Disclaimer: I do not own or claim ownership to any content related to or included in the Hunger Games trilogy by Suzanne Collins. I write this story purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others, with no intent for making money.

Life Through Sea Green Eyes

Chapter Nine

I wake up early the next morning, and spend a glorious hour just watching Annie sleep. At first I feel a bit like a stalker, but honestly, she could die in that arena and I may only have days left with her. I'm pretty sure Mags watched me sleep during my own Games, so I'm in good company.

Annie wakes up when Pompey starts banging on the door, shouting something about Claudia, who I assume is Annie's stylist. I can't remember who the female stylist was during my Games, but I know it wasn't Claudia, because I slept with Claudia last year and she complained about how she had petitioned to become a Hunger Games stylist and was waiting on the response.

"Finnick?" Annie mumbles.

I kiss her forehead. "Morning, sunshine. I'm going to chat with your stylist – get up as slowly as you want, okay?"

Outside Annie's room, Pompey and Claudia are waiting for me. Claudia is extremely tall for a woman, and has waist-length gold hair that is impossibly shiny. "Finnick," she says, smiling when she recognizes me. "I didn't know you were the mentor this year."

"He wasn't originally," Pompey agrees. "But the girl – Annie – is a friend from home."

Claudia gives me a saucy wink. "More than a friend?" she purrs.

"None of your business," I reply smoothly, but I grin to soften the words. Claudia is too smart to fall madly in love with me like most Capitol women, but she definitely still has her eye on me.

We go for breakfast, and Claudia fills me in on everything that's happened since our tryst. Pompey interjects every once and a while, apparently fascinated that we know each other. He seems astonished that I have intimate knowledge of almost everyone Claudia mentions in passing, which leads me to believe that Pompey honestly has no idea what happens to the attractive victors when they win.

Annie eventually emerges, and immediately becomes flustered as Claudia's colourful prep team bursts into the room and begin to peck and claw at her while jabbering excitedly. When Claudia makes no effort to restrain them, I step in.

"If your team makes my tribute cry, you will not like the consequences," I tell Claudia pleasantly.

Claudia pouts at me. "So cold! What happened to our... mutual affection?"

"You're a very attractive woman," I assure her. "And I hold you in the highest regard. But Annie's my friend, and I won't let your team harass her. Understand?"

She doesn't look happy with my tone, but she does turn and tell her team to calm down, which counts as a victory in my books. "I'm not supposed to stick around for the prep part," I tell Annie. "They're just going to make you even prettier so you can wow everyone at the opening ceremonies tonight. I'll be back in a few hours, okay?"

Annie bites her lip and looks down at the three stylists circling her like birds of prey. "I'll try not to lose my sanity before then," she promises, but her eyes twinkle to let me know that she's joking.

I'm so glad to see Annie acting more like her normal self that I kiss her on the cheek. "See you later, Annie." It occurs to me that I'm suddenly kissing and touching her exponentially more than I used to, but hopefully Annie won't notice.

My first stop is the twelfth floor. I can hear the clinking of a bottle through the elevator doors, and when I step out into the common area I see Haymitch standing alone by the window. Sure enough, he's got a half-bottle of liquor in one hand.

"Haymitch," I say.

He turns to me with a sorrowful expression. "I heard about the girl. I'm sorry, kid."

"I haven't given up on Annie just yet," I tell him.

Haymitch laughs caustically. "What can you possibly do? What can any of us do? I've got a good eye for people, pretty-boy, and your girlfriend isn't a killer. You can send her all the weapons you want, but she's never going to be able to use them."

I know this, but hearing him say it makes the reality sink in. "That's why I came here," I insist. "You've been mentoring kids for... what, fifteen years? You must have some tips."

"And how many of those kids have won the Games?" Haymitch snarls.

"None," I allow. "But you've been around. You know how things work." I drop my voice. "Isn't there anyone who can..."

I'm talking about the rebellion, and Haymitch knows it. "No one who could affect the outcome of the Games would do so unless they had a very good reason. And I'm telling you right now that saving Annie Cresta's life is not a good enough reason."

I throw my hands up in the air. "Then what am I supposed to do, Haymitch? Give up and watch her die?"

"You've come to the right place," Haymitch grumbles. "Learn from the master."

"Shut up," I snap. "You're drunk, and I need help. So help me."

Haymitch looks pretty pissed with me, but eventually he says, "Ask Beetee. He might have some ideas."

Beetee is an older victor from District 3 – hangs out mostly with a woman named Wiress. I've never actually talked to him, but I hear he's a genius. "Is he..."

"He's a friend," Haymitch says, which I take to mean that he's part of the rebellion.

