Ricochet

Chapter 17: In too deep

Author: Carla, aka cali-chan
Rating: Most likely PG-13. Nothing worse than what's in the books.
Genre: Adventure/suspense/drama/romance... again, pretty much what's in the books.
Pairings: Peeta/Katniss, Rory/Prim... and probably others. You'll see soon.
Canon/timeline: Same-context AU— this fic still happens in the same world as THG, but the actual events in the books never happened. I'm adding about five years to the characters from the age they were at the beginning of The Hunger Games. Katniss is 21.
Disclaimer: Yeah, just let me go get my transfer laser and switch bodies with Suzanne Collins. Until I find it in the mess that is my room, anything you can recognize belongs to her.

Note: I've never really tried this before (and I'm sure it will eventually come back and bite me in the behind), but each chapter will be from the PoV of a different character. You should be able to tell whose PoV it is fairly easily, though.

Summary: "Primrose Everdeen." This can't be happening, Katniss thought. She desperately pushed through the crowd. I volunteer!, she wanted to scream. I volunteer as tribute! But she couldn't, because she wasn't eligible for the reaping anymore. There was nothing she could do.

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If anybody had told Katniss as she was making up her mind about this plan that she'd have to pretend to be someone else in order to save her sister... well, she still would have come to the Capitol, of course, but she might have insisted they get someone else to do this.

She was no actress. She was horrible at it. Even if all she had to do was stand around and pick up plates in complete silence (at least she had the "being quiet" part of it down), she knew eventually she would botch it all up. Bad enough she had to pretend to be Peeta's wife in front of the camera crew, now she had to pretend to be an Avox around people she knew could kill her in a second.

Her first assignment was to assist with the lunch service for the Mentors, and it was quite eye-opening for her. It was a small group of Avoxes that did the job, because the food was all laid out so they could take whatever and however much they wanted (which the Chief of Staff called a "buffet"), but they still needed servants to pour the drinks, take the plates away and attend to whatever else they needed.

The Avoxes in her crew were already used to this crowd, but for her it was hard, simply because of the fact that she could never see the Victors as actual people. She didn't know what she had been expecting: probably a bunch of disgusting, miserable drunks like Haymitch Abernathy, or snobbish people who had let their fame and fortune go to their heads, or even bloodthirsty monsters who ate raw meat and growled instead of speaking. She certainly hadn't expected them to laugh, and make jokes, and tell each other anecdotes about their lives over the past year like they were at some sort of school reunion instead of at the Hunger Games. Apparently having to send twenty-three children to their deaths on a yearly basis created some sort of bond between them.

There seemed to be an easy camaraderie between most of them, particularly among the older ones. Haymitch, for example, was one of the most raucous of the group. He had sat at one end of the table, chatting loudly with a tall, dark-skinned man with only one arm who seemed to be about his age or maybe a little older. She learned later he was from District Eleven. The Mentor for District Eight, a woman who was maybe in her late 30's, sat with them as well, every once in a while shaking her head at their antics or adding in a comment with an amused smile on her face.

Near them but not quite with them, the Mentors for districts Five and Ten were conversing in low tones. A few feet away from them sat the mentor for District Three, who was a small, dark-haired man, maybe in his late 50's. The man kept to himself for the most part, eating quietly, pausing every few minutes to readjust his glasses, which seemed to be a little too big on him. He only spoke when someone spoke to him first, but he seemed nice enough when he did.

The Mentor from District Six was absent, though she didn't hear anyone talking about it so perhaps this wasn't an unusual occurrence. The Mentor from District Nine was also missing, but Katniss knew why that was: their last remaining Victor had passed away just a couple of months previous, from an illness. They had announced it on the television when it happened. She didn't know how the tributes from Nine were even going to manage.

The rest of the table was largely occupied by the younger crowd, many of which she had actually seen win their respective Games. She had already figured she'd be seeing some of them: Districts One and Two, for example, had had so many Victors, they could afford to rotate them each year, but usually it was the younger ones who got sent to Mentor, probably because they were more active, more attractive, and fresher in the shallow Capitol sponsors' minds, while the older ones stayed behind and trained the kids in the Districts on how to become successful Career Tributes.

