Ah...ahahahh...um...yeah hhhiiii guys ^^; Well, aheh, I am aware that it's one day shy of being two months since I updated. Sorry about that. I've been busy with college and watching Doctor Who and Torchwood. And Wendy, meh roommate, got me onto tumblr (ITS LIKE CRAK OMG)... I've had this chapter for a bit but Clare's been busy, too.

Read the AN at the bottom since I know you probably want to get to reading.

Without anymore running training to do with Ronan I don't have to be anywhere in particular until after noon. Without any training to do whatsoever, Ronan doesn't have to be anywhere until he wants, at least until those stitches are gone. With no morning commitments, we are free to do whatever we want. This includes sleeping in, a luxury I haven't had in months and he hasn't had in years. This arrangement suits us both quite nicely, even if it means missing breakfast in the cafeteria.

The sound of the shower keeps me from fully falling back to sleep. I don't shower except in the evenings, but he showers in the mornings and at night. I wouldn't have a problem with this, except sometimes he wakes up before I want to, and him leaving the bed wakes me up every single time, without fail. The shower shuts off and I listen to him moving around in there. On my stomach, face mostly pressed into the pillow, I debate on whether or not to just get up. I should get up, I really should, but my body doesn't want to move yet. Laziness wins, for the moment.

Ronan emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later wearing only a pair of shorts and picking at his arm. I prop myself up on my arms and blink at him. "What are you doing?"

"Skin's coming off," he mutters, not taking his eyes off his arm. I sit up as he sits down on the bed, leaning over to get a look. I recall the same thing happening when I hurt my arm months ago and had to leave it wrapped for a week or two.

"Oh, yeah," I say. "That happened with my arm. It's from all the stress on your skin and because your arm has been dry and wrapped for weeks. I think the whole area's gonna peel."

He makes a face, and then inhales sharply through his nose. I look down at his arm to see what alarmed him. As he was peeling a bit of skin off near the stump, more than he'd originally assumed had come loose, including a piece of skin with a stitch in it.

"Shoot," he mutters. "What do I do?"

"Uh," I peer at it. Maybe we should go find Ursa? But it doesn't appear to be bleeding. In fact, except for a tiny hole where the stitch was, it appears fine. "Wait, didn't Ursa say they'd fall out? Maybe this is what she meant."

"Didn't you have stitches on your arm?"

"Yeah, but they didn't fall out. They had to be removed. Must've been a different kind?"

He looks at his arm for a moment, considering, then he peels about half an inches worth of stitched skin away. The rest, it seemed, wasn't ready to go. He turns the dead skin around, looking at it from every angle, and I watch equally fascinated. He says it didn't hurt then sets the skin on his knee and picks at the other end. He manages to get a bit off before wincing.

"Not ready to come off," he says.

"That looks so weird," I say. He scoffs at me. "Oh shut up." I punch his shoulder.

"I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, whatever. Go get rid of that." I pause. "What time is it?" I add as an afterthought.

"After nine," he says. "Want to go to the Village for some food?"

I cock my head to the side, pressing my lips together and pretended to deliberate that for a moment. "Nah." I finally say, then flop down, pulling the blanket up and over my head entirely.

"All this sleeping in is going to make you lazy."

"Nag."

"Sera, how many of those have you had?" Ronan asks with narrowed eyes, holding an ice cream cone just out of her reach.

His younger sister blinks and smiles, the picture of innocence. "Only three."

"Only three? Everyone else is only getting one."

"Yeah, well, everyone else is not walking around the neighborhood rounding up everyone to get free ice cream," she says. "Now give it!"

She tries to pull herself up on the side of the wagon, but Ronan only lifts the cone higher and looks at the four of us in the wagon. "Should I give it to her?"

Beril smirks. "Nah, just hold it up there and make her reach it."

"You're mean!" Sera declares for all to hear.

"No shit."

"Give it to her," Finnick says. Annie nods, not saying anything as she uses Fin's momentary distraction to sneak herself a spoonful of chocolate ice cream.

"If you don't give it to her now," I say, "she'll just sneak it later."

