District One claimed a victor in the sixty eighth hunger games and, three days later, Coral was pulled from her bed before dawn.

"Be on the boat in a half hour. I've filled that extra spot." Her father had never been the most affectionate man but then, Coral suspected it was difficult to muster affection when financial ruin and a lost child was never far from his thoughts. Nodding, she gathered her things.

Most of the supplies would be on the boat, but Coral had packed some fresh laundry. A small first aid kit of her own. The last of the herbs Mags had brought back last year. While the permit granted her a right to leave Four, her mother would take over the trips to the victors' village. Explain the situation to Mags.

The boat she'd been assigned been given just over a week and a zone that would take a full day sailing to reach. Her father's trawler would be a couple hundred miles further south. After A – the games – Coral had thrown herself into preparations. Checking the equipment, stocking the galley, ensuring the accommodations were adequate. Mapping out the kinds of work rosters, shifts and skillsets that would be required. Feeding information back to her father.

Once on the water, she would designate herself to the bulk of cooking duties and night-time shifts. Pat Tully would be her second, ensuring their navigations went well. Most people from Four that signed up for the excursions already had experience with fishing, were good swimmers or trained in managing the ice systems that kept the fish fresh before it was brought back to shore. There would even be a member of the factory processing team on hand to keep standards on track.

All of it meant that Coral's role was simply to ensure that their quotas were met and that the stern trawler made it back safely. It was a position she'd filled at her father's side since she'd been able to walk. Her earliest memories were of her and Ford running underfoot on the long excursions, driving the fishermen up the walls in the process. It would've been difficult to not learn the necessary skills with that upbringing.

While much of the districts lived with technology from before the last great rebellion, one of the few places the Captiol were willing to sink money in was their food supply. The Swan's two remaining trawlers were therefore equipped with minor processing capabilities and an ability to store all the catch over a week. They had top of the range radar, weather systems and communications. Historically, such trips could've taken up to six weeks but these days – the Captiol disliked having to go too long without their fresh catch.

Coral didn't doubt that it was somewhat more difficult to track down a ship that didn't come back after six weeks too.

Her mother pressed a kiss to her forehead as she left, smothering her in a tight embrace. Returning it until her throat felt too tight to breath, Coral extracted herself and revelled in the growing sense of freedom as she walked through Four's quiet streets. Her father had already headed down to the docks to get his own journey underway. They'd keep in contact during the trip but for now she was on her own.

"Got the roster Swan, if you want to check it over?" Coral took the offered clipboard off Tully with a tight smile, glancing absently at the names on the list before shaking her head.

"I'm good. I've already checked it about seventeen times this week." Breathing in the scent of engine oil and salty air, Coral rested her arms on the control panel that Tully would be operating for the next week or so. Technology had always alluded her. Coral could rig nets in minutes. Hold her breath longer than most of her classmates when underwater without beginning to panic. She was even adept with knives and tridents when called for but the levers, knobs and lights spread across the control room was double Dutch to her. Some of it she could understand. Red lights were bad. Alarms were worse. That was about the extent of her knowledge.

She'd learned as a kid that knowing that the freezers were damaged was important, just as watching the signs for wear and tear in the winches but when it came to everything else – she was happy to leave Tully to his work. It had taken less than an hour for the trawler to take off for duty and it'd be at least five hours before they would have to readjust their travel plans to make it to the accepted fishing grounds. Flicking past the list of crew, Coral threw a final eye over the permits and coordinates of their final destination. Soon enough, the land behind them would fade and leave nothing but sea and horizon. Not for the first time, Coral was utterly relieved.

Leaving the clipboard aside, Coral gave an imperceptible nod towards the windows and the two white clad soldiers beyond them.

"Who got assigned to us this time?"

"Simpson and Zimmerman. Not the best but could've been worse. Heard your old man got Ennis." Coral pulled a face. Harold Ennis was an elderly peacekeeper who must've pissed off a higher up at some point. He was assigned to the long-haul boats every year and every year he spent the bulk of it with his head over the side. Once he'd had to do a three-week stint and had come back half the man he'd been when he left. No matter what he did, Ennis couldn't hack the trips.

"Zimmerman can be a fucking ass, but Simpson's fair. She'll keep him in line." No one liked the peacekeepers but for the sake of sanity, it was worth having them on side. Especially when their reports could make or break the owner of the trawlers. "Make sure she gets first pick in the galley later. If there's trouble we want them to be on our side after we get back."

Tully nodded. He was a gnarled looking man, older than her father but loyal. Even after Ford and the loss of their money, he signed up every year to work with them. Coral suspected the only reason her father didn't have him running the second trawler outright was borne from paranoia alone. He expected everyone to betray him at the drop of a hat. Not that Coral was much better. With the exception of Mags and A- her – she could count allies on one hand. She liked to imagine that Tully was at least one of them.

"I meant to ask," Tully shifted his weight forward as if looking onto the deck below them, drawing Coral's gaze after him, "Who signed off on him?"

