Author's Note: Yes, I know I said wouldn't update until near the end of the week, but I have prac networking exam on this morning and I needed to do something to calm myself down and this seemed like the thing to do.

Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter, reviews are much loved and wish me luck for this exam.

Chapter Two

The morning went by too fast. Even waking up early didn't make the time seem slower for us to go down to the main square of District Four, outside the Justice Building, for the Reaping.

One moment I was enjoying breakfast with my Grandmother and my boyfriend/best friend and the next I was walking with them back to Grandma's house and getting ready to go down to the square.

I swallowed the lump that was building in my throat as I ran my hands over the soft green and blue dress that I had been given to wear by Grandma. It had belonged to my now deceased mother and even though it is years old, it is still one of the most beautiful things that I have ever worn. Simple but completely beautiful.

I slipped my feet into a pair of soft sandals, before I started fingering my hair, not sure what I should do with it. Most years, I simply threw it up into a high tail at the top of my head, like what I wear every other day of the year, as if to convince myself that today is like any other day of the year, even though, of course it isn't

"Hey. You ready?" Finnick's head was sticking itself into my bedroom from my doorway. He was looking quite dashing, but really, that is not unusual for him, since he almost always looks dashing, no matter what he wears. Or not wearing…

He whistled as he walked into my room, looking me up and down with an almost unreadable expression on his face, but I felt my cheeks blush when I saw just how dark his eyes now were. But instead of allowing him to see just how deeply he has affected me with simply his presence, I sniff at him, turning my back to him as I picked up my brush and started brushing it through my hair.

"Haven't you heard of the concept of knocking?" I asked him briskly, "I could have been changing for all you knew."

"More luck for me then, if you had been." He replied as he took my brush from me, since I had been brushing my hair somewhat fiercely, and started brushing it, gently, himself. He then positioned me in front of my bedroom's mirror and with clever fingers that I knew he possessed; he started braiding my hair down my back.

Once he had done that he started to create a complicated knot with the braid, so in the end my hair was knotted in a graceful knot at the back of my throat.

"A smile wouldn't hurt the image, you know." He teased softly and I smiled, just for him.

He cleared his throat then, and I saw him, in the mirror, from where he stood behind me, reaching into his trousers pocket nervously.

"I got this for you," he started, sounding so shy and childlike that I felt my smile grow as he gently wrapped his arms around my waist, one hand closed into a fist while his other hand took a hold of my right hand as he pressed his closed fist against it, dropping something cool and light into my palm.

I looked down with interest and couldn't help but gasp, for in my palm lay the most beautiful necklace that I had ever seen.

It was a tiny silver seashell hanging from a thin silver chain. So beautifully crafted it was that it took my breath away. And the cost of it…

"Finnick…" I started weakly, looking up into his eyes via the mirror. He was watching me carefully and seemed pleased with my reaction to his gift.

"You like?" he asked with a wide grin.

"Of course." I gasped, "But-but Finnick, I…"

"Shush." He said, moving one hand to gently place over my mouth – I kissed his palm. "Don't worry about any of that."

I roll my eyes at him in distress. How could I not? How could I not worry about this, when I know that this simple gift could be reported back to the Capital, back to President Snow and…

"It's fine, Annie." He soothed. "I'll be fine. It's just a gift" it was more than that, of course. "It's not like it's a ring or anything." He adds almost airily but I catch a hint in his voice, a hint that makes my breath catch in my throat.

I eye him closely in the mirror, but his face is neutral betraying no emotions that that tiny hint in his voice had. A hint of anger, remorse, longing.

I felt my stomach churn as he took the necklace from my palm, unclasping it and gently reclasping it around my slender throat. The chain was long enough, so that if I needed to, I could hide the pendent beneath my clothes and no one would be the wiser about it.

Except for today, today my neckline was too low for me to tuck the tiny, precious seashell out of sight, so it would be on display for all who bothered to look to see. Family heirloom, old trinket, a gift; excuse after excuse formed in my head for me to say to anyone who asked me about it. After all, as Finnick said, it wasn't like it was a ring or anything.

"Smile, Annie." He says to me, begs me almost. So I smile for him and push all my worry and fears to the back of my mind and he holds me so that neither of us will fall.

I wish that Finnick still walked with me to get signed in. He used to when I was younger, when he first moved in with Grandma and me. But as I got older, more people around the district found it strange for him to be walking with me to be signed in. So as of last year, we stopped and I silently filed in with all the other children of District Four by myself.

I fingered my seashell pendent that hung around my throat, ignoring the curious looks I received from other children around me.

I winced when they took my blood, but after five years of having it done, I was used to it. I remembered the panic attack that I had had the first time I had to get my blood taken while signing in, when I was twelve.

I was so scared that my grandmother – since both my parents were already dead by the time of my first reaping - had to be called over from when she had been previously standing on the stage out front of the Justice Building, to hold my hand while they took my blood. And then she, like the parents or guardians of every other twelve year old around me, walked me to the roped off area, right at the back of all the rest of the roped off areas, where all the twelve year olds stood.

She stayed with me for as long as she possibly could before returning to her place on stage. This was the year that Finnick won and came to live with Grandma and me.

It was him, the next year, my second reaping, that walked with me to be sign in, held my hand when they took my blood, before taking me to where the thirteen year olds stood.

It became a tradition until I turn sixteen and we decided it would probably be for the best if we stopped. I didn't want to, I felt comfortable and reassured when he was with me, the lose of it now leaves me feeling frighten and yarning for his comfort once more.

