls, several of them are up this year, that like to hang out together, plus a guy they added to the group recently. I swear, one day all of them will be Hooks. Hooks are women who generally hang out in the shadier parts of towns and can be acquired for the night for money. These four girls like to push the dress code to its limit. As for the guy, well, there's not much to say about him, except he has hair so blonde it's practically white and violates the segregation rules every damn day.

This is the group that really got the rumors about Fin and me going two years ago. My open relationship with Ronan has given them something to really talk about besides whether or not Finnick and I have one the deed and how many times. …Of course, they're still talking about that, but now they've replaced Fin with Ron in those talks. And here I am, heading straight for the boy's dorms.

I walk with my head high, pretending I don't even notice, until I get close enough to see that three of them are pushing the dress code. Good, I need to vent.

"You, you and you," I bark. "Go put some actual clothes on or you'll spend the next few weeks training completely naked. And if I ever see any of you wearing something like that again, you'll all train the same way. Is that understood?"

They look flabbergasted for a moment, then angry. If I wasn't a trainer and a victor, I have no doubt that I'd be in for it. "Is that understood?" I snap.

"Yes, ma'am," they say.

"Good. Your dorm is that way." I point. "Get going."

I wait until the three girls head back the way they came, then glare at the remaining girl and the boy. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Move!" I walk away feeling a little calmer.

When I get to Ronan's room I find him struggling to get his shirt on. I help him feed his arm through the sleeve of the gray shirt he selected but stand back so he can adjust it himself. His brow furrows in concentration as he tries to use one hand to pull the hem down and smooth the wrinkles, then pull the sling on. Soon he'll learn to do it all on his own, but until then, I'll help him. He's stood by me for months, been my rock, and now it's my turn. He turns and spreads his arms out.

"Well?"

"Good job. You ready?"

He nods. "You?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Come on," he chuckles. "It's going to take us a few hours to walk there."

"No, we'll take a fare car."

"We can't take it the whole way. The road gets bad about a mile before Cove. Sera told me the car wouldn't go any further. Something about the tires getting popped."

"Well, one mile is better than twenty."

"Good point."

What would've taken us three or four hours on foot, not counting the breaks we'd need to take for him, took just under an hour in the fare car. I tell the driver to be back here around seven and to wait for us in case we're late, promising to pay him extra for it. On the way, he'd asked what had happened to Ronan and we'd told him and why were going to the Cove now.

"This money ain't needed for him, is it?" The driver asked, not taking the money I'd held out to pay him with.

"No," I say. "I have enough."

"Alright, then," he took the money. "I'll be back at seven."

"Thank you, sir."

He nods. "Miss."

The mile walk into Gull Cove does not take very long, and I can smell the place before I see it. It isn't as bad as the docks could be on a hot day or like District 10, but it has a definite stink to it. The sky is clear and the sun is warm, but below them, the buildings are dingy. It reminds me of District 12 and I imagine that, if I look for it, the worst part of town looks like the worst part of 12. I can't imagine growing up here and I do not envy those who did.

Ronan sighs. "Home sweet home," he says somewhat sarcastically then smiles at me. "Don't worry, I could never live here again. My home is where you are."

I kiss his cheek. "Same. Come on, let's do this."

I let Ronan lead me through the town he grew up in. He navigates the streets with the familiar ease I have in Crest. He points out stores he liked to look in, places he used to play or meet friends, or places where friends live or lived, but he doesn't want to go near them.

"Why?"

"I don't want them to see." He mumbles. And I notice he's hiding his arm in the sling.

"Okay," I say and we head away. We end up in a slightly nicer place in town. He says it's not wear the best live, more like something in the middle. The house Ronan grew up in has three bedrooms a kitchen a living room, a cellar, and an open room that they use for the workshop.

"Most homes only have two bedrooms if they're lucky and then a slightly bigger room for a kitchen, living room, or whatever. We were able to add on another room when Sera was born because we make decent money."

I stare at the house, stunned. It's only a fraction of the size the home I grew up in…and it's considered large for Gull Cove? And here I thought everyone in District 4 was well off. Maybe this is one reason why so many children are willing to go to the arena.

I can hear the sound of a saw running from the garage-like room that must be Adrion's workshop.

"Dad and Sera are probably working," he says, following my gaze. "Come on, meet my family."