The Mentor for District One was a blond man she knew of only vaguely, maybe in his early 30's, with angular features. She heard the others call him Gloss. Johanna Mason, a young woman from Seven who had won the Games maybe eight or nine years previous, was laughing at some comment he had made. She was almost as boisterous about it as Haymitch and his friend from Eleven were, banging loudly on the table with her hand when she found something particularly funny. She seemed to joke around just as much or maybe even more than the males around her did; apparently she was no longer hiding her toughness, as she had during her Games. Katniss could remember clearly how weak and unassuming she had seemed, up until the point where she slaughtered all of her competition.

Sitting across from Johanna, with a hand leisurely balanced on the back of Gloss's chair, was someone Katniss immediately recognized: a tall, muscular, good-looking blond man who could be around her age, maybe a couple of years older. His name was Cato; he was from District Two and had won the 74th Games. She remembered that year had one of the strongest Career Alliances in recent memory, and they'd quickly decimated their competition up until the point they had no choice but to split up. Eventually it came down to Cato and Thresh, a hulking tribute from Eleven, who had managed to kill two of the Careers, including Cato's district partner. Cato got body armor sent to him by his sponsors, and between that and the sword he'd obtained during the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, he was pretty much invincible, even though the boy from Eleven was physically stronger.

She had felt a chill run down her back when she saw him walk into the room. She could still remember the crazed look in his eyes as he stabbed and slashed at Thresh's body repeatedly. She kept flashing back to that scene even though he was acting about as normal as any young man his age would, a smirk on his face as he made a comment to the person sitting right beside Johanna.

And speaking of flashing back to gruesome scenes, the man Cato was conversing with was none other than Finnick Odair, Mentor from Four and Panem's most notorious playboy. Tall and athletic, with tanned skin, bronze hair and eyes the color of the open sea, handsome Finnick had won the 65th Hunger Games at age 14, the moment he got sent a trident signaling the beginning of the end for all of his competitors, and soon enough he had also won the heart of every woman in the country. Every time news of him came up on the TV, he had a different lady hanging on his arm. Apparently none of them remembered his ruthlessness during the Games, or if they did, it didn't bother them.

It did bother Katniss. Though the man was certainly attractive, there was something about him she couldn't reconcile with. Maybe it was the image of blood splashing on him when he ran his opponents through with his trident, or that his string of conquests made him seem flighty in her eyes. Seeing him in person had not changed her opinion of him; if anything, she was even more wary about him now. While the rest of the Mentors mostly ignored the Avoxes as they moved around the room, several times she had found Finnick's eyes on her. As in, on her particularly. It could be that he was trying to undress her with his eyes, or it could be that he was suspicious of her for some reason. Either way, it unnerved her.

So of course, with her luck, her second assignment turned out to be serving breakfast and dinner for the District Four floor. And just when she thought she couldn't be more uncomfortable around the guy, it turned out he had a penchant for going shirtless in the morning. And to make matters worse, she was serving two of the kids who would have to die in order for her sister to come out of the arena alive.

After breakfast was done, the entire group from Four moved to the small sitting room that was off to the side, where the flat-screen television set was. The boy tribute was asking their escort, a tall, unnaturally skinny woman wearing a bright teal wig of straight hair that stretched down to the back of her knees and an equally bright yellow dress, whether they'd be airing the recap of the chariot parade.

This immediately drew Katniss's attention. Regardless of Haymitch's warning not to try and contact Prim, she'd kept trying to get the elevator to take her to the penthouse floor or the tributes lunch room between meal shifts. It was no use; she couldn't get to the those floors without a duly authorized key card, and short of assaulting Effie Trinket in the hallways, she had no way of getting one of those. So as of that moment, she had no way of knowing how Prim was doing, if she was okay, if they were doing all they could to better her chances. She had to at least catch a glimpse of her sister during the Opening Ceremonies.

She was so focused on listening to the woman's response (apparently, the recap was about to start in a few minutes), she didn't realize someone was actually addressing her directly.

"Could you give me some sugar, sweets?"

