"So, your both in with the Careers, right?" Finnick questioned the two tributes. They sat across from him at the dining table. His arms were folded across his chest, his eyes looking down.

Gerald leaned forward in his seat, nodding his head. "Yes, they wanted both of us. Annie impressed them with throwing knives.. She's actually pretty good." He spoke, smiling as he glanced towards Annie.

Finnick plastered a grin on his face, "That's good. Very, very good. Once you get in the arena, you'll be able to tell who's on the outskirts. If you sense that you are in danger of being picked off, then you need to separate from them." He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You guys are in a good position, though. Don't worry."

It was the morning before the second day of training, and everyone felt a sense of calm. Finnick was comforted by the idea that Annie could fend for herself, as long as she got some knives. He was sure he'd be able to send her one if need be.

The day dragged on as usual. Finnick went to meet an afternoon client, who's perfume reeked of skunk. She claimed it was the new trend, "Everyone's wearing it." He couldn't understand how they could enjoy the scent, it make his hair stand up on its own.

Regardless, he gave the woman as much attention as he could bear, whispering compliments in her ear, and pretending to love her for a few hours. As soon as he returned to the tribute center, he rushed into a shower, scrubbing and scrubbing until there was hardly any skin left. When he was done, his whole body was red, and there were bloody spots where he went too hard. Surely I'm clean, he thought.

While Finnick spent the afternoon in a loveless encounter, Annie and Gerald trainee on more weapons. After a while, they went to go learn about the flora and fauna in the Arena, hoping they'd absorb enough to keep them alive. With weapons and survival skills out of the way, it left them with plenty of time to talk to the pair from District One.

Safira and Gladio were nice enough, albeit bloodthirsty. They spoke about what home was like. Annie talked about the ocean, and playing in the sand, while Gladio shared the pressure put on them from an early age.

Careers were always seen to be vicious, and ready to kill. Annie believed that they were truly good people, and that they had been held up to extreme standards from an early age. She felt bad for them. They had the "honor" of being entered into the games, and wanted to make their families proud. Show them that the years of training had not been in vain.

They had it the easiest, though, and Annie wasn't sure if they noticed the privilege they had.

Once the training session was over, Annie and Gerald made their way back to their quarters, talking on the way.

"Do you think they like us enough?" Annie asked, watching the ground as she walked. The air was cold today, and she folded her arms over her chest, in attempts to stay warm.

Gerald looked up to the sky, and shrugged. "Eh. I don't think they'll try to kill us for a few days, at least. They'll probably kill Two before us." He looked back down at her, and began taking off his jacket, placing it over her shoulders.

It was big and made of leather. He had done this simple act of kindness, without even asking her if she was cold. Annie smiled, pulling her arms through it. "Thanks, Gerald."

"Call me Al. Gerald is too formal, only call me that when you're cursing into the sky because I died." He laughed, placing his arms over his head.

Annie gasped, why would be say a thing like that? Was that how he coped? She knew Finnick would make dark jokes in order to process what was going on. It was easier to laugh than to cry. "Well, I don't have a nickname to give you, so you just have to say 'Annie Rosaline Cresta'."

"Wait. Say your middle name again?" Gerald looked towards Annie, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Rosaline."

"Rose...uh..."

"Rose-ah-lyne."

"Okay. I'll probably remember that. No guarantees though, but I'm sure I won't have to, because you're not dying." He teased, but he seemed so serious. Was he really expecting her to survive?

Annie pouted, returning her gaze to the ground. It was okay to joke, but Gerald seemed too serious now. Did he think she would outlive him? Or was he prepared to die, so that she could go home? She didn't know, and she didn't like either scenario. Don't get attached, Annie. He's your enemy.

The rest of the walk was near silent, and when they got up to the Tribute Center, Annie claimed she was going to nap, and then hurried into her room. She was clearly overwhelmed, but held it together.

Annie laid on her back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her days were numbered, and she knew that. While Gerald had spent the afternoon telling her that she was going to live beyond the games, was he aware that he was dooming himself to death? Or, was he just trying to comfort Annie? Whatever his intentions were, she was not dealing well with his statement.

She had just drifted off to sleep when there was a soft knock on the door. Before she could tell whoever it was to go away, Finnick walked in, closing the door behind him.

"Annie, are you alright?" He asked, knowing it was a stupid question. Finnick knew she wasn't alright, and yet he asked, anyways.

Annie smiled towards him. It wasn't a happy smile, it was a sad one. "I'd be better if you laid next to me." She said, ever so softly.

Finnick walked over, and laid down beside her, wrapping his arms over her body. She placed her head on his chest, and fell back asleep.

Even if the threat of death was on the horizon, she felt okay, as long as he was with her. Isn't that true love?

———————

Dinner was the liveliest it had ever been. Everyone was telling jokes, and telling stories. It was odd, it almost felt like family at this point. There was still a cloud of sadness that fell over them, though. The five was about to become three, and it might stay that way.

After dinner, everyone went to bed. Finnick kissed Annie's head, and sang her a song to help her fall asleep. Once he was sure she was out for the night, he made his way to the elevator, and to the roof.

Haymitch's statement about the roof must have meant that they needed to talk. Maybe he had news on the arena, or he just wanted someone to talk to. Regardless, Finnick went up. He was alone on the roof, but he admired the view.

"I figured I would find you here," Haymitch's voice called out from the elevator, slurred as always.

Finnick smiled towards the man, sitting on the edge of the roof. "How'd you know I came up here?"

"I've been checking every so often. I have something important to talk to you about." He made his way over to Finnick, sitting beside him, a glass of whiskey in his hand. "Me and some other Victors are forming a group of people to start a rebellion."

Finnick stared at Haymitch, his mouth opened in shock. "We can't talk about this in the Capitol. No, we can't talk about this. Period." He stood, walking away.

"There's no cameras up here, Finnick. They don't know what we're saying." Haymitch stayed seated, grunting as the boy continued to walk towards the elevator. "Mags is in on it. So is Plutarch Heavensbee, he's practically running the show. We need you, too."

Finnick turned around, and got up and close to Haymitch. "Mags is in on it? She's too old to be put through this shit, Haymitch. They'll kill her. They'll kill all of us." He was talking so low and fast, that spit flew out with every word. Haymitch wiped his face, and pushed Finnick back with his hand.

"We're not doing anything yet. We're going to wait until the time is right. District Thirteen is in on it, too. There's thousands of them, and they have enough weaponry to support a war."

"That's impossible. Thirteen doesn't exist."

Haymitch clapped his hands together, pointing at Finnick, "That's where you're wrong. They're alive, and they even have a President. She's pretty, but she's not really my type— Anyways, it's happening. You can be on the right side of it, or you can side with your pretty Capitol women, and probably die."

Finnick stared at Haymitch, biting his lip. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was filled with questions. Then it hit him. Plutarch is the head gamemaker this year, he thought.

"Since Plutarch is running this show, tell him I have a condition. Tell him to get Annie out. She has to win. She has to live."

Haymitch laughed again, appalled. "If that's your one condition, then.. I'll see what he can do."