"Are you sure I'm dressed alright?" I ask nervously.

"You look beautiful."

"Is it too much, though? I mean…people are staring…" I glance around. He looks around, making eye contact with the small groups of people who've stopped to look at the young couple who are obviously from other parts with our nice clothes.

"Don't mind them," he says. "Come on." He loops his good arm around my shoulders and leads me towards the workshop. The sound of the saw stops for a moment, Adrion barks what sounds like an order at someone, probably Sera, then the saw picks back up. We stop in the doorway and wait to be noticed and I look around the workshop.

It's about the size of my room, four windows and the main door open to let in fresh air and the door that must lead into the house is closed. Shelves and counters full of tools line the back wall, finished products sit on the floor or on shelves near the front. The rest of the room seems to be where the work is done. Two half-finished chairs sit off to the side. In the middle of the room, Sera and Adrion are kneeling next to a nearly finished table, wearing work clothes. Adrion is busy straightening the edges with the tool that sounds like a saw and Sera, her short red hair pinned back from her face, is carving designs into the sides of the table.

Adrion turns the tool off and wipes sweat from his forehead, pushing the goggles from his face. "How's it coming?"

"Remind me to never try to do fish scales this small again," she grumbles.

He chuckles. "Hang in there."

"Why can't you have smaller hands?" Sera whines.

"Oh stop complaining and get back to it."

Sera sticks her tongue out at him. "You stopped working first."

"It's a miracle you two get anything done with the way you bicker," Ronan says loudly. His father and sister start in surprise and Sera turns.

"Ronny!" she gasps.

"Ronny?" I grin at him. Ronan makes a face.

"Hey, sissy."

Sera jumps up and runs towards him, arms wide. I duck out from under his arm so he can hug her. Adrion calls through the door for Bree then walks over to his son. I start to back away, but Ronan lets go of Sera and puts his hand on my shoulder to stop me. He gives me an encouraging smile and pulls me back to his side. Sera blinks up at me in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" Adrion asks before Sera can.

"Ronan!" Bree practically flies into the workshop and throws her arms around her son's shoulders.

Ronan kisses his mother on the forehead. "Hey, Momma."

"What are you doing here?" Adrion repeats.

"Mom, Dad, I want you to meet Dylan Syle." Ronan says. "She's victor of the 69th Hunger Games, one of my trainers, and she's my girlfriend. We've been friends for over a year and together for just a few months less. We didn't want a lot of people knowing and that's why I never told you."

I admire his ease. I swallow and smile at them, trying to conceal my nervousness behind a confident grin, and salute, placing one fist over my heart and the other behind my back. It symbolizes respect and loyalty (or at least compliance) to another. I can see this honestly surprises them.

"Hello," I say. "Nice to meet you."

Their expressions are priceless, really. The whole time they've known me, they've only seen my mean side, the victor. They've never met Dylan.

"What is this?" Adrion demands.

I cock my head to one side, trying to look innocently confused.

"Do you have multiple personalities or something?" Sera asks, characteristically blunt.

Well, so much for that, then. I frown at Ronan. "There, see? I told you this wasn't a good idea. I'll just go down to the cove with the birds where at least I'll be welcome—" I turn to leave, but Ronan grabs my shoulder again.

"Oh no you don't, get back over here. You are not going off on your own around here."

I try, halfheartedly, to jerk my arm free. But I'm glad to see his protectiveness has resurfaced. "I can handle myself."

Ronan looks at me flatly, then turns to his family. "Momma, Dad, I love you, but if she goes, I'm going too."

"No one said either of you had to go," Bree says placidly.

"I'm just telling you right now." Ronan says. "We came here so you could get to know her, because if you're going to be a part of my life, you're going to have to get used to her. She's really not that bad when she's not pissed off at you."

"'Not that bad?' Thaaaaannnks," I mutter.

"So, can we come in?" Ronan asks.

Bree and Adrion exchange a long look while Sera blinks at me a few times, then looks down at my hands.

"Hey, your hands are small."

"No they're not," I say defensively.

"They're smaller than Dad's." she says and tosses the carving knife at me. I reach up and catch it reflexively, twirling it between my fingers. Recalling the conversation we walked in on, I realize where this is going. And if this is going to get me into Sera's good graces then I'll bite.