"Tch, fine," he says, lowering the cone so Sera can snatch it and dance out of reach before anyone can change their mind. I don't think Sera's childish personality will ever cease to impress me. It takes some skills to appear that innocent and be that happy anywhere, never mind Gull Cove.

I laugh once then turn my attention back to the young dark-haired woman waiting below me. "So, which flavor would you like? We have chocolate, strawberry, mint with chocolate chips, chocolate with brownies, vanilla ice cream with cookie dough in it, a mixture of raspberry, orange, and lime, or just plain old vanilla?"

She looks flabbergasted, probably not having many references for flavors. "That fruity mixture one sounds good," she finally decides.

"It's called sherbet," I say, already scooping some of the pink, orange, and green ice cream. I pack and cram as much as I can into the cone then plop two scoops on top, handing it to her with a smile. Her eyes are practically popping out of her head as she takes it from me. I wait, in no hurry, as she tentatively tastes it.

Most of the people today have never had ice cream before. They'd all heard of it, but had never had enough to waste on some. Those brave enough to approach us have been given the same thing: two scoops of whatever flavor they want, or one scoop of two flavors. Sweets are such a trivial thing to me that I'd never considered what it would mean to the people here.

The next person up is a little boy who, when he speaks, is shown to be missing his two front teeth. He chooses the chocolate with brownies in it. Then comes a boy who looks so much like the little one that he must be his brother and he gets the very same thing. Sera, meanwhile, is on the sidelines trying to convince the less trustworthy that, yes, the ice cream is free and no, we did not poison it. Some of them decide to trust others, others don't. That's fine because we'll be doing this again eventually. Maybe they'll trust us then.

The others seem to actually be enjoying this. Ronan is using this as an opportunity to practice using his arm for tasks his hand would've done. Annie has been relatively present the whole time, smiling and laughing more than she has in a long time. Finnick is just enjoying being with a happy, clear-headed Annie. Beril, who tagged along out of boredom, even seems to be more than just entertained by this. When she's not being mean or sarcastic, Beril Farren actually has a nice smile.

It's been twelve years since she won the 60th Games when she was seventeen. I've seen footage of her Games here and there, and some footage of the post-ceremonies. I saw that smile there, a smile from the past. I haven't seen it since. And I don't think anyone else has, either. Until today. What happened to her, I wonder? What stole that smile?

"What are you staring at?" Beril snaps, noticing me.

I shake my head quickly. "It's nothing…I…" I exhale slowly and the corner of my lip twitches up. "You have a nice smile."

Beril stares at me for a moment, then lifts a spoonful of ice cream to her mouth and turns back to her line of waiting customers.

"Mother?" I call into the house. "Mom? Dad? You here?"

"In the sitting room!" Her voice echoes down the hall.

I pull my head out of the doorway and look at Ronan. "You ready?"

"Do you think they'll like me?" he asks for fifty-forth time, just as nervous as I was. My parents and I aren't exactly as close as we used to be. I think the fact I murdered children has something to do with it. But they had a right to know.

"A lot more than they would've if you'd been a victor."

He exhales loudly. "Great."

I take his hand and pull him into the house. "Just be nice, don't insult the house, or make her feel bad because she doesn't work charity in Gull Cove."

I glance back to see him staring at the house with wide-eyed wonder and I have to laugh. He's never been in a Victor house before. He'd never had a reason or right. Well, that's changing today.

Quick, light footsteps sound in the hall above and a moment later Annie is flying down the stairs, her dark hair streaming out behind her. "Hi, Dylan!" she says cheerfully. She's alert, I can tell from her expression. She's becoming more and more stable these days. Who knows? Maybe soon she won't need my parents to watch over her. Though I doubt she'd kick them out—they really had nowhere else to go and she'd told me once that she viewed them as her second mom and dad.

She stops halfway down and her expression almost instantly slips from glee to surprise when she spots Ronan. "Oh. Um. I'll just…wait til later. Good luck with that." And as quickly as she came, Annie retreats right back up the stairs. Her footsteps stop and a door closes on the second floor. The house is silent for a moment.

"Well, she's doing a lot better," Ronan says, surprised.

