Hey friends! I'm back...

So it feels like forever since I've updated, but I've been really busy with work and finals coming up, so I haven't been able to invest myself in this story as much as I've wanted to of late. Updates will be coming more frequently soon though because I have a lot of things I'm looking forward to writing for this story, so yay :) Also, I originally planned to write this Chapter all in Finnick's point of view, but I wanted more detail concerning the training, so I turned to Annie for that. Don't worry: I'm planning on making the Games very detailed and written day by day, instead of glossing over them like I sort of did with the training.

And another point, like I said last chapter, I'm going to be waiting a good while and working on building up Annie and Finnick's relationship before something really happens between them ;) Evil, I know. But don't worry! The angst and craziness is coming!

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and have been having a lovely week. PLEASE REVIEW. I'd love to hear what you have to say. And I've been really stressed lately, so I could use the pick me up, whether you have something good or something constructive to say. I'll take anything :)

Anyway, enough with the rambling! Chapter 6!

Chapter 6: Long Ride

Finnick

The next morning, the day of training begins, but I walk into the familiar dining area blissfully happy, despite the fact that just a mere hour ago I was sneaking out of some Capitol woman's home whose name I can't remember and slipping into that all-too-familiar, window-darkened limousine. To be honest, I don't remember the last time I've ever been this happy the morning after a night in the Capitol; hell, I don't even know if I've ever been this happy on this same train that takes me to and from the Games and Capitol year after year. She's changed my perspective on this situation entirely in one night. Those bright green eyes, kind and compassionate to a fault, give me a hope that maybe something does exist outside of this boring, worthless feeling that is the lifestyle I am forced to live because of the Capitol.

Now, I'm determined to protect her. I'm no longer just sad to watch my old best friend go, but hell-bent on her becoming the one to step out of that arena alive. After one impossibly vulnerable night, I've let her in so completely, and I know I can't let her go again. She's all I have, this girl who has so quickly become my best friend again. And now that I have her back, I'm not sure how I will live without her.

You won't have to… I drill the thought over and over again in my mind, forcing myself to believe it. After all, I'm the one who can help ensure her survival more than anybody else besides Annie herself.

Last night, after we'd sat there for an immeasurable amount of time, I'd begun to realize that no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I'm not over Annie. I want her friendship again. And although I can never really be allowed to have it, can never be worthy of a friend like her, I want to try. I can at least protect her and bring her home. After that, I'll make her realize she doesn't need me. I'm not good for her… I'm a monster, someone who's selfish and broken and scarred and used and so incapable of what knowing what real love is actually like that it's almost laughable. I care for Mags, love her even, but that's only because I simply fell into it with her after I'd won the Games, this old woman who seemed to care so much. And even then, Mags was the only one. I might have sit up in the control room late one night with Haymitch some years in order to distract myself, or harass Johanna about the fact that I'm more likeable than her, but really, even they know how much of a front I put up in front of my Capitol patrons. They just have the understanding to not say anything about it.

I've never actually told them what's happening to me. But they're aren't stupid. And I'm pretty sure they can guess.

There's light chatter at the breakfast table as Mags is slowly garbling at York, lecturing him about the importance of first building fires and finding water instead of hunting tributes. And even though I should be nodding in agreement and sharing some of my own advice, I'm only half-tuning into the conversation because I'm eyeing the door, waiting for Annie to walk in. And I'm not really even sure why.

"Where's Annie?" I blurt unthinkingly, forgetting momentarily that I haven't spoken any other words yet. Odiva's enhanced eyebrows shoot sky-high as she titters with apparent annoyance at my lack of manners, but LaBelle and Yvonne don't portray any emotion that's out the ordinary: they simply sit, politely and expectantly. I think they have grown to understand me a little better, at least realizing that I'm an actual human being and not a sex toy to be played with and then put back on some expensive, mahogany shelf. Sometimes I actually wonder if the Capitol's crazed women forget that. I think they do.

All of this running through my head at once, and I've completely ignored whatever LaBelle's just said. I saw her lips move, heard the buzz of her words hum into my ears, but I'm completely lost. She probably thinks I'm rude for ignoring her, but I don't know how to respond to make her think I was listening. She's patiently waiting for me to speak though, so I glance at Mags for an escape, who's merely staring at me with an impish smile. I'm on my own here.