"They have to be," I say. "Big hands, no matter how dexterous, are better for swords and daggers than knives if they want to do anything besides throw them. Ronan's hands are pretty slim and he's ambidextrous, that's why he can work with dual swords. Er, I mean, that's why he could." I glance up at him apologetically.

"But anyway, Sera, I saw how you were holding the knife. If you want to carve something that small, you need to hold it differently. Here, let me show you." I walk past them into the shop and kneel down by the table where she was just working. The designs really are tiny, I can see why she was complaining, though why they'd bother with scales on fish that small, even just the wavy line kind that I see, is beyond me. No one around here could be paying them enough.

Showing her how to hold it, I carefully slice two tiny waves into the wood, finishing off that fish. "There, look."

Sera kneels beside me and studies my handiwork. "Is your Dad a carpenter?"

"No, a fisherman." I say. "And Mom's a seamstress." But what I don't mention is that Ronan and I have actually done a few carving projects together. The first time, something simple: a cog. A better one than the one I made in the arena. Then a fish and a cat.

"You're good."

"It was a hobby of mine," I say, "When I was growing up in the training complex, but never really anything this small. Why bother?"

"Well, people around here, they don't get the nice fancy things like you have in your house." Sera says with a hint of bitterness. "They're too expensive. So, we try to make the things we sell as nice as possible so they don't always have to settle for less."

I swallow back the cutting retort I feel rising up and turn back to the wood and start carving scales onto the next fish. "I grew up in Crest," I finally say quietly. "In a house that has been passed down through the family since it was built at the beginning of District 4, so has most of the furniture in it." I pick out a bit of wood wedged in there with my fingertips and brush it away, going back to carving. "We only have it because, in those days, my family was rich. That money was long gone by the time I was born. I've had to settle for less many times throughout my life. Mom didn't always have work; she mostly took care of us kids. Dad worked and so did Luke, once he was old enough. I did, too, until I was ten, but I made only a fraction of what this table costs in a week. And then after the Trials when I worked full-time, we had two more mouths to feed. We always had enough to get by, but no more."

I inspect the fish to make sure the scales look right. Satisfied, I move onto the next one. "That fancy house? I only have it because I was a victor, remember? I was just as shocked as you were when I saw it for the first time and realized that it was going to be my home. But think of what I had to do to get it. Killed kids who didn't deserve it, lost two people I held dear…had to kill someone who had become my friend…" I stop carving. "I'm Dylan, nice to meet you, Sera."

"Nice to meet you, too," she says. "You're a good carver."

I smile.

"Let me see that," Adrion rumbles behind us. I tense for a moment, not having noticed his approach, and relax, moving backwards so he can inspect my handiwork. I watch his eyes, the same exact shade of Ronan's, flick across the wood, and he slowly nods. "Not bad. For an amateur."

Was that a compliment? I glance at Ronan who gives me a thumbs up and nods behind his mother's back.

Inside the house, we sit around a table that Ronan says was made by his great, great, great grandfather in the days before the rebellion. Something this old and this beautiful, if they tried to sell it somewhere richer, would bring them enough money for at least year of no work. But they won't get rid of it, not for anything. It is too precious to them to be worth the money they would receive.

We came just at the right time, Bree had almost finished lunch for Adrion and Sera and it didn't take her long to make something up for Ronan and me. It's nothing fancy, just fried salmon, but she's added so many spices and flavoring to it that it actually tastes pretty darn good. I make sure to tell her this and it earns me a smile.

"Are you really here just for this?" Adrion asks skeptically.

"Yes," I say.

"It was my idea," Ronan says. "She was ready to just avoid you."

"Hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. And if you can't join 'em, run the hell away." I say. "That's what they taught us."

"That's for the arena, gill-brain." Ronan says fondly, nudging me with his shoulder. I shrug.

"So he made you come?" Adrion asks.

"No," I say. "If I didn't want to come, he wouldn't have been able to get me out of the room. Nor would I have paid for the ride here."

"You seem to like flaunting your money." Sera says.

"I don't like to. I almost never use my money, anyway." I say. "Almost everything I need I can get at the training center and the only other person I've had to really spend money on is Finnick, and that's only because he gives all his money to my parents to help take care of Annie, even though she has her own winnings."