I nod happily and lead him down the hallways to the sitting room. He stops just out of sight while I step into the doorway. Both of my parents are in there on the couch together. Mother is working on something small, a shirt I think, while Dad's appears to be filling out paperwork. It's his day off, that's why I chose to come today so we didn't have to break the news twice. But my eyes are drawn back to the small shirt with a sense of familiarity. Mom's a seamstress. When we were younger and money was tight, she'd often make us new clothes if we needed them. What she's working on now is…infant sized but no one in the house needs a shirt that small. At least…no one living here now!

"Oh Poseidon are you pregnant?!" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Mother's eyes widen and she looks up in surprise. "What? Oh! No, no, I'm not. Oh seas, of course not. I'm too old for that. This is for Sora."

"Luke's wife?"

"She's pregnant."

I put my hands over my mouth. "Are you serious?"

She nods, her eyes shining. Dad's smiling, too. "Finally!" she says. "I thought I was never going to be a grandmother."

That hurts a bit since it's mostly my fault she might've never been a grandmother. I lost my ability to have kids and I got my little brother and sister killed.

"And I'll be an aunt," I say, bemused at the prospect.

"You weren't at their wedding," Dad reminds me.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't invited," I mutter.

Mother finishes a stitch then sets the work in progress in her box of supplies on the floor and stands up. "So, what do we owe this visit?" Her voice is a bit more reserved now, no doubt remembering the last time all three of us were alone.

"You…might wanna sit back down." I advise, rubbing my arm nervously.

"Uh oh," Dad says, setting his work on the table. "Famous last words. What did you do?"

"I love how you assume that I did something bad." I fold my arms.

"You told her to sit down. Can't be good," he says and, of course, Mother says standing.

Mother narrows her eyes, studying me critically. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

"Mom!" I say exasperatedly and glance at Ronan, still out of sight, whose face is a mix of amusement and shock.

"It's a valid question."

"No, no it's not," I say through my teeth.

"Well, actually," Ronan mutters.

I turn my head and glare at him before he can go anywhere with that train of thought. "You be quiet."

"Who's out there?" Dad demands, rising. "Annie?"

I sigh, shooting Ronan a look. This was not how I wanted to introduce him. But I should've figured things wouldn't go smooth. It never does. I reach out, grabbing his hand, and pull him into the doorway. "And for that, you don't get a dramatic entrance," I tell him.

He makes a noise of protest, quickly hiding his right arm from view, but recovers quickly and straightens respectfully. I watch my parents carefully, gauging their reactions. They're surprised for sure, but not angry or hostile or anything bad like I'd half expected.

"Hello," Ronan says and though I can feel the tension in his body, he sounds calm and confident.

"This is Ronan," I say. "He's…um…"

"The one who lost his hand, right?" Mother says. "Finnick told us about you so we wouldn't panic when a huge chunk of the money disappeared."

Ronan's face falls just a bit and he pulls his arm out from behind his back and waves with it.

"What else did he tell you?" I ask.

"Just that you were one of his instructors," she says.

She really doesn't know. I can tell when my Mother lies to me, and she's not right now. Damn, Fin is good. That or she really hasn't considered the possibility of me ending up with someone. Or at least someone like Ronan.

"Yeah, I was," I say. "He's out of the program now but he, uh, still lives there. We're helping him cope and I wanted you to meet him since he's, um, my roommate."

My parents stare, completely dumbfounded, and though Mother opens and closes her mouth a few times, neither of them actually says anything. Annie is silent upstairs, but I wouldn't be surprised if she was listening, waiting for the explosion. The silence is beginning to get uncomfortable when Ronan breaks it with a laugh. "You're horrible at this."

I frown at him. "Hey, you weren't exactly tactful with your parents."

"I was drugged," he protests. "I had no grasp of reality!"

"Excuses."

My Dad clears his throat loudly. His arms are folded and he's wearing an expectant expression. Yeah, maybe the best time for playful banter.

"So, yeah, this is Ronan Flit. He's my boyfriend." I announce before I can screw it up anymore.

Mother breaks the silence that follows. "You have a boyfriend?"

"I'm making an effort not to be insulted," I mutter.