"I'm sorry, LaBelle, what did you say? I must have been daydreaming," I concede, winking at her. She merely waves her hand, a smile on her surgically-enhanced face.

"Don't worry about it, dear Finnick. I was just saying I think she is still asleep. The poor girl must be tired after doing so, so, so well yesterday. We should probably knock on her door soon though. Have to eat a good breakfast to train well!" she chimes in a sing-song voice.

I smile, then rise from my seat, plate untouched. "I'll be back," I promise, kissing Mags on the cheek. "I'm gonna go wake up Annie." With that, I'm striding out the room, not even bothering to look back and see the expressions of confusion plastered on their faces.

I'm not really sure what I'm doing here.

This isn't weird, right? Going down the hall to her room? I mean, I'm her mentor, and we're sort of friends. I can come to her door to wake her up in the morning. This isn't weird. I'm doing this because I want her to be on time and train hard so that she can come to her family. To her younger brother, and to her old, wrinkled grandfather…

I knock on her door as I keep repeating those thoughts in my head, my voice light and teasing. "Good morning, Annie Cresta! Come, come!" I imitate LaBelle's high-pitched voice the best I can.

I receive no response, so I edge open her door. She's still asleep, her dark, tangled hair spread out over her pillow like sea foam. Even with her eyes closed, she still resembles my best friend. In sleep, it's easy to recognize the hint of kindness and understanding in her soft features by the way she has her hands gingerly pressed together near her stomach and the way her lips form into a dreamy, upward curve. She's perfect, and as memories of last night come swirling back, her resting against me up on the roof, I feel a sudden warmth in my face and tingling in the pit of my stomach.

What the hell? Johanna's right. I must be going crazy.

"Annie?" I whisper, softly. When she begins to stir, I hold back a laugh. Her eyes slowly rub open, and then she's looking at me so quizzically that it's almost comical.

"Fin?"

"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty! Training day!" I sing out sarcastically. She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and stretches, standing up and running a hand through her silky hair.

"All right then," she agrees, following me out the door. "I'm coming." But I can see the fear in her wide, green irises. And before I know it, the comforting words are slipping out of my mouth, my hand reaching for her skin, as I try to find the words to say to pull her through this.

"Hey," I murmur, catching her chin as she reaches my side. Now, her eyes are on mine. "You'll do great. Trust me. You have this in you, Annie."

Her bright eyes look doubtful, but she whispers back, "Okay."

Back in the dining area, Mags' eyes widen then easily compose themselves as soon as she notices my hand on the small of Annie's back, guiding her towards the table. I roll my eyes at her obvious shock, even though Annie's skin feels like fire against mine. I'm trying to ignore the way my hand itches to wrap around hers, but it's taking a lot more effort than I would have expected. We're just friends. Always have been, and now that we're actually speaking to each other again, I have to remember that things can't be the way they used to be. When we were kids, I would hold her hand all the time, but only because I'd want to warm her up if she was cold or steady her balance when she was nervous on the first day of school. In a way, I guess I've never really been able to kick that desire to protect her from anything and everything. She's just too fragile.

LaBelle's mouth is hanging open and then she's smiling so widely and laughing so suddenly that she looks a little bit manic, almost like those mentally unstable patients they show on stupid Capitol dramas.

I know this gesture means nothing; it's just an expression of Annie and I's friendship. But clearly the others at the table aren't having that.

York looks shocked, his eyes bugged, while Odiva's eyes are trained on my hands as if they are the saving grace of this world. Annie's cheeks are bright pink, and I inwardly smile. She notices the others' uncomfortable stares too.

"What?" I ask, purring seductively and batting my eyelashes at Odiva, the only one naïve enough to succumb to my charming antics. "I understand that you can't help staring at me, but it's a little too intense for Annie here. She isn't used to being around my amazingly good looks."

Odiva looks away quickly and giggles, and I think I might see a tear in her eye. I want to laugh. Is she actually that upset because she thinks the famous Finnick Odair prefers someone else over her romantically?

The unmistakable gleam in her eyes when she finally returns to scarfing down her eggs tells me yes, she is.