"So you've got all this money just…sitting there?" Bree asks. "Waiting?"

"Pretty much. Of course, a nice hunk of it was spent recently."

"Why don't you put the money to good use?" Bree asks.

"Well, it depends on what you consider 'good use' Mrs. Flit. I consider saving Ronan's life good use…but if you don't…"

"Well, obviously I think that's good, but I meant on a larger scale. You've seen this place. You've seen our house and we live better than most. Some people spend the nights in abandoned houses because they don't have their own. Some of those things can't even be considered houses."

"Believe it or not, this place isn't as bad as District 11. If you want to see a dump, you should go there."

"You can't help them, but you can help us."

"What would you have me do? Walk out into the open and shout 'Hey everyone! Free money!'? Because let me tell you, that won't go down as well as you hope. I can fight, I can kill, but I can't fight off a mob like the one that will cause."

"You could give it to people like the apothecary or the baker. If they had more money, they could sell for less."

"Or they could use the money to make themselves better off." I say. "I can't help everyone."

"But if all the victors donated…"

"We could help Cove, maybe, but what about the other places?" I shake my head. "Besides, victor funding is what keeps the training center going. They probably use some of my money, too, now that I think about it. Besides, some of the victors don't care enough to even consider something like this. They only care about themselves, their families if they're still around, the other victors, and training new tributes."

"But why?" Bree asks. "If you all tried, you could make things better. If all the victors in all the districts tried…Maybe things could be…could be…"

"And at the end of the day, we still have to ship kids off to the arena." I shrug. "We're not heroes. We're victors. It's not our job to save anyone but ourselves."

"But you saved my son." Bree said. "And…I haven't thanked you for that yet."

"No, you haven't." I say matter-of-factly and take another bite of the fish. "But you didn't have to, I could tell. This is really good, by the way." Swallowing, I add, "Much better than some of the stuff they serve in the cafeteria."

After lunch, we remain seated around the table. They don't have a living room, and I feel horrible after asking if we could go in there, like some spoilt rich kid. I've always known Gull Cove existed, and that it was supposed to be a dump, but actually being here and seeing it, I understand why our trainees from Gull Cove are so determined to win money for their families. Had I been raised here, nothing would've stopped me from getting us out. But Ronan's family chooses to remain here. I know Adrion's work helps people, but why don't they think about themselves for a change? Allies can help you, but in the end, only you can win the Game for yourself.

"So, since this is supposed to be a do-over and everything, what do you want to know?" I ask.

"How old are you?" Sera blurts.

"Twenty, I'll be twenty-one in a few months."

"Oldie."

"Shorty."

She blew a raspberry at me.

"What's yourfamily like?"

"Well, erm…hardly a family anymore. I've had four brothers and sisters. My older sister, Rilee, died in the arena when I was five, or so; my older brother is alive and married, but we don't exactly get along; and my younger brother and sister die—" I stop abruptly, take a deep breath, and exhale slowly. I can't lie this time. I can't. "They were murdered…by the Capitol…because I won the Hunger Games."

Bree gasps, Sera's mouth falls open, and even Adrion sucks in a sharp breath.

"Why?" Bree asks. "Why would anyone, even the Capitol—"

"Do you remember my Games?"

"Not like you do, I'm sure."

"They made us all have allies."

"Yes."

"My ally, Garret Kollin." It's been nearly three and a half years, but still, saying his name brings his adorable boyish face to mind and my heart hurts. "When he died, I should have, too. Pisces should have killed me, or should have let Fleece kill me. But he spared my life because I saved his a long time ago…and because we were friends. But because that happened, I basically ruined a lot of the plans they had. So they punished me by hurting those I love. That's how the Capitol operates. You defy them, they kill someone you love."

"And that's why you never wanted anyone to know about my son." Adrion says, finally understanding.

I nod.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable. I can tell that they want to say something but no one has any idea what to. But it's alright—I want them to know me, but I don't expect them to understand everything.

"Should we go on to a happier subject?" I ask.

"Please," Sera says. "Um…lemmie think…oh! How did you guys meet?"

"Well, just over a year ago, I was asked to train his group how to survive against a long-distance combatant in a variety of situations. Basically, I had to teach them to survive a fight against someone who will be attacking from afar. We didn't want any repeats of what happened with Rosalinda—the girl from 9 in the 60th Games with a crossbow. I was walking down the line, you know, trying to see what I had to work with, and I remembered him from the reaping."

