Author notes: I apologize to everyone for not having updated this story in six months! I have not forgotten this story, and I do plan on finishing it. You have all been on my mind the entire time. Unfortunately, I suffer from psychotic episodes. I did not react well to the medication I was on and it was very difficult to focus. But I am well now and trying to get back into the swing of things. Thank you to all of those who have stuck by, and those who were concerned and sent me private messages. I appreciate it very much and hope I don't disappoint. You are my rock. I'm not sure how many of you will still be reading this story, but let me know if you are. I couldn't appreciate you all more.

DALLENISCOOL - Heh. Your wish is my command. ;)

Joemon8 - No! Please don't burn me! Then the story will never be finished! Besides, I'm the good kind of witch, I swear!

LunarWolfHunter - I think Marvel needs to break it off with Glimmer as well. I'm hoping to show another side of him soon. *spoiler* Thank you!

Peetofan4 - Thank you for the kind words! I'm glad it didn't bore you. I'll have to change the description of the story to better suit the content now. Thank you for the heads-up!

HungerHead4978 - Will do and so happy to hear you like it! Thank you!

Derakmon - I think it's awesome that you were able to tell what was going to happen, actually!

Stardust3428 - I'm so sorry! I will definitely try my best!

Suspicious

Trying his hardest to hear the conversation without being noticed, Peeta presses his ear to the open door frame of Cato's room. He contemplates opening the door just a tiny bit more, but that would risk being caught. Cato's voice sounds further and further away- he was heading to the bathroom, Peeta notices. He can still hear Cato speak, but the voice is so distant now that all he can hear is soft gibberish. He decides to wait until Cato comes back. Maybe he would be able to hear the rest of the conversation when he came back.

A strange, prickling sensation tingles the back of his neck, his senses more in tune. He knows somebody is in the hallway with him, watching him. He can feel the eyes burning into the back of his skull. When he turns around to confront his intruder, Cato's uncle is staring back at him with something resembling a lion's smirk, happy to catch its cornered prey.

"Hello, Peeta" Gem coos. "Didn't mean to frighten you. I take it we're spying on Cato?"

Panic strikes Peeta's flourished, red face, "Oh, no, sir! I was- I… well, you see-"

Gem only chuckles at Peeta's discomfort, knowing all too well what was really going on. "He's a good-looking kid. Runs in the family. Nothing to be embarrassed about." He takes a moment to think over his next words, carefully watching the fearful teenager just in front of him. "In fact, I'd probably be doing the very same, if I were you. Cato is a… complicated man. I think people mistake his awkwardness with ill-intentioned mystery. That's always been his problem, you know?"

There are many words Peeta might use to describe Cato, but awkward wasn't one of them. It makes him think he doesn't know him as well as he'd like to believe. Was his personality really just an awkward defense mechanism that came off wrong? No, Cato isn't awkward. He's confident, unlike Peeta. If anything, Peeta thinks he's the awkward one, but he nods his head dumbly in agreement anyway.

The evil lion's smirk softens into an almost caring smile as Gem hands Peeta a hot cup filled with a sweet-smelling dark liquid. "Thought I'd bring you boys up a nice cup of home-made joe. Helps calm the nerves. Family recipe," he winks. "Got one for Cato, too. I'll leave it up to you if you want me to bring it to him or if you'd like to do it yourself."

The english language has turned into a blubbering mess for Peeta. "I, uh…" he manages to choke out, accepting the cup of coffee offered to him.

"I hear you're a baker. Cato's told me all about it, of course. Your skills in the kitchen are probably much better than mine. I try to copy Grandma's recipes, but they don't always turn out the way I hope. Try the coffee and tell me what you think. If it's terrible, maybe you'll know what I can do to make it taste better. Do you like sweet coffee?" Gem asks the confused adolescent.

Blinking in hopes of clearing his head, Peeta nods with a tight, forced smile. Something about Gem is off. He can't put his finger on it, but his gut is just screaming that something is wrong. Not finding any specific enough reasons not to, however, he acts against his better judgement and takes a sip of the sweet coffee.