She turned her head in response to the voice and found Finnick Odair staring straight at her; his hand, holding a lightly steaming cup of tea, was extended in her direction. He must've seen some surprise reflected in her face, because his lips drew into a small smirk. What did he just ask for? For a moment she was too confused to even take it the wrong way.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the boy tribute roll his eyes and mutter under his breath something about "flirting with anything that moved." Apparently the boy wasn't too impressed with Finnick's playboy personality, unlike his district partner, whose eyes kept drifting to their mentor— and his uncovered torso— every few seconds. Finnick turned toward the kids, sounding about as innocent as a fluffy little lamb. "What? I could use a sugar cube for my tea." He gave a wink in the direction of the tribute girl, who blushed, and again he extended his teacup in Katniss's direction, expectantly.

When it finally clicked in her brain that he needed some sugar to sweeten his tea, she walked around the room division toward the dining table and picked up the little bowl containing sugar cubes. When she brought it back for him, the television had already been turned on. The boy tribute was complaining about having to watch the recap when he already knew everything that happened in the parade; he'd been there, after all. Finnick simply signaled for both Tributes to watch anyway.

She stood behind them, near the back wall, as all Avoxes were instructed to, but she made sure to position herself so the glare coming in from the window wouldn't obscure the television screen. The ceremony started shortly; after a brief introduction by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith, the chariots started rolling down the Avenue of the Tributes. Normally Katniss didn't base her observations about the tributes from the parade, instead waiting until the training scores or the interviews to make up her mind about each of them, but this year, the circumstances were entirely different. These were the people who would try to kill her sister, and this might be the only chance she got to measure them up, so she made sure to pay close attention to every single one of them.

There was the requisite haranguing as Four came up on the screen, both kids whining about the hideous shoulder pieces or the stupid sparklers while their escort insisted that sparklers were the latest trend in the Capitol and they shouldn't complain about something they couldn't understand. Katniss was annoyed by the comments; how could they be so upset about fashion when in just a few days they'd be fighting for their lives in an arena? But of course, they were Career Tributes, so the fact that they looked ridiculous at the parade was probably their greatest worry at that point.

As the chariots rolled down the alley, she made mental notes on the tributes she considered the most imposing; outside the Career Districts, only the girl from Ten looked particularly fearsome. The chariot for Twelve was, of course, the last one down the road and it was a good thing, too, because had they come first, she wouldn't have been able to pay attention to anyone else.

She had to bite down on her lower lip to hold back her gasp. Prim was on fire. Her chariot was on fire and Katniss went through about half a second of utter panic before the sheer beauty of it all finally hit her. Everything, from the straight line of her back to the electric brightness of her blue eyes spoke of confidence, strength. The light from the fire reflected against her costume and bathed her in a kind of ethereal halo that was unlike anything she had ever seen before, in the Games or elsewhere.

The sight tugged inside her. She'd always seen Prim as the one good thing in her life, the one small ray of sunshine in the dreariness that was life in District Twelve. But now, she shone. She wasn't dull coal, but a precious jewel. The stylists had made her into a true ray of sunshine. No, even more than that: she was as radiant as the sun itself. It's like someone had taken every bit of her brilliance, her warmth, the beauty of her soul, and put it out there for everyone to see.

And her smile... that sweet smile was simply Prim. Her Prim. And at that moment, even though she was looking at her on the screen, even though she knew she had to be somewhere in the building, Katniss missed her little sister so much, it was almost a physical pain.

Soon enough, all the chariots had rolled their way down the Avenue and came to a stop in front of the podium from where President Snow would give his address. She readied herself to keep her disgust from showing; that man always gave her the creeps. The President rose from his chair and walked toward the microphone. There was a wide shot of all the chariots as they would look from Snow's position, and then she expected the speech. But it never came. Instead, the shield of Panem came up on screen, accompanied by the anthem, and the transmission ended. She thought that was strange; usually the recap included the President's welcome. The Games didn't officially start until he declared them begun.

With barely a second to spare a look at the clock, the District Four escort was already pushing the two tributes out of their comfortable lounge chairs and toward their respective bedrooms, with the reminder that they had to be at training in fifteen minutes. As they left, she heard the boy tribute wonder aloud if they were ever going to let them know what "big technical difficulties" they had been experiencing the previous night.