"No, I mean, it's just that…you…" she shakes her head quickly, and smiles at Ronan as she walks towards us. "Ronan Flit, right? It's nice to meet you. I'm Jennifer Syle." She holds out her right hand to shake and he grins cheekily, holding out his right arm.

"Nice to meet you," he says and she very nearly grasps the end of his arm before she realizes her mistake.

"Ah, sorry!" she says and they switch to their left hands.

He smiles reassuringly. "It's alright. You'll get used to it."

"Yes, I suppose I will, won't I?" she murmurs almost incredulously, looking between the two of us. She lets go of his hand and he slides it into mine. She stares at the two of us for a moment longer then abruptly tears well up in her eyes and she puts her hands over her mouth. "Oh seas, I'm so happy for you. You don't know how long I've hoped that...and now here you are."

"Why is this so important to you?" Zal demands.

"Zal."

"C'mon man. I wanna know why."

"Just shoot, damn you."

Zal sighs. "No, I mean it. If I'm going to start shooting you, I'd better have a reason."

"Zal," I snap. "Shut up and shoot! Or I'll do it."

"Yeah, why aren't you doing it anyway?" Zal demands, gesturing at me with his bow. "Last time I checked, you were a damn good archer yourself."

I glare at him. "I don't exactly want to shoot at my boyfriend. And if you make me, you will regret it, I promise."

"I don't like the idea of shooting at my friend, either. So why?"

Ronan heaves a sigh, looking annoyed, and folds his arms. Zal turns to me and I say nothing. He looks between us, receiving no answer from either end, and finally sighs. "Aren't there any others who can do it?"

"Probably, but you need the practice, and they don't," I snap. "Now shut up and start shooting or it will be considered disobeying the direct order of your instructor."

Zal grumbles mutinously but knocks an arrow and points it at my boyfriend. Ronan shifts into position immediately, the single sword held out in front of him. His other arm is horizontal I front of his stomach, where it would have been if it held sword. A fighting stance can be a difficult thing to alter, especially if you've been using it for years.

"Are you ready, Ronan?"

"Are you?"

Zal exhales through his nose, holds his position for a moment, then fires. Ronan brings the sword up and intercepts the arrow. This is the fifth day, the fifth person we've snagged during their free time to face him. I don't know why he insists on doing this. Why he wants to fight an expert with every type of weapon we have. Just to prove he can, maybe. Or, maybe to prove he still can. I just don't understand why he has to do that. He's never going to have a reason to fight again. The Games are beyond his reach now, and Panem has no outside enemies so there aren't going to be any wars any time soon. The only fighting he has to look forward to are any disagreements we may get into. Even then, I can't see myself drawing a knife on him.

With Zal, all he has to do is block and dodge arrows until his quiver is empty, then move in on him. Won't take too long at the rate Zal is going. Zal has a bad habit of burning through his arrows rather quickly sometimes. I'll have to talk to him about that later. Burning through my arrows in my fight against Sawyer nearly got me killed.

No, not long at all before Zal is left with only his quiver to defend himself as he scrambles to get to an arrow Ronan didn't ruin. He tries to skitter around Ronan to reach the nearest arrow, swinging at him with his bow in a poor attempt to keep him back. Ronan zips towards him, looping his arm through the bow and bending his elbow to keep it trapped while bringing the sword down onto Zal's back with the flat size of the blade.

Zal laughs. "I don't know why they even brought me back. You could probably win the Games with only one hand."

"Don't even think about it," I warn.

Except Ronan doesn't seem to be in a joking mood. He looks down at his friend in disgust. "Maybe I could, if all of the tributes would be as easy as you. …I should've fought someone else. You were hardly worth the effort."

"Hey, what the hell is your problem, man?" Zal demands, standing up. "I didn't have to do this."

"I know. And you either put up a half-assed effort just now or you actually tried, in which case you're totally fucked when you get in the arena. Either way, hardly worth the effort. …Or," he adds softly after a moment, "You went easy on me."

Zal frowns at him, silent and guilty.