It's not bad. Peeta has never had anything like it before. It has a very slight floral taste to it. Strange for coffee, but definitely not terrible. After a second sip, he decides he actually likes the taste. "It's pretty good."

"Excellent!" Gem beams in excitement. "Any pointers or tips I should know? Please, be honest. I won't be offended."

"Actually, I really like the way you made it. What's in it?" Peeta asks in curiosity.

"Oh, you know," Gem says as if it's no big deal. "Just some cinnamon, vanilla, and a couple of herbs that my Grandma shared with me when I was about your age. I can't say that it tastes the same, but if you like it- then that's all I need for success."

Peeta smiles fondly at that. He's always happy to bring someone else happiness, or make them proud.

"Well," Gem says after a moment of silence. "I'm going to hit the hay. Why don't you bring this over to Cato for me while it's still hot?" he asks with a wink, handing the second cup of coffee to Peeta.

"No problem, Mr.-"

"Thank you, Peeta. But please call me Gem. Anything other just makes me feel entirely too old."

"Okay, Gem," Peeta says with a smile. The uneasy feelings in the pit of his stomach flutter away. He may even like Gem a little. Sure, he was a bit strange sometimes, but friendly enough.

"Goodnight, Peeta. I'll see you soon," Gem says, excusing himself.

"Goodnight, Gem. Thank you for the coffee," Peeta answers back before letting himself into Cato's bedroom. He would have knocked, but holding a cup of coffee in each hand proved to be a bit troublesome.

The moment Peeta enters the bedroom, Cato looks over at him, as if expecting him. Peeta offers him a small smile and tries to hide his blush. "Hi. I was going to knock-"

"Don't worry about it," Cato says, standing up from his spot on the bed. He walks over to Peeta, easily towering him. Peeta had forgotten how tall he really is. "Let me help you with that."

Grateful to have a hand free, Peeta gives the hot mug to Cato. "This one's yours," he explains.

Without bothering to ask any questions, Cato takes a sip. His face contorts into one of confusion. "This… it's good, Peeta. What's in it?"

"I don't know," Peeta answers honestly. "Your uncle brought them up and told me to give you one."

The stern look on Cato's face is unsettling. Peeta isn't sure if he'd done something wrong or not. Should he have accepted the drink? What's the harm in that? Deciding that couldn't be a logical reason, he begins to worry that the sudden change in behavior is due to Cato's head injury. After all, the doctor had explained that Cato's temper tantrums and violent outbursts were caused by the pressure in his brain. This could be the result of permanent brain damage, for all he knew. "Is everything alright?" he finally asks.

Shaking his head from side to side, Cato lets out a forced laugh. "Nothing. It's nothing," he says. Truth is, this drink did taste slightly familiar and left a bad feeling in his belly, but he knows his uncle would never do anything to hurt him. They're best friends. In fact, Gem has been more of a father figure to Cato than anyone ever has. He was the only one to stick by his side when needed, the only one who really cared. Convincing himself that everything is okay, he takes another sip of his coffee, to prove to himself that the uneasiness was unnecessary, that he trusted his uncle. There was no reason not to. What happened between him and Gale… it doesn't matter. It's in the past, and it was something else entirely. He sets the mug aside.

"Sorry," Cato says a moment later.

Peeta's eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. "It's okay. Um, how is your head feeling?"

"Fine. Do you want to watch another movie?"

Softly shaking his head, Peeta declines. "I'm getting pretty tired actually. Maybe I should head back to the other room-"

"You can stay here tonight," Cato offers.

Peeta's cheeks flush a soft pink. "Oh, um… Cato, I don't know how I feel about that."

"No, I meant you can sleep in here. I wasn't trying to make a move on you. A bit unable to do anything with this thing on my face," Cato explains, pointing at the gauze around his head.

Peeta instantly calms down, lets out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "Oh, yeah, I mean- that's what you… yeah, okay. Sorry."