XXX

Training is slow-going. Annie's only really an expert at tying knots, so I tell her to read up on edible plants since that will probably be her sole source of food, considering she can't hunt. She does as I say, and comes back every night, finally relaying every last detail after I rail her about it endlessly. Once I finally know she's done explaining all she's done that day and that she hasn't given up, I'll take her into my arms and hug her before letting her slip off to bed. I think we both need the comfort, and I can tell that training is taking a toll on her. She doesn't like to be surrounded by these people who are so ready to kill her, people that are so different than who she is. I've especially heard brutal things about the monstrous boy from District One, a hot-headed ass named Gavin, whose apparently already been reprimanded several times for fighting with other tributes during training and attempting to stab an instructor who accidentally miscounted his knives.

Annie hasn't interacted with really any of the tributes though and clearly isn't a part of the Career pack like York. I've inquired him about training once just to seem interested, even though Mags insisted on mentoring him because she, just like she always does, somehow knew that I'd want to stay with Annie before I even knew that myself. In that one conversation York and I had though, he told me enough for the understanding to sink in that he's teamed up with One and Two, all probably extremely skilled killing machines.

After the training scores are released, York with a nine and Annie with a five, I'm not surprised. But a five is at least something. Better than a four. Guess all those knots we tied as kids finally paid off. I whisper into Annie's ear that a five is good, that we can work with a five, and LaBelle just gazes at us as if we are the most adorable thing she's ever seen on this earth.

I hold back a laugh. Right, I wish. And the confusing thing is, I actually do.

I know Annie has already easily morphed back into my best friend. We talk every night about things we miss about home and stories from these past five years that we haven't shared together. We spend night after night on the roof, talking in whispers and wrapped around each other, rememorizing the other. She talks about the time she fell out of my dad's boat while I laugh at the story of her throwing seashells at my house repeatedly when I wouldn't wake up one morning during a stormy summer that feels like lifetimes ago. Nothing more happens, but every time she touches me my heart beats faster and my skin feels tingly, a good kind of fire spreading from the pit of my stomach out to the very tips of my being. I never remember her touch eliciting these kinds of feelings back when I knew her before the games, but then again, I was too naïve back then.

It doesn't matter though. Every night, she gets a little closer. But every time she does, I make sure to stay a safe distance away. I can tell that she already trusts me implicitly again. When she leans in closer as I'm telling a story, or the way she sighs so softly when her head meets the place right over my heart… She's not separated from me anymore, and the more we dig into each other's lives, the more I find my own brain trying to warn itself about the dangers of becoming too close to her.

One night, she's describing how much her younger brother Flynn idolizes me when all I can suddenly focus on is the way her voice wraps around my name, a caress that floats smoothly and seamlessly off of her plush, pink lips. It sounds almost… reverent, and I'm automatically disgusted because someone so sweet and good like her should never be associated with an idiotic ass like me. She shouldn't want to be friends with me. She should realize that she's getting herself involved with the wrong person, and step away. But the strange thing is, even though I know that's what I should want her to realize, I don't want her to.

On the day before the Games, when the three days of training are finally over and interview day rolls around, we are all eating a large breakfast of waffles and fruits and glazed meats before the tributes begin preparations for tonight. This is the one day they have to do right, despite what others might say about the importance of the chariot rides and training scores. They have to be winning and show the sponsors exactly who they are and why they deserve support. Which usually requires a pretty kick-ass approach to their public reputation, which was thankfully easy as breathing with Annie. She's naturally caring, a softhearted and soft-spoken person, but it doesn't register as a weakness when she speaks: it sounds undeniably sweet with a very subtle, underlying strength about it. She won't have to fabricate some ridiculous image like I did.

I just hope the sponsors buy into her sweet, well-mannered appearance as well. After all, they really don't know her like I do.

As we finish the meal, York looks overconfident and smug as usual, while Annie is quiet, sweet, and calculating. There's a nervousness tainting her sea-green eyes, but it's understandable.

"Remember," I say as I'm standing up, preparing myself to leave to chat up sponsors in the auditorium who arrive ridiculously early and wait hours for the interviews to air. "Be yourself and be winning. They'll love you both." I don't necessarily agree with the part about all these emotional Capitol freaks adoring York, but that's beside the point. And it's probably just because I'd really love to kick his arrogant ass all the way back to District 4. He will get sponsors, but not for his kindness or amazing personality; he'll most likely gain attention because of his brutal weaponry skills and Career status. I shake his hand and then Annie is standing up, her small frame pressed against mine as she loops her arms around my waist, squeezing me tightly.