"I nearly had a heart attack that day," Bree mutters.

Ronan snorts.

"Well, it's a good thing he didn't go." I say. "What happened to Seaborne Kip was…"

I see it again, as if it were on the screen in front of me. The girl from seven flying at him, the axe imbedding itself in his throat…his head flying towards Annie. I shudder and hunch my shoulders.

"Horrific, terrible, and gory." Sera supplies.

"Your straightforwardness is quite refreshing," I say.

"It is until you live with her." Ronan mutters.

"Well, back to the story. I recognized him from the reaping and said so. Then we went out for training," I shrug. "He was one of the quickest ones to learn my fighting style. Nothing really happened until the next free day, then he found me on the beach and I bought him some ice cream."

"Aww," Sera says. "I can just see it, you two walking down the street munching on ice cream cones. …I want an ice cream." She adds as an afterthought.

"Is there any around here?" I ask. "I can get you one."

"Really?" she asks, eyes wide.

"Yeah, sure. I don't mind, really."

"That's something you can do," Bree says. "Some way to help."

"Get Sera ice cream?"

"There is an ice cream store on the other side of town. It mostly serves the wealthier. We've been there once or twice. But some children around here have never even tasted it."

"I do have money with me," I say, thinking about the smaller street urchins I saw on our way here. "But not enough to buy all of them ice cream. Some other day, though, and I might even bring Annie and Finnick along. Annie loves children."

Bree smiles and I think, finally, I have earned her respect.

"But Sera, if you want an ice cream today, that I can do." I say.

"Woo!" Sera jumps to her feet and runs out the back door, like she was six instead of sixteen.

"I guess that's a yes." I glance at the clock on the wall. "We've got plenty of time."

"You're not going alone," Ronan stands up.

"Of course not, gill-brain." I stand up, stretching my arms over my head, as Sera pokes her head in the window.

"Come on!"

"Hold your seahorses!" I say. She sighs and disappears. "Do you two want to come?"

Adrion glances in the direction of his workshop. "I have work to do."

"The table can wait." Bree says.

"I have a deadline."

"Fine! Go lock yourself up, then!" Bree says loftily and stands up. "I, however, miss the taste of ice cream and am not about to say no if it's being offered."

That's right. You grew up in Sunrise.Bree went from the best place in the district, with the exception of the Village, to the worst. I can understand why she feels such sympathy for the people here, now. I would, too. I wonder what other kinds of things she's missed since coming here.

I feel the unseen eyes on us as we walk through the unkempt streets of Gull Cove—four red-haired people, smiling, two clean and wearing nice clothes, one in a sling, and one with a scarred face, walking along in the dirtiest part of the district. It's like Ronan said: why wouldn't they stare? One toddler, I can't tell if it's a boy or girl, actually hobbles over to us

"E'scuse me, but your heads are on fire."

It was adorable.

Walking becomes a game in itself, leaping over the large cracks and holes scattered across the way. I show off my nimbleness by leaping and twisting among a patch of road with so many cracks and holes that there's no way any wheels could cross it. My feet land on the smallest smooth sections for a moment, then leap off to another, pretending that the cracks were great chasms filled with sharks like I would've as a kid. I land, poised on my toes at the edge of the danger, then laugh and straighten, spinning around and posing triumphantly.

Ronan and Sera laugh, applauding: Sera the normal way, and Ronan by slapping his hand against his upper arm. But neither of them, not even my agile boyfriend, can manage it. Bree doesn't even try.

About halfway there, Adrion simply seems to materialize next to us. One second it's just the four of us, the next he's got his arm around Bree's waist and he's asking, "Can I get mine on one of those crispy things this time?"

Ronan and I walk together, me tucked comfortably under his shoulder. "Do you think they like me?" I whisper.

"Sera does—whatever you said to her seemed to work—and my parents seem to respect you, at least. Though, you really buttered her up with those cooking compliments."

I giggle.

"Hurry up!" Sera cries impatiently and darts ahead of us into the store.

So, we've got two chapters left before someone starts to fuck everything up. Why? Well...there has to be some reason District 4 was one of the first to rebel. :3