Cato chuckles at the smaller boy before him, shaking his head with amusement. He begins to reach for the coffee his uncle had made for him, but something stirs inside of him. Something just… doesn't feel right. His fingertips just barely graze the porcelain before he decides not to drink anymore after all. Instead, he hops onto his bed, settling both his arms behind his head and feels his body starting to relax. He's only now realizing how tired he is.

"Come to bed, Peeta," Cato says.

The way he's said it, it makes Peeta's heart hammer in his chest. Cato is so calm, so strong, confident, collected…. What Peeta wouldn't give to be more like him. He looks before him and forces himself to take a step towards the bed, one leg in front of the other until he finally reaches his destination. He carefully steps up onto the bed, crawling forward until he reaches the top of it. An overwhelming desire to sleep overcomes him, forcing a sort of confidence he'd never otherwise have, to curl himself into the blankets and cuddle up against Cato's strong body, nuzzling his face into Cato's neck. He doesn't say goodnight, simply falls asleep the second his head touches the pillows.

And something about that just isn't right. Feeling an overwhelming need to protect the boy next to him, Cato embraces Peeta even tighter to his body. He looks back at his coffee mug with a suspicious glare. Peeta is probably just exhausted. He's had a long day, and it's all Cato can think to convince himself that everything is alright.

The body next to him moves with small, relaxed breaths. A smile tugs the very corner of Cato's lips, watching the sleeping form in amusement. It's calming, watching him. He begins to close his eyes, finally giving in to the exhaustion when he hears a creaking outside the room. The door to the guest bedroom next to his own opens with a quiet creak. The hinges really should be oiled. And suddenly Cato is angry. He hears the door close and footsteps tapping closer to his bedroom. He wraps a protective arm around Peeta and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep.

A moment later, the footsteps stop and it's quiet. The door to his bedroom opens very slowly and Gem peaks inside. Looking through a very small crack in his eyes, Cato observes him. He won't come to any conclusions until he catches his uncle in the act.

But Gem simply walks over to the desk where two coffee mugs are. He picks them up, along with an empty bowl and spoon, and leaves the room without a word.

He was just cleaning up the mess. That's all.

Finally, Cato allows himself to fall asleep.

There's nothing more Finnick would like to do than be over with all of the crazy ideas in his head, to ignore the troubled images Wes had placed into his mind. But how could he ignore the change in Myka's behavior, or how he blatantly refused to discuss his concerns? Although he tries, he can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. He needs to talk about this, right now, or he'll go mad with the anticipation of not knowing. Was this what a panic attack felt like? To have your heart beating so hard and so fast, you could hear it in your ears, feel it pounding against your chest- it's a terrible feeling. If it wasn't for the adrenaline pulsing through his veins right now, he doesn't know what would happen.

The speed limit is 35 miles per hour, but the information doesn't process in his head as he speeds through empty streets. He may have been going 60, 70, 80 miles per hour, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the means of an end to his troubled breathing, shaking body, and the roaring of blood in his ears. He's going to have a heart attack, he's sure of it. But this was going to be dealt with tonight, whether Myka liked it or not. Finnick just can't live like this; wondering, worrying all of the time, not knowing. If he finds out that his lover hasn't been faithful, then he'll… he'll… actually, he doesn't know what he'll do.

"Fuck!" He yells on the top of his lungs, smashing his fists against the steering wheel. His knuckles instantly turn purple from the harsh impact, but he can't feel any pain. He does, however, feel his eyes burning, unsure why they feel so hot until he quickly wipes the right side of his face and notices the wet tears smeared against his palm and fingers. "Please tell me I'm wrong about this. Fuck! What are you doing to me, Myka?"