For her, I lean my chin down and whisper in her ear, "You'll be great, Cresta. Don't worry. I'm rooting for you." She giggles a little and then steps away, blushing as I tuck a stray lock of hair back into place behind her ear. York's eyebrows are raised as LaBelle instructs them to hurry so that she can begin to teach her annual class on proper etiquette and confident poise. That's my signal to head out. Don't want to be stuck listening to LaBelle's lectures on how to smile and present a sure attitude using a "sturdy yet sexy" walk. I smile at the image of Annie cringing as LaBelle critiques her on the art of walking in high heels: Annie's always been a little clumsy, or at least she used to be.

I call out a goodbye to the others and lope away; slyly avoiding the mob of girls that usually waits outside the front door to the Training Center, screaming my name at all hours of the day. It just makes it easier to convince these rich and willing strangers to love this kind, beautiful tribute of mine that's more than deserving of it when there's not a million other girls hanging onto my every word and fighting for the same attention that really will never be theirs.

If only they could realize that.

Annie

My breathing is accelerated.

The room is large and dominated by steel metal, my footsteps echoing like rain against a tin roof. It sounds ominous, almost like a very doomed march to my certain death. Which ironically, it is.

I've tried to get sleep this past night, but it hasn't worked. The looming thought of training is making me sick. I don't want to talk to anyone at all… I simply want to sit at a knot-tying station with a nice, helpful instructor and lose myself in the woven, repeated pattern of the twine, forgetting all my worries as I focus on the simple loop, pull, twist….

But I know that isn't what Finnick or Mags would want me to do. They want me to learn new things that could benefit me in the arena, so I know that I should listen to them. A tall woman named Atala begins droning on as I stand frozen in place, a few feet away from the other tributes that I'm trying to avoid. Being so close to the people that in just a few days are all going to be trying to kill each other… it makes my heart lurch in strange, anxious ways.

"The session will begin now."

These words snap me out of my reverie, and I quickly scurry away from the large, loose circle of tributes. I'm sure I must look stupid and weak, but at the moment, I don't care. Quietly and quickly, I find a small station with a tiny instructor who helps me over and over again as I continually fail to start a fire with the flaky piece of flint.

Once my patience has run out and I've only managed to elicit a few sparks against the rock, I sigh and smile sadly at the instructor, hoping he understands that I want to move on. I spend the rest of the day viewing different edible plants, which is thankfully a much easier task than trying to start a fire.

The days blur together as I spend all my time trying to learn new information, anything that might help improve my already-slim chances of survival. Finnick makes me ramble on about my progress in training every night after dinner, so at least I have some motivation to keep trying. If anything, it's for him.

Always for him.

I sigh, wondering why despite everything that has happened to me in this past week, a simple boy that used to be my best friend from home can't seem to escape my thoughts.

I cannot begin to let Finnick in again. I' m going to be gone in a few days.

He tries to convince me otherwise; reminds me of my family and friends that I should pull through for, but as much as I want to believe him, I know that even my best won't be enough. I'm not cut out for this. The best I can hope for is to die with some shred of dignity left, and hopefully with as little pain as possible, that way my little brother won't be forced to watch my suffering.

I'm so scared.

Night after night, after I slink back down to my room from the rooftop, I retreat into my room only to be assaulted with terrible nightmares of the Games that my mind has conjured up. Burning desert, frozen arctic, a vast expanse of city ruins. It all makes my veins run cold with fear.

I wonder what Finnick does to cope with the nightmares he must constantly battle.

But then again, at night, when he leaves, he's probably not doing much sleeping anyway.

That feeling of absolute horror at all that he's endured riddles my stomach with holes as I fight the urge to go find him now, in the dark, even though he's probably off at some hotel farther away from the City Circle, kissing a stranger's pair of lips. I don't know why, but I can't imagine Finnick in a place so foreign, doing something he so badly doesn't want to. I just wish there was a way I could comfort him.

But there's not. The Capitol always wins, and right now, there's nothing I can do for him.

So I simply endure my training, eat my meals, and perfect my appearance, so that soon, all of this will be over, and that just maybe I'll be able to eventually do something for my old best friend, my mentor, the man who's lost so much and gained so little, all for the sake of a game.