Finnick stayed in the room just long enough to put his now-empty teacup down on the coffee table, and turn off the television. Then he followed his charges, but not without giving one last, completely unsubtle, glance in her direction.

Her mind was still buzzing with images of Prim and the parade as she and the other Avox took the used dishes and cutlery downstairs to be washed. The more people they encountered on their way, however, the more curious she became about that last comment she heard before the group from Four left the living room.

Apparently, there had been some sort of technical issue during the broadcast of the Parade the night before, she concluded as she made a beeline for her sleeping quarters as soon as they dropped the dishes off with the washers. Avoxes and other servants kept the service hallways busy, and she couldn't think clearly with so many people bumping into her. Upon finding the room empty she dropped herself on her assigned bed and tried to put her thoughts together.

The fact that they didn't show President Snow's address in the recap was bothering her. The only reason to leave out his welcome speech would be if he hadn't actually given one... but he always did. A change of protocol was very unlikely. It had to be related to the technical problems they had, but then again, she couldn't remember the broadcast of the Games ever having any sort of issues. The Capitol always made sure everything went right, and they had 78 years of experience to iron out any possible flaws in their system.

She wasn't one for conspiracy theories, but this time the conspiracy was all but confirmed. Was the rebellion behind this? Could it be that they found a way to interrupt the President's speech? It was too much to be a coincidence for them not to be. But Haymitch had not mentioned any of this— or of anything at all, really— and she had no way of seeing it with her own eyes. And it's not like she could just ask someone either.

She ran her hands over her face, taking a second to try and make sense of all this. She was pressing the heel of her hands against her eyes to fight back a headache when she heard the door open. She expected it to be one of the Avoxes, wanting to rest for a minute (she shared these quarters with eleven other people, after all), but when she looked up she was surprised to see Finnick Odair standing there. At least he was wearing a shirt this time.

She sprung to her feet immediately, her hands twitching somewhat compulsively. She was acutely aware she didn't have her bow with her. He didn't seem concerned by her standing up abruptly or that she was obviously expecting some kind of attack; he simply closed the door behind him and looked around the room like it was some kind of tourist attraction. "So, where's the husband?" he asked, out of the blue. After one last sweep of the room his eyes finally fell on her. "Oh, did they put you in different rooms? That's gotta suck."

He looked at her like he expected some sort of answer from her, and it confused her so much, his comment about her "husband" didn't strike her as odd right away. She couldn't reply, so she limited herself to staring back at him, her puzzlement and distrust evident in her expression. By the time she finally began wondering how he knew she was supposed to be married, he was already speaking again. "Cat got your tongue, Katniss?" he asked, with a small smirk.

It wasn't so much the fact that he knew her name as it was the deliberate tactlessness of his comment that made her finally understand. Insensitivity like that instantly reminded her of a certain drunkard Victor she'd come in contact with recently. "You're... working with Haymitch Abernathy?" she asked out loud, figuring she might as well give up the pretense. She didn't lower her guard, though; just because she could speak in his presence didn't mean all her reservations about him had banished.

He seemed to approve of the fact that she'd put two and two together. "Is that so hard to believe?" he asked her in return, walking away from the door to sit on one of the empty beds, a few away from her. Unlike Haymitch, who two days ago had seemed grim and cynical about everything he'd come to say, Finnick seemed entirely unruffled about this encounter.

Of course it was hard to believe; she had a hard time using Finnick and Haymitch's names in the same sentence, let alone actually imagining Finnick being part of a rebellious faction. As far as the entire country knew, he was living the grand life in the Capitol. Why would he want to, in Haymitch's words, take a hit at them? Bite the hand that fed him? And, of course, there were other factors... "Didn't seem that way. You being all chummy with Cato yesterday at lunch," she pointed out, crossing her arms.

She hadn't seen Finnick interact with Haymitch once during the entire meal, but that wasn't surprising; Haymitch hadn't even looked her way either. But she didn't figure being friends with vicious killers was part of their cover. Finnick leaned back, leveling his weight against his hands on the bed. "Cato's not so bad, you know," he asserted, casually. "Maybe you shouldn't judge us by our Games."