A small, old woman in a long, pale blue dress and gray sweater that's just a couple shades darker than her long, silver hair suddenly appears on the road, and Finnick slams on his breaks and makes a harsh turn to avoid hitting her with his car. His convertible nearly spins out of control, swerving hard to the right, then the left, then right again. It tips slightly to the right, as if it's going to roll over, but finally settles back on all four tires. Time feels as if it has paused, and the beating of his heart has seemed to completely stop before roaring back to life, pounding against his chest harder than it ever has before. He clutches his chest and heaves troubled breaths. He's just nearly killed someone. He looks behind his shoulder to see if the woman is alright. She's finished crossing the street, continuing to slowly walk further away as if nothing had happened until she becomes nothing more than a tiny blue-gray blur.

The old woman is fine, unlike Finnick.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Finnick repeats over and over again, his entire body trembling. He holds his head in his hands and takes several deep breaths. "Relax, just relax. Breathe."

It takes several minutes before the shock finally wares off and he roars the engine back to life, carefully moving forward and keeping his speed in check. He wouldn't have the life of an innocent person on his hands tonight. He couldn't live with himself if he managed to hurt or kill someone due to his lack of self-control.

Minutes later, he arrives at the familiar dive, and his heart is beating hard in his chest again. He observes the building, notices large crowds of people loitering around, smoking cigarettes, drinking beers, making out against concrete walls. He ignores them, turns off the ignition, and builds the courage to make his way inside the dark building. It takes a minute or so to adjust to the dark, red lights. He pushes through swarms of bodies, attempting to make it to the bar without being too rude. When he makes it to the counter, he doesn't see Myka.

Perhaps Gale picked him up. He could be home. And if Gale picked him up, and they had the house together… alone….

No, he thinks, shaking his head. He can't rush into accusations like this. A woman with red hair approaches him.

"Hey, honey. What can I get you tonight?" she asks.

"I'm looking for someone," Finnick says. "Have you seen Myka? He's a bartender here."

The woman cocks an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, I've seen him. You a friend of his?"

"I'm his boyfriend," Finnick says in a flat tone.

The woman raises both eyebrows in surprise. In an instant, the look is gone and she shrugs her shoulders. "Oh, well, he left a while ago. Don't know where."

She's lying, and Finnick knows it.

"You know what? That's okay. I'm just going to look around a bit, see if he comes back," Finnick says, calling her bluff.

She turns her head away, pretending not to care. She genuinely likes Myka and doesn't want him to get hurt, but she won't get involved in whatever drama might enfold. "Suit yourself."

Rolling his eyes, Finnick turns away from the bar and begins to search for his boyfriend. He knows the brunette is still here, somewhere. He wanders around until he finds himself at the very back of the building, close to the exit. There are dozens of people kissing, groping, fighting, doing whatever it is they pleased. It disgusts him, but he continues his quest until he finally finds what he's looking for.

Just twenty feet away, on a long, red couch, is Myka, sprawled out on his back with another man on top of him, kissing him, hand caressing a very intimate space between his legs. And Myka… he's just laying there and accepting it.

Without a word, Finnick storms out, stomping his way back to his car. If he hadn't just nearly killed the old woman on the road, he knows he would have approached them and thrown his fists at the man on top of his boyfriend in a jealous rage. He could easily kill him. But he chose to walk away, the blood in his veins boiling. A couple is kissing and groping one another on the door of his convertible. He grabs the shorter man by his arm and shoves him, along with the blonde bimbo, away from his vehicle.

"Hey, asshole! You looking to start some business?" the man yells in anger.

But Finnick just ignores him, gets in his car, and drives away.

He should be livid, mad with rage, but he feels nothing anymore. The car ride is peaceful, quiet. It seems unreal how eerie everything is. But he is hallow, and nothing matters right now.

Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours before he finds himself parked at a familiar home. It's not his own, but he feels welcome here. He walks up to the front door, gently taps on it. A moment later, it opens.

"Fin?" Domi asks, surprised to see him here. He is not unwelcome, of course, but Finnick always called or text her before he dropped by. "Hey, baby. You okay?"

Finnick looks up at her, his eyes glossed over, and opens his mouth to speak. The words never come. He doesn't know what to say.