For a brief instant, the world stopped on its axis. Coral had pushed herself to her toes to see who was on the bow below. There was Matthews, and Janson and –

And –

She didn't remember leaving the control room. Didn't remember getting down the stairs and crossing the distance to narrowest point of the bow with her fingers clasped around the throat of Finnick Odair and her weight forcing him against the metal.

"What the fuck are you doing on my ship?"

He was stronger than her, a fact evidenced by the pull of muscle as he strained against her grasp but she'd caught him by surprise. He kept himself from being tossed overboard by sheer will alone. Illusions of freedom were vanishing before her eyes and Coral could feel the tight box she'd locked Aveline into coming undone.

Finnick was clawing at her wrist with one hand and holding his weight against being knocked to the water with his other. She wanted to bury her nails into his skin and tear out his throat. Wanted to end his miserable existence so she could sleep at night.

Her mouth flooded with bile and anger and it was Tully's arms that snagged themselves around her waist to pull her back. Fighting it, the girl was torn between her blind rage and the awareness that this trip needed bodies if they were to meet their quota. Even if she'd have happily taken on the work of four men if it meant snuffing out the boy whose lips were turning blue from the pressure she was putting on his airways.

Tully tugged hard and she came away from Finnick, her index finger outstretched at him.

"You don't get within eight feet of me for this week do you hear me? I swore I'd end your life Odair and I will. You just try me and I will."

Piece said, Coral threw off Tully's embrace and barked orders the whole way down to the galley. What fucking game was her father playing in filling Aveline's space with him? Alone, her body bowed tight under the weight of her grief and shame. The tears came and didn't stop.

Not a soul disturbed her until she rang the bell to signal breakfast and by then, her expression had become solid and unyielding. There was work to be done. If she was to survive it, then she'd simply have to pretend Finnick Odair didn't exist.

The next four days passed remarkably quickly, life on the trawler never short on tasks that needed doing. Coral kept the galley going with the help of an older fisherman named Mako. He was chatty to the point of distraction, but he also knew how to cook better than ever her mother could. In between check ins with the forty odd members of their crew, daily updates on the status of equipment – Mako taught Coral how to rig together a meal fit for kings from the basic items they were allowed by the Captiol.

When she could pretend Finnick wasn't somewhere nearby, Coral almost forgot about Panem and the Capitol and the Games altogether. She was just a girl with a job to do. A girl who passed out in her bunk without even the energy to dwell on her nightmares. It had been the most exhausting four days of her life in recent memory, but also the best.

Sometime during a nap on her fifth day, Coral came up fighting as Tully shook her awake. If he hadn't, the sudden lurch of the trawler itself would have.

"Cap, we've got a problem."

Rubbing sleep from her eyes and following her second up the control room, she could hear the cries of the others milling from the winches off the back of the boat. Instantly alert, Coral was thrown off her feet as the trawler lurched again. A dreadful creak filled the air.

"What did we hit?"

"Don't think we've hit anything. I was watching the shoals down below but it looks like they make have been masking something. The nets are caught. I left Angelus to try and pull us free."

Coral's expression tightened.

"Kill the engines! We lose our winches and we're fucked."

Tully moved to action as Coral raced back down the steps and sized up the crew. Most of them were older folk, ones who worked best in the gathering and gutting process. In the repairs. Fuck.

It was almost sunset; around the point she'd have been waking up to sort the meals with Mako. Taking over the night shifts. The sun blasted the water with reds and golds, light blinding as it glinted off the surface in places. Winches creaking again, Coral snapped for one of their engineers to check the systems over.

"You," This she barked at Zimmerman, "Give me your knife."

Stripping down, Coral had herself down to underwear before the Peacekeeper moved. "Now! And tell Tully not to restart the engines until I'm back!"

Taking the blade in hand, its sheath still on – Coral dove from the back of the boat. The water was a shock at first when she made impact, but she pushed through it. Her father's other trawler was a seabed collector, lowering all the way to the ocean floor for their catch. This one, mercifully, worked at about half distance to pick up the shoals closer to the surface. She wasn't as likely to end up ill on her return to the surface. Hopefully.

Swimming down until she hit the mass of nets, Coral wanted to cry. The bloody things were full, but they also happened to be wrapped around the tall mast of some old buried wreck. All at once glad that Aveline had made her free dive with her during their Sunday's, Coral glanced at the watch on her wrist. She was going to have a window of two minutes max to cut the net free and then get back to the surface. For the first time since Aveline's death she was furious at the girl herself. Here was something she'd have been able to do with far greater ability than Coral and, where was she?

Trying to focus her anger down so that she could get through the net, Coral was glad of Zimmerman's' toothed blade. It was slow, her own head getting foggy as she worked but she could see the weak points where the net had gotten caught. If she managed to sever sixty percent of them, it would hopefully allow them to pull free. Fish clouded her vision as she created spaces for them to escape, but she was too slow. A pain had started below her lungs, like she was going to throw up.

Exhaling out the gases building in her lungs, Coral hoped it bought her enough time to get back to the surface. She'd have to come down again – there was no other –

A hand tapped against her shoulder and she turned.

