The hovercraft hummed silently through the sky on its path to the arena. Finnick paced the room. Worrying. About Mags, about Annie, about the plan…about himself.

Caia wasn't onboard. That morning she had succumbed to a fit of hysterics and had had to be sedated. One of her assistants, Lumina, was onboard instead.

"Sit, Finnick," she said. "You need to eat – to drink something. Not waste your energy."

"I know," groaned Finnick, falling into the seat beside her and scrubbing his hands through his hair. "I just can't help it…"

Lumina looked at him kindly. She was about fifty years old now, with all the wrinkles smoothed out of her face and a flowing, electric-blue mohawk. "You'll do all right," she said. "I think you'll win."

For a second, Finnick was tempted to say, It's not just about winning. But ever since he had become part of the plot, he was seriously paranoid. Eyes were constantly watching him, ears constantly listening; any Capitol official or soldier he met could be there to arrest him. And now would be the worst time for him to say something like that.

Nausea began to claw at his stomach and he lowered his head to his knees, arms folded and eyes closed. He was scared, scared like he hadn't been ten years ago. I was stupid then, he thought bitterly. A stupid, stupid little kid who didn't care about anything or anyone but his own pretty face…

And then…Oh, Annie, Annie, he cried silently. I love you so much.

"C'mon." Lumina lightly touched his back. "You need to eat something."

Finnick forced down food and water, though he couldn't taste anything and the nausea was steadily building. He'd been queasy last time, too. Sh-t, thought Finnick. I really hope I don't –

Finnick barely had time to lean away from Lumina before he puked all over the hovercraft floor. As he sat up, shaking, and wiped a hand over his mouth, she looked at him worriedly.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." And he meant it. As he took a swig of water and swished it around his mouth, he realized that not only was the nausea gone, but his head felt lighter and clearer. By the time the craft landed and Lumina was helping him dress in the Launch Room, he was alert and on edge.

The outfit was unusual, sure, but it didn't give him much clue to what the arena would be like. He doubted it would be the standard forest, though. And there was his token, of course. The golden bracelet that would be a sign to Katniss to trust him.

"All right," said Lumina, unnecessarily smoothing out the fabric on his shoulders. "All set, then…" There was a little catch in her voice.

Finnick looked her squarely in the eyes. "Thanks," he said. "And – and tell Caia thanks too."

Lumina tried to smile. "Not at all." She swiftly hugged him, then stepped back.

Right. All Finnick's attention was focused inwards now as he stepped on the metal plate. The glass slid soundless down around him and he closed his eyes.

Listening to his pulse, his breath, the rhythm of his body.

Don't think. Just listen.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Feel his heart beat.

The plate rose.

Finnick waited until he could feel open air on his face.

Then he opened his eyes – and laughed.

Could there have been a more perfect situation? Water, his element, his playmate since birth, surrounded him on all sides. Compared to his other Games, this was a haven, a paradise.

The Cornucopia gleamed golden in the middle of the arena; the tributes were arranged around it. And encircling the water, a strip of sand and forest.

Right, then. Finnick automatically tensed the muscles in his body, waiting for the gong. Any second now…he rose onto his toes…nervous excitement swelled in his stomach…

Bonnggg.

Finnick dived in, slick as a seal and fast as a shark. When he resurfaced he was halfway to the Cornucopia already. Three or four powerful strokes brought him to the sand. All the supplies were near the mouth of the Cornucopia. He could see a golden trident gleaming, waiting for him, right on top of a net…

But as he lunged forward to snatch them up, Katniss sprinted in front of him. She had barely grabbed a golden bow before she spun around to face him, arrow nocked and ready. Finnick, his weapons in his hands, froze. His immediate instinct had been to attack, but that was bad, that was very bad…Katniss must not die.

"You can swim, too," he said with a tight little smile. "Where did you learn that in District Twelve?" Put down the bow, I'm on your side, please, please, don't shoot me…

"We have a big bathtub," she snapped. Sarcasm?

"You must," said Finnick. Just put the bow down. "You like the arena?"

"Not particularly," she said sourly. "But you should. They must have built it especially for you."

Now there was an idea…Perhaps – Finnick halted the train of thought before he was distracted. He watched Katniss, waiting for her to make a move.

But she didn't. So he grinned and said, "Lucky thing we're allies, right?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously and he saw her fingers tighten on the bow. Desperate, he jerked his hand, hoping the movement would draw her attention to the bangle.

It worked. He saw her eyes flick to it and her face briefly relax. Then approaching footsteps brought all the tension back.

"Right!" she snapped. Behind her, Phobes from District 5 appeared and Finnick had no time to think.

"Duck!" he ordered, and hurled the trident straight into his chest. "Don't trust One and Two," he said as he yanked it out.

Katniss bent and freed her sheath of arrows. "Each take one side?"

Finnick nodded and looked through the Cornucopia's gifts. Everything in there was metallic and deadly. No food, no supplies…just weapons? Enobaria and Gloss were approaching.

"Anything useful?" he called.

"Weapons!" she shouted. "Nothing but weapons!"

That meant the land held supplies. "Same here," he answered. "Grab what you want and let's go!" The only weapons he really felt comfortable using were his trident and net, but he grabbed a knife all the same. And a couple extra tridents.

Sprinting to meet Katniss, he found that Brutus was