Domi instantly knows something is very wrong. "Come inside, babe. I'll make you some tea."

Finnick nods his head and follows her into the garage; their safe place. It's warm and comforting. Revamping it into a sort of hang-out room was the best decision she ever made.

Domi excuses herself to make the tea while Finnick makes himself at home on the brown, leather couch a couple feet from her drum set. He feels a bomb of emotions, threatening to explode in his throat. But he keeps it down. He wouldn't let anyone get to him like this. He's Finnick Odair, the man everyone loves and wants to get to know. He's confident, strong, attractive, charming…. What is there not to like?

But if that's true, why doesn't he love himself right now?

Domi quietly takes a seat next to him and places a warm cup of tea in his hands. She doesn't speak, unsure if her friend needed a talk, or a distraction. Letting him make the first move would help her understand what was happening without prying.

Clearing his throat, Finnick asks, "How's the Suspended Life treating you?"

So he wants a distraction, which means he's hurt. "Fine. I get to write more music, which is always nice. Gale and I have been working on a little something."

At the mention of Gale's name, Finnick's mouth twists in disgust. "How's that going, by the way?"

"I don't know," Domi answers honestly. "He called a couple hours ago talking about the government spying on him. I'm worried about him."

"What did you say to him?" Finnick asks in curiosity.

"Nothing, really. I figured he was probably doped up on something, and there wasn't any use trying to talk any sense into him in that state," Domi says. She twiddles with her thumbs- a sign that she's very worried. "Anyway, I'll talk to him when he calms down tomorrow. What's going on with you?"

"I'm fine," Finnick says. He looks away from her and stares at the ceiling.

"Are you?" Domi asks. She touches his shoulder, and he looks back at her. She looks so focused, and even a little scared for him. It's as if she can see into his soul, and it makes him slightly uncomfortable, and very vulnerable.

"I…." He looks away from her, letting the thoughts consume him. The constriction in his throat and chest are getting tighter. He looks back at her. "No, I don't think I am, D."

Domi doesn't ask what's wrong. She quickly hugs him, holding on when he begins to cry. In all the years they've known one another, she has never seen him cry. She strokes his hair, trying her best to comfort him.

"I saw him… but he wasn't alone," Finnick manages to say.

At this, Domi's eyes widen in realization. It couldn't be. Myka wasn't like that. He was absolutely crazy about Finnick, though he had a very shy way of showing it. "Are you sure, honey? Maybe it was an old friend, or-"

"An old friend? AN OLD FRIEND? WHAT KIND OF 'FRIEND' IS ALLOWED TO FORCE HIS TONGUE DOWN MY BOYFRIEND'S THROAT WITH HIS HAND DOWN HIS PANTS? HUH? YOU TELL ME! BECAUSE I DON'T FUCKING KNOW ANY!" Finnick shouts on the top of his lungs. In his fit of anger, he flips the table in front of the couch Domi is still sitting on.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't move, just watches him. She should be scared, but she's not; just worried for him.

Taking in deep breaths, Finnick forces himself to calm down. Through bleary eyes, he looks at the broken glass and turned over table beside his feet. Guilt overtakes him. "Domi, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I'll pay for everything, I promise!"

"Fin! It's alright," Domi says in a soft, soothing manner. "It's just a table made of silly wood-"

"Mahagony," Finnick corrects her.

"What?"

"It's what the table is made of. The wood is mahogany."

Domi rolls her eyes, her false eyelashes making her brown eyes appear bigger than they really are. "Fin, baby, you pay way too much attention in class," she jokes.

Her smile instantly makes Finnick feel better. He nods his head and takes a seat on the couch again. "Sorry," he repeats again when a wave of silence has passed.

Domi shakes her head, reaches over and tugs on the sleeve of Finnick's shirt. He leans over until he's laying against her chest, her arms wrapped around his neck. She strokes his soft, auburn hair and kisses the top of his head.

"Thank you," Finnick says, his voice calm and broken.

It breaks Domi's heart to see him like this.