"Thanks," I say, and head immediately for the elevator, because for whatever insane reason I trust Haymitch, and he seems to trust Beetee.

I find Beetee in the Victor's Spire, sitting in the cafeteria eating some sort of meat dish. He's accompanied by Wiress, and the two appear to be having a lively debate about something to do with electronics that goes right over my head.

Flipping my leg over the bench, I slide in beside Beetee and offer my hand. As he gives it a bemused shake, I smile and say, "Finnick Odair. Haymitch said that I might enjoy your company."

Beetee gives a nervous laugh. "Did he now? I find that... odd."

"Maybe," says Wiress.

"Are you a friend of Haymitch?" Beetee asks me.

"Yes," I say firmly. "And while I'm perfectly happy to sit here for the next hour engaging in small talk, I think I would rather save both our times by telling you why I'm here."

Beetee and Wiress exchange an interested look. "Please," Beetee says.

"My friend, Annie Cresta, is a tribute this year," I say bluntly. "She's completely non-violent, and doesn't stand a chance in the arena. Nevertheless, I fully intend to get her out of there alive, using any means necessary. I have a large network of very rich women who are very in love with me that I am willing to exploit if necessary. I also have my considerable charms, and devious mind. What do you think?"

Wiress seems intrigued by this scenario that I've presented. "Can she live?" she says. I cock my head to the side, puzzled.

"Does the girl have many survival skills?" Beetee translates.

I consider this. "If it were a water-based arena, sure. But otherwise, not really."

Beetee thinks about this for a long moment, and then nods. "I think we can help you, Mister Odair. But I will need some paper and a pen."

We retire to the District 3 lounge, and Wiress retrieves a large pad of paper from her room that is covered with complex looking equations. "Switches," she says vaguely. Beetee goes into his own room and returns with a portable computer.

"I am going to help you come up with some plans," he says. "First, I need you to calculate how much wealth you currently possess."

"Wealth?"

"Do you not receive gems and tokens from your lady friends?"

"Ah." I fire up the machine, and Beetee shows me how to find out the black market value on each item. I have them all stashed around my room here in the Victor's Spire – there are so many that I barely have room to sleep. "This will take me all afternoon," I predict.

"While you do that, I will see what sort of strategy we can employ that will allow Miss Cresta to survive without the need for violence," Beetee says, and he and Wiress immediately launch into a completely incomprehensible conversation that involves a lot of technical words and only half-completed sentences.

By the end of the afternoon, Beetee, Wiress and I have calculated the total value of all my assets. The result is a considerable amount, and should be able to buy Annie some fairly decent gifts in the arena. But there's still the problem of how to pick which gifts will actually keep her alive.

"The problem with the 'out-surviving the other tributes' method is that the Gamemakers will probably not play along," Beetee explains. "All they would have to do is use a wall of fire or some such device to trap the tributes in an enclosed space, and then Miss Cresta would be done for."

"Water," says Wiress.

Beetee looks intrigued by this. "Yes, Miss Cresta would certainly benefit from a water based arena. But I have it on good authority that this year will be a forested basin. I believe they've actually restricted water to a large stream running through the center of the arena."

"How deep is it?" I ask, wondering if Annie might be able to use it to her advantage somehow.

"Dam," says Wiress.

Beetee nods. "There is a dam up in the mountains that is holding back the river, so that when it reaches the basin it is merely a shallow stream. Good for drinking water, and perhaps obscuring tracks and scent, but not much else."

"Damn," I say, and Beetee chortles at the pun.

"I would suggest talking to Miss Cresta," he says. "See if she really is as pacifistic as you claim. If she were to possess even the slightest amount of killing intent, you could train her up on a weapon. This would at least give her a fighting chance."

"I'll try," I say, but I don't have much hope, because it's Annie, and she's not the killing type. Although people do change, in the arena. I don't want that to happen to her, but if the only other choice is that she'll die, then I'll teach her how to kill her fellow tributes myself.

"We will keep thinking about this," Beetee promises me, and his frail old hand reaches out to pat my shoulder.

"Thanks," I say, and I don't have any trouble sounding grateful, because I am. "I'll be back."

"Good luck," Wiress says. It's the first intelligible sentence I've heard all day, and I can't help but laugh.

Beetee chuckles nervously. "Goodbye, then, Mister Odair."

"Finnick," I remind him.

"Or do you prefer pretty-boy?" the old man says, smiling.

I laugh again. "Beetee, my friend, if you find me a way to save Annie Cresta's life, then you can call me whatever you want."

Beetee gets a devious look on his face. "Then I had better get working."