Finnick Odair was gesturing for her knife, shoving at her shoulder for her to move. If she'd had the strength, she'd have sworn at him. Instead she pointed out the places for him to cut and began the ascent back to the boat.

Coral's head was so fuzzy by the time she broke the surface and gasped for oxygen that it took two of the men to pull her into the trawler again. Dry retching onto the deck, Tully arrived with a blanket and an emergency oxygen tank that he hooked over her face. His face, full of concerned judgement, swam in and out of focus. A clamour from the steps told her Finnick had made it back but she could hardly align her thoughts well enough to think let alone move. Attempting to stand, she fell forward and before she could protest – the world went dark.

Blinking against the flickering lights above her, it took almost a minute for Coral to place herself. The med bay on the trawler was little more than a box room with first aid kits and a bed. There was no qualified doctor on the trawler either, the Capitol having ruled against it. Doctors were needed in the most populated areas. One or two fisherman that died due to negligence was hardly their fault.

Groaning against her headache, Coral turned to see Finnick in a chair opposite. He was awake though he bore the brunt of too long under water. His usual cheery smile had vanished, replaced with a green undertone to his skin. If she hadn't been so tired, she might have taken pleasure in that knowledge.

"How's your body feeling?"

"Spectacular." Coral drawled, each syllable dripping with sarcasm. Finnick rolled his eyes at her and sat forward, elbows on his thighs.

"Coral, you were down there for six minutes and it took you half the time to come up as it did to get down." His expression, riddled with sincerity, pissed her off but not as much as his next sentence did. "So, when I ask how you're feeling, for once in your life give me a straight fucking answer."

What irked was that he was right. What surprised her was the drop in his usual charm. This Finnick, serious eyed and glaring – she might have actually liked. Swallowing, she took stock of her body for the warning signs. No lower back pains. Her stomach hurt from retching, but beyond that her chest and abdomen felt fine. There was an ache in her shoulder but it could as easily have been the swim as it was anything else.

"I don't have the bends. I'll survive." Pushing herself into a sitting position, it was difficult to miss how Finnick's body relaxed. Looking away from him and the too green outline of his irises, she asked. "Why did you follow me down there?"

"Why did you go down at all? We could've unhooked the nets and replaced them with spares." Coral laughed, annoyance spiking. He was so ignorant.

"What makes you think we could afford spares?" Finnick blinked once, brow furrowing. Coral's sigh was a mixture of fatigued and aggravated as she explained her thinking. "It's easier to repair the nets than it is to replace the winches. If I didn't go down, we'd have no chance of making the quota we need to get accepted into the permit lottery next year."

He at least at the sense to look ashamed of himself and though she wanted nothing more than to have him gone, for the first time Coral was realising something. He was her last link to Aveline's last days. Hatred warred with need and her knuckles gripped the bed so hard they turned white.

"Did it have to be you?" He asked when a few minutes silence had passed and Coral arched a brow.

"Tell me who else it could've been? This is my trawler. The three youngest people on this boat are Simpson, you and me. I did the mental math. Simpson's an import, there's not a chance in hell she could've held her breath long enough to help and you –" She was still confused by how he'd been able to do it. From what she knew of him, Finnick's father had worked in the factories. His mother on the day to day boats where he himself had picked up the skills he'd used in the arena. Sensing the question, he relaxed back on his chair.

"My mother was a free diver like Av-," He broke off, alarm in his expression before he could control it and Coral was treated to something she'd never seen before. The dive had robbed him of his glow and his easy smile but the almost mention of Aveline's name contorted what was left into something twisted and broken.

"I'm so – fucking hell Coral, before she went in, she told me to look out for you and you just flung yourself into danger today. I promised her, and you, and I nearly let you both down. If you'd drowned today, if you hadn't woken up –"

"I don't need your protection." Coral flung it at him with every ounce of venom she could muster, disgust pulling at her features. How dare he try make all this about him. "I don't even want to look at you."

"But you're going to need someone. Who else do you have now? Aveline tol-"

The hatred won. Coral slammed her hand into the trolly beside the bed, metal tools and supplies landing with a clatter across the floor. Glass broke.

"STOP SAYING HER NAME. YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT. YOU DON'T GET TO PRETEND SHE WAS ANYTHING TO YOU. STOP ACTING LIKE YOU'RE ANYTHING TO ME!" It exploded from within, past the bile and the ache in her throat. Past the exhaustion and the grief. "STOP BEING NEAR ME. STOP TALKING TO ME! I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU!"

It became a mantra, Coral's shouting shattered as sobs caught her breath. Finnick had pushed his chair back with alarm and he stood over her as she sank to the floor, head in her hands.

"Cora-"

"Leave me alone. Leave me alone."

She wanted Aveline. She wanted Finnick to die in Aveline's place. She wanted to die.

It would certainly have been easier than being left behind, buried in her guilt and her fear and her loathing. Easier than knowing the worst part was that Finnick was right.

Who else did she have?