"It's the only thing I have to judge you on," she shot back. Whatever her opinion might be of Finnick, she'd never really believed him to be a murderous psychopath, despite how gruesome his method was for winning the Games. He killed because he wanted to win, not because he got a thrill out of having people die by his hand. It was different with Cato. "He seemed to enjoy killing."

"Oh, he probably did," he responded straight away, with a shrug of his shoulders. He didn't seem overly concerned about this, much like he didn't seem overly concerned about her obvious wariness. "You know, for the past few years, the Capitol has been using him as a hired gun. He kills people they want out of the way."

She was shocked by his unexpected revelation. It wasn't necessarily what he said, but how certain he sounded as he said it. It was a back door rumor that stretched even to District Twelve, the idea that once a person won the Hunger Games, the Capitol basically owned them, and if they had any talents to exploit, they would be used for everything they were worth. Everybody knew it, though nobody dared say it out loud. Having it basically confirmed by Finnick Odair, the Capitol's darling, only made it feel even more sick to her. She wondered why he was telling her this. Maybe he was doing the same thing Peeta did before, telling her at least part of the truth to come across as trustworthy.

He pushed his hands off the bed, shifting forward until he was leaning his forearms on his knees. "Thing is," he started, looking down at his hands as he interlaced his fingers, "even if you enjoy killing, there's just something wrong about being forced into it." He paused a moment to look at her straight in the eye. "You should know. Right, Katniss?"

The question was poignant and the way he was looking at her was more than enough for her to understand what he meant. After all, sometime soon— maybe even sooner than she was ready for— she'd be expected to kill Seneca Crane. That, she couldn't forget.

He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He smiled again, not a smirk this time, or that smile full of charm she'd seen him give some of the females he passed by; instead it was a small smile, seemingly sincere, but mirthless and bittersweet. "Everyone who's involved in the Games comes out broken," he stated, grave. He shook his head slightly, the smile all but gone from his face. "You do what you have to do in order to survive."

She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't even want to think about that. Bad enough that the Games directly threatened her sister's life, the idea that even if she lived, she might be changed by the horrors of the arena, might have already been changed by the mere fact that she got reaped... she couldn't think about it. She thought back to Peeta's words from when they were in the box, about Prim's innocence. She had pegged him as too idealistic back then, at a moment when idealism wouldn't help them, but now she was beginning to understand and appreciate what he meant. No, Prim wouldn't have to "do what she had to do." She, Katniss, would, to make sure her sister reached the end of this alive and well.

"Was there anything you needed to tell me?" she asked him, curtly. Whatever it was, she wished he would just get to it.

"Actually, there is," he said, adding a light groan to the end of the sentence as he stood up from the bed. "I'm sure you heard about yesterday's... interruption at the parade," he stated, more than asked. She didn't even bother to nod, and he continued without waiting for her to reply. "It was us. Our tech people have a way of taking over the Capitol signal and introducing a broadcast of our own." They had tech people? How big was the rebellion? But she didn't ask. "Last night was the first time we did it. Just a small clip, and it only aired in the districts, but of course they have ways of finding out. They warned the President and his speech was cut short."

She waited, hoping he would get to the point. Yes, she wanted to know what happened during the President's speech, and she appreciated that Finnick meant to keep her in the loop, but why did he? Haymitch hadn't bothered. Why now? "The clip we aired last night was of you," he added, and that's when she understood. "When you punched that Peacekeeper at the Reaping."

"What?" she let out, stunned and confused. How did they get their hands on a clip like that? How could her punching Mendel ever have made it into the original broadcast to begin with? She had assumed that as soon as she started the scuffle the day of the Reaping, Capitol cameras would've cut away from it, as they always did when anything happened in the Games that was out of their control. Had that moment been filmed at all? Had the rebels' "tech people" taken the clip from the Capitol archives? Cressida, she remembered. The camera crew had been there, and they were with the rebels...

She immediately felt angry, and more than that, she grew anxious. She was already in danger by having left the district to begin with, and to make matters worse they went and aired her face on national television? She'd been walking around the Training Center all morning. What if someone had recognized her?