"Well, which is it?" When he receives no answer, Ronan laughs bitterly. "Yeah, I thought so. Thanks for your help, buddy." He shoulders past Zal and heads for the door.

"Ronan," I say softly, reaching for him, but he barely even glances my way as he walks past. "Ronan!" I say a little louder.

He shoves the door open with his shoulder then kicks it shut behind it. The loud bang resonates through the gym and I flinch with it. Painful silence follows, broken only by my sigh.

"Oh yeah, he's a keeper." Zal says sarcastically.

"Zal!" I round on him. He watches me apprehensively, then snaps to attention. That makes me sigh again, my shoulders drooping under the weight of everything. "Clean this up…then go back to your dorm. You're not in trouble, just…just… just do it."

"Yes ma'am," he says.

I nod and exit the gym, heading for my room. Zal went easy on him. He went easy. And it was obvious, looking back on it. Zal isn't normally that careless. So that makes me wonder how many others went easy on Ronan, but just weren't as obvious. And I'll bet my own hand that he's wondering that, too. Which begs the question: can he really fight with only one hand…or did they just want him to think that he could so that he'd feel better?

It's cold. For as long as I can remember, it's never been this cold in District 4. They say back in the old days, before the war, this region had a variety of seasons, but nowadays it's warm almost year round, except up North. It was the normal warm a few weeks ago, and then without warning, cold. The northernmost areas of the District actually have snow. Here, in the middle, we're not getting snow, but it's still damn cold. The fur coat I brought home from the Capitol a few years ago is finally getting use.

The fishing industry is slowing at the moment, barely making quota. Some of the older sailors are apparently being superstitious fish, refusing to go out with the weather so bizarre. All the work is on the younger generations. The younger trainees who commute between the training complex and home have, for the most part, stopped coming. Which is fine because if they can't handle a little cold then no way do we want them representing us in the arena.

Not that I blame them, though, because damn it's cold and I don't like cold. Most of the district doesn't since we've all grown up in one of the warmest places in Panem. But there's a difference between not liking it and not being able to tolerate it.

A few hundred people across the District have taken up making hats, scarves, and gloves for cheap, my mother being one of them. Some knit, some sew; some with yarn, some with cloth, or with fur. Mom practically gives them away. She took it as a personal challenge to knit something for the stump on the end of Ronan's arm. Something that wouldn't slide right off or have finger holes to get in the way. It took her a few days but she finally called us over to see what she'd come up with.

"Now, I had to chop one of those old dresses in the closet from the Capitol," she says as she ushers us down the hall.

"Which one?"

"The yellow one with blue satin sash."

"Never really liked that one."

"Good," she says. "Because it was one of the only ones with some elastic in it and that's what I needed to get the glove to stay."

Mother heads into the living room while we get out of our coats. Ronan can do it on his own now, using his shoulders and his teeth when he needs more than his hand. He only struggles a bit, but I don't reach to help him. He doesn't want me to, he told me that. He manages, hangs it up, and turns to grin at me triumphantly. I kiss his forehead and pull him into the living room where I can smell and hear a fire going.

A bright flash of reddish orange draws my eyes to the couch. Finnick and Annie are cuddled up together on the couch, watching the fire, lost in their own little world. The light I saw was Finnick's hair, glowing a vibrant bronze in the firelight. Mine must be like the fire itself. I like fire. It can mean life or death in the arena…or anywhere, actually. I can feel its warmth from here and I inhale the scent of burning wood.

"Alright, hold them up there, Ronan." Mother instructs, pulling my attention from the fire.

Ronan lifts both his arms obediently. The gloves she holds are a pretty, warm shade of brown, one of his favorite colors. She slides the first glove on to his hand pulling it around his fingers to make sure it fit properly, then she turns to the challenge. It looks like a sock. We'd tried to use a sock once or twice, but he complained about it itching and it looked weird. She carefully slides the sock-thing over the end of his arm as far as it will go, then eases her fingers out. The elastic in the end of it snaps, fixing it to his arm. He holds it up for examination, turning it this way and that, giving it a few shakes.

"Well?"

"It fits," he says. "Not sliding or anything."

"I designed it as a mitten," she explains. "Leaving out the thumbhole, of course."