I silently file my way into the rope off section where the seventeen year olds girls stood; trying to ignore the boisterous girls, all chattering away about what it would be like to have the honour of being a tribute, to win the games, to have Finnick Odair all to themselves.

I tuned out after that. It is these girls – and boys too. I can see them from where I stand – who give our District the name of Careers that join us with District One and Two.

Most of us do not look for death, nor do we enjoy watching it and yet from these few adolescents around me we look to be as bloodthirsty as Two.

I cringe away from the bloodthirsty, energetic girls and moved off to the edge of the roped area, to where the quieter girls were huddled.

They all eyed me cautiously, like they always do. They seem to think that since I am the granddaughter of one Victor and the best friend of another that I am the same as those girls back there. They never give me a chance for me to prove that I'm not, that I'm just like them, that I like my life here in District Four, that all the action I want to see in my life is when I'm in a swimming meet, simply competing for a metal, not for my life.

I try to keep my irritation off my face at their closed mindedness and instead turn my attention to the stage, trying not to smile as I do so.

Finnick is looking like some kind of sea god, lounging in the foldout chair like it's some kind of throne, his face looking across the crowd as we are all below him, that we aren't worth his notice, his gaze fixed firmly on the ocean in the distance.

It's an act, all of it. Inside him, I know, he's a mess, that the reason he is looking over our heads is not because he thinks we are beneath him, but rather he can't bear to look at us, knowing, as he does, that two of our number is about to leave and possibly never return ever again. Well, except in a wooden box from the Capital.

I try to smile at him, but I know that he won't look my way, not until the reaping is over and he has to leave, then he'll come and find me and say goodbye for the weeks that he'll be away in the Capital, doing gods only knows what. And, in truth, I don't really want to know.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks." I look back up the stage again, where our Mayor is now standing in front of a microphone, looking out over the vast sea of District Four kids. I know that his twelve year old daughter has joined our ranks.

He reads out the lists of all our Victors, which are quite a few and only one has died of old age so far, making my grandmother now the oldest Victor of our district. Finnick is our youngest - being just fourteen years old when he won he's games - even though two years after he won, we had another Victor crowned; Trout Greenglass, but he was eighteen years old at the time of his victory while Finnick was still only sixteen.

As he reads out the list of our Victors and which year they had won, I looked around the square, looking at all the people from the Capital who were in charge of the cameras that were broadcasting this all over Panem, at the people who took our blood and sign us in.

All these people were from Capital; all taking some part in the slaughter of mostly innocent children and had no problem with it. It was a game to them, their favourite show of the year.

I swallowed thickly and went back to playing with my necklace.

The mayor finished reading the list of our Victors he went about introducing our District's escort, Stansen Flickershade who trotted out on to the centre of the stage the moment his name was called, grinning widely around at us as he called out, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

It's hard to feel much sense of doom and gloom when Stansen Flickershade is around. He is just about the most ridiculous looking person I have ever seen in my life.

His hair was a brilliant blue colour. Or maybe it was a wig, considering how spiky it is. I wonder if he's ever spiked himself when he's touched his hair and drawn blood. His skin has been dyed the colour of lime green and he has different coloured blue swirls tattooed all over his body. But surprising his suit is quiet nice, subtle even. A simple blue, well tailor suit, nothing outstandingly freakish about it, just a normal suit, it is he. He who is the outlandish, freakish thing and yet he seems to have no idea that the whole district is trying not to laugh at him, hiding their laughter by faking coughs or behind their hands.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Finnick shaking his head at the sight of Stansen. He caught my eye and winked at me as Stansen rambles on and on about what an honour it is to be here, representing us to the rest of Panem and so on.

Just get on with it, I beg silently and I know I'm not the only one. Some of us want him to hurry up, to let us know that we are safe for another year, while others are dying to know whether they are going to go into the arena, to bring glory back to our district.

I fought the desire to pull a face at that.

They have no idea what they're wishing for, no idea what those games are really like. Neither do I, really, but I live with two people who have been in those terrible games. I know exactly how a Victor fairs, and it is, most of the time, not very well.

I wouldn't wish the fate of being a tribute on to anyone, even less for them to then become a Victor. Yes, you live pass the Arena, but you have to survive with that fact for the rest of your life.

"Well then, ladies first." I'm drawn once more out of my thoughts by Stansen as he bounces over to the glass ball that contains all the names of the girls - within the ages twelve to eighteen - of our district.

He reaches in, swirls his hand within a few hundred times, building suspense I guess he thinks, though really, he's just making everyone want to throw something at him to get him to hurry up already, before he buries his hand deep within the ball, right to the bottom, with a determined expression on his face – why did it look like he was searching for something in particular? Or someone? – before he finally plucked a piece of paper from the top of the pile, almost as if he's spot the slip of paper that he is searching for.

I can hear the crowd around me taking in a collective breath, waiting, waiting to hear who was going to leave us and probably not return, waiting to hear that we have been saved, saved for another year.

Open it already! I beg and I know I'm not the only girl who's thinking just that.

Smiling widely, he unfolded the piece of paper and read out…

"Annie Cresta."

Author's Note: Yes, I know, a cliffhanger... of sorts. I'm sorry, I hate them too.
P.S I own that pendant that Finnick gave Annie in this chapter. Its actually what originally - besides from the books of course - inspired me to write this fic.
Thanks for reading, hope you all enjoyed and thank you to all the people who have already reviewed, favourited and put this fic on alert.