Moreover, the fact that they had used her image without her permission— heck, without even letting her know at all— bothered her immensely. And what could they gain from it? All there was to it was a hysterical girl making a pointless mistake. If it hadn't been for Gale, Peeta and Darius, she would've been punished, or maybe even killed that day. "Why me?" she questioned brusquely.

"Why not? You punched a Peacekeeper," Finnick retorted, like it was the best thing he had heard in his life. "Everybody in Panem needs to know that if you hit them, they go down, just like anybody else," he qualified. "They're just flesh and bone. And they only have power over us because we let them."

"You're using that clip of me punching Mendel to try and get people in the districts to rise against Peacekeepers?" She was completely flabbergasted. She had never intended it that way when she did it. She couldn't even remember what she'd been thinking at the moment; all she could remember was an intense need to get to Prim.

He seemed to find her disbelief amusing and once more he directed a smirk in her direction. "You're the face of the rebellion, Katniss."

Her throat went dry as she pondered the implications of that statement. She hadn't meant it as a seditious act, but now that he brought it up, she could see how it could look that way from the outside: she'd brought down a symbol of the Capitol's authority, and gotten away scot-free. It was almost like spitting in the Capitol's metaphorical face, and now the entire nation was aware of it.

"Our people made sure your actual face couldn't be recognized," he continued, before she even felt like she had a grasp on the situation. But she didn't know if she ever would, so maybe that was a good thing. "Still, there are other ways for them to find out your identity. You can't stay here anymore, it's too risky. You'll be moved somewhere else during the night."

This immediately incited a distressed reaction from her. "No, I can't leave! My sister—"

"We're working on it," he interrupted her straight away, like he'd been expecting her to raise up an argument. "Don't worry, we'll get your sister out of there. Remember, this is all part of a greater plan," he assured her. Again, he seemed completely certain.

"A plan I know next to nothing about," she was quick to retort. No matter how sincere he sounded, she couldn't forget they were basically using her. Cressida had admitted as much on the train. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Because we're all working toward the same goal," he claimed. "The Hunger Games are the cornerstone of the Capitol's power. Getting the tributes out of that arena is the first step to make them crumble. We're going to do it," he asserted fervently. "But before we can, you need to do your part. Once that's done, we can get your sister out, and you won't have to worry about any of this anymore. Isn't that what you want?"

It was. And it wasn't. But she had to admit what he was saying made sense, just as Haymitch's words had made sense, too. Clearly they were using Prim and Prim's rescue as much as they were using her, but she was already in too deep to back out now.

She took a deep breath, resigned, and knelt down to pick up the backpack she and Peeta had brought along with them. She took the mockingjay pin out of the front pocket and, standing up again, presented it to Finnick. "Could you make sure Prim gets this?" she requested simply. "It's a token from our district." She didn't know what her sister saw in that pin when she decided to wear it, but she knew what she saw on it right now: that the mere existence of mockingjays meant the jabberjays survived to thrive despite the Capitol's intent for them to die. And she needed Prim to do the same. She needed Prim to know she could do the same.

He took the pin from her and stared at it for a moment, and she wondered what he saw in it. "I'll try, but I can't make any promises," was his reply to her request. He pocketed the pin and moved away from the bed. "You might want to let the husband know. There's a few places you can talk to him safely. Here, or at the roof. All the wind makes it hard for them to put up surveillance there." He nodded at her, almost like he was trying to nudge her in that direction. "You don't have much time to say your goodbyes."

At the implication, she felt something like a cold slurry settling in the pit of her stomach. "No, I can't just leave Peeta behind," she exclaimed, blanching at the thought. She had imagined this could happen from Haymitch's comments on their first night here, but she hadn't expected that it would upset her so much to have it confirmed.

He was resistant to the idea. "We can't get both of you out, it's too risky—"

"You got both of us in," she interrupted him before he could give her an excuse she knew would not satisfy her. "Why is it harder to get us out? As I understand it, you have a whole network of people just in this building working on this behind the scenes. What's one little change of plans?"

He looked almost regretful. "It's just not possible. You're going to be placed straight into prep for your assignment." By that he meant the assassination plan. "And he's not going to be part of that mission. There's nothing he can do over there," he explained. "I'm sorry." He was right, of course. It had already been established that Peeta didn't have much to offer an operation that hinged on a long-distance kill, and there was very little time for them to come up with something he could do. Still, she'd rather have him with her than not.