"I like it," he grins. "Thanks. How much I owe you?"

She swats his arm playfully. "You and I both know any money you have comes from my daughter, and I don't charge people anyway. So don't bother."

"You should go to Gull Cove and hand out some pairs," he says seriously.

She shakes her head. "I can't do that. I can't hurt those people."

He looks at Mother like she's crazy. "What?"

"There's people there making some coin off these, you said so yourself," I remind him. "If she goes and hands out gloves for free or cheap, those people lose business."

Ronan scowls. "Damn. Forgot about that."

He spends the next few minutes practicing getting the mitten and glove on and off without help and I find myself looking at the quiet couple on the couch. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were asleep or just oblivious to us. Well, Annie very well might be in her bubble, but Finnick was definitely awake and aware the moment we entered the house. I was expecting some sort of quip from Finnick or a curious question from Annie, but they're both silent.

"What's wrong with them?" I ask Mother softly.

She looks at the pair of them. "They do that every evening now. I thought you and Fin were as thick as thieves—you didn't notice he hasn't been there at night?"

"I haven't been looking," I admit.

"Hmm. Busy with other things?"

I nod.

She smiles just a bit. "Annie says the fire burns the nightmares out of her head. Finnick came over the first night she did that, sat down with her, and they've been doing it every night since."

"Does it?"

"What?"

"Does it burn away her nightmares?"

"It does seem to," she admits. "Fire has many uses, but I never thought it could…burn away nightmares."

"It can't," I say, suddenly recalling something Anders said a long time ago. "But she thinks it does, so it does."

"You've lost me."

"Remember when we were kids and we'd have nightmares? You or Dad would assess our pillow, tell us we'd accidentally slept on the bad side, flip it over and tell us now that it was on the good side, we'd have no nightmares."

"I'm still not seeing the point."

"There was no bad side or good side, but you said there was, and we believed you. Because we believed the good side of the pillow would protect us from nightmares, we didn't have them. The same way Ronan keeps my nightmares away. We think it works, so it does. She's convinced looking at the fire helps. So it helps."

Mother tilts her head as she considers my words. "Well, if it works, I've got no problem. We'll just have to acquire firewood more often. I'll get your father on it," she decides, patting my arm, and heads out of the room. "Hang around as long as you'd like, sweetheart."

We're getting along again, my mom and I. Ronan's presence had a big effect on that—the exact opposite my presence had on his parents. I guess they were just happy I'd found someone willing to put up with me, like Luke did. The only difference between us and Luke and Sora is she's pregnant now, and I never can be. But that's alright, I don't want to lose my child to the arena, and the likelihood of a victor's child going into the arena is high.

Finnick moves. One arm had been resting on his lap, the other around Annie, and the one on his lap now rests on the back of the couch, behind an empty space. An invitation? Or did he just move because he was uncomfortable? I take slow steps towards the couch and sit down next to Finnick. He turns his head, smiling at me. I kick off my shoes as Ronan sits down next to me, slipping his arm around my waist.

The fire dances in the alcove, heating the room, burning the memory into my mind. Curled up with my best friends and the one I love—it's nice, warm. Safe. Maybe this is why Annie likes it.

So, yeah, just a few little scenes to show the passage of time. Totally a filler chapter, but whatever.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up. I'm aiming for before the new year but idk. Up next is the beginning of the final arc of this story and we'll begin to get into the events of The Hunger Games and Catching Fire. Basically, we're going to see what sparks the fire of rebellion in District 4 - one of the happiest, richest, and calmest Districts in Panem. I've got some stuff written from an earlier draft of this story that I shoved aside when I decided I wanted to get into more detail about Ronan's injury, the various relationships that we've seen explored, and their life together. I just need to tweak it all and find ways to tie it in.

And if you didn't hear the news, I am a happy little Whovian now and my Muse kinda jumped on the Bandwagon and took off. I'm working on a DW fic that I may or may not post here. Ask me about it in your review or in a PM if you're a Whovian and you're curious :3

WHIIICCHHH brings me to the final part of my note: REVIEW please. Because I am a review whore and I regret nothing.