Finnick Odair, District 4 Mentor, 35

I was at home making hot cocoa when I heard a knock on the door. Probably Piers again, I thought.

I opened the door to see my hunch was correct; Piers Morgan stood on my doorstep, his hair wet from the rain.

"Can I come in?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed together.

"Yeah, of course, buddy," I said. He came inside, leaving his wet boots and jacket at the door, and shook his hair out like a dog.

"Careful there," I said, flinching as the cold droplets of water hit my face.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's okay."

He made a beeline for the couch, wrapping himself up in a blanket. It was almost routine by this point. Luckily for him, my cocoa was almost done. I poured a second mug for him in the kitchen, and added three sugar cubes into mine. None for him; he preferred it straight from the kettle.

"Thanks," he said when I passed it to him.

I sat down in my armchair, sipping the cocoa. I watched him drink from his mug; he held it close to his body, as though he were afraid someone would take it from him. His fingers clutched it so tightly they turned white. His gaze was trained steadily on his drink.

"What's going on, buddy?" I asked.

He glanced up at me. "Carter Brunel died," he said.

I set my drink down. It's still a little hot. "What happened?" I asked.

"He overdosed," Piers explained.

"Unfortunate," I said.

Piers nodded, eyes back on the mug.

"I didn't know you knew him," I said. "What was he, thirty?"

"Thirty-four," said Piers. "But he was the last Mentor from Six."

"Ah."

Since the last Quarter Quell, Mentors had been in short supply for many districts; the twist meant that twenty-three previous Victors were killed at once, and most districts didn't have many to spare. Several districts haven't had a new Victor since the 75th Games. Carter Brunel was one of the few spared during the Reapings ten years ago and, after his fellow Mentors were killed, the only Victor Six had.

Now, he was dead.

"Piers…"

"Three districts don't have any Mentors," he said. "What if they send me to Six?"

"They won't send you to Six," I reassure him.

"Or Nine, or Twelve," he says.

"They won't send you. They'll probably send someone from One or Two," I said.

"But there are three of us for one district here. You, Annie, me," he said. "And the Capitol likes you. They won't move you from Four."

I sighed. "I don't know, buddy. We can only hope they don't pick us."

"I wish I didn't have to Mentor again at all," he said quietly. "I still think of Brooke all the time."

I shifted in my chair at the mention of the thirteen-year-old girl. She was his first tribute, and she had died on the first night. I'd lost a lot of tributes over the years- all but two, Annie and Piers- but Brooke's death last year was particularly horrific. So much unnecessary suffering.

Piers looked back up at me again, his eyes lost. "I don't know if I can do it again."

"I know, buddy. But you have to," I said gently. "I'll be there with you."

"Not if they move me to a Mentorless district," he said.

"We don't know that they'll do that," I said.

"But they might," he insisted.

"It's the Capitol. They might do anything," I said. "Who knows? Maybe I'll end up in the arena a third time."

"I hope not," he said.

"Me neither."

I picked up my hot cocoa again, testing the temperature. Much better. I took a sip, savoring the sugary sweetness. Piers sipped from his as well.

"How are you doing?" I asked. "Aside from all of this."

He considered, pulling the blanket over his knees. "I don't know." He hesitated. "Do the dreams ever go away?"

"It's only been two years, buddy," I said. "Healing takes time."

"How am I supposed to heal if I have to go back every year and watch more kids die?" he asks, his voice soft.

"You'll get there," I said.

"Did you ever get there?" he asked, looking at me. His sea-blue eyes were troubled, just like they were when he was Reaped for the 83rd Games. Just like they have been since. He was eighteen then. He was only twenty now, but the Games had aged him. I could already spot where worry lines would form wrinkles over the years.

I considered his question. Did I ever get there?

I don't know.

Piers saw my hesitation. "I didn't think so."

"Hey," I said. "I'm better now. Some days are better than others, it's been a lot longer for me."

"So you don't think about them, then?" he presses. "The ones who died? The ones who you… killed?"

"I do sometimes," I said. It was my turn to look at my cocoa. "Some of the people in the Quell… they were my friends."

Piers was silent for a moment. Then, he said, "You're stronger than me, Finnick. I don't think I'll ever get over it."

I shake my head. "I'm not stronger than anyone. I've just had time."

I asked Piers about his younger brother, Ripley, diverting the conversation away from the pain of the past. He was eager for a kinder subject. We spoke for a while, catching up on this and that. When both of our mugs were drained, he took his leave, treading back through the rain to his home down the street.

When I laid down to sleep that night, I thought about the Quell again. I'll always put on a brave face for Piers, but the truth was that the Games never left a person. I could still picture both of my Games as clear as day. My hands still remembered what it felt like to kill. My arms remembered holding the weight of Mags as she drew her last breath. I had visions of Johanna dying in my dreams most nights. Most nights, I still woke up with my heart racing.

But that night, like every night, I kept the ghosts of the pasts to myself. No use in worrying anyone.

*Hi, everyone! Hope you enjoyed this little update. In case it isn't clear, in this AU, Finnick won the Quarter Quell, which also took out most of the other Mentors. Due to this, most districts only have one mentor, and some have none at all. Victors from other districts are assigned to them until they manage to produce a winner.

I still have a lot of slots open, so be sure to send in your submissions before your spot is taken!

r-b*