Finnick was looking at her like he knew she was going to put up a protest, like he understood, but she knew he didn't. He was thinking that of course she wouldn't want to be apart from her "husband," but there was so much more to it than that. He didn't know how much Peeta had done for her just by being there. He was risking everything— his family's safety, his own life— to help Prim, to help her, and he did it even though he had no obligation to do so. He was just that good a man, and she'd be the most ungrateful person in the world if she just left him there, not knowing what would happen to him, and when (or if) they would see each other again.

She wanted to tell Finnick all of this, she wanted to say something, but she didn't know how. Didn't know if she could, or if it would just make things worse. So she just shook her head. It must've come across as anxious, from the way he was looking back at her. "Listen," he started, with a regretful sigh. "If it were up to me, I would let you go together. But... I'm just the messenger," he concluded, almost sadly. "Maybe you could talk to whoever's coming to get you tonight. Try and convince them to let him come with you."

She didn't know how she was going to do that, but it was the only option she had at the moment. She nodded, albeit reluctantly. Finnick moved toward the door, and just as he was about to twist the doorknob, she called out to him. When he turned back to her, she realized she didn't even know what she was going to ask, but she needed something to level herself. "What did you have to do for the Capitol?" she questioned, over the hammering of her heart against her ribcage. "In order to survive, I mean."

Once again, his smile was somewhat pained and didn't reach his eyes. "I'm a secret keeper." He gave her another nod, or maybe even more of a bow, and left the room.

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(Ridiculously long) Author's notes!—

Chapter 23 took forever. You can blame him. -Points to Gale-

A few weeks back, when I posted an excerpt from this chapter on my ficlog, someone asked me about the outcome of the 74th Games, since they were obviously different without Katniss and Peeta (yeah, Cato won! District Two represent!— IDK, I just like Cato, I'm weird like that). Specifically she asked me about how I believe Rue and Foxface died in this alternate universe. I figured since I already typed it up, I might as well tell you guys, too:

Rue was killed by Marvel still, they found her hiding in the trees when she tried to bring down the tracker jacker nest on them (she didn't have a weapon, so she tried to throw rocks at it, and they heard her. She thought she wouldn't be seen but Clove had better hearing than she expected). I'd like to think it was a swift death.

As for Foxface, Cato killed her when he realized she was stealing their food, right after he killed District 3 dude because he let her steal their food. Thresh killed both Marvel and Clove (because of Rue, still). And then, add in a touch of irony for Glimmer: I don't like her very much, so I don't think she was particularly well-adapted to surviving in the wild. So when the careers split up, she couldn't ration her provisions well enough and ran out, and decided that while she waited for her sponsors to send her some real food, she might as well go pick some berries... Oh yeah, nightlock. xD Hey, if someone as smart as Foxface could make that mistake, Glimmer had no chance.

More to the chapter, I should mention how close I was to actually writing a scene where Katniss jumped Effie in the hallways of the Training Center to wrestle her keycard away from her. I was really, really tempted. The mental picture is hilarious. :D

Also, last week I spent a lot of time procrastinat— I mean, pondering ways to make this fanfic as good as it can possibly be, and in the midst of my pondering I decided to open Photoshop and tinker around with it for a while. I wound up making a banner for this fic, just for kicks, though I don't really see the point if FFN will only let you guys see a tiny 75x112 version of it... It's nothing spectacular, but if any of you want to see the full version, just let me know in a review or a PM and I'll send you a link.

Anyway, I hope you all liked my take on Finnick! I love Finnick, and this chapter may be my favorite yet, if only because he's in it. Unfortunately there will be no Finnick in the next chapter, but another Victor is going to make an appearance (any guesses?), and it's a Peeta PoV, with Peeta & Katniss interaction, so you guys can look forward to that! It shouldn't take as long as this one did, because I have chapter 24 outlined in way more detail than I did 23. So stay tuned and please leave a review, it would help my focus a lot! (I've been fending off plot bunnies all week. Please save me from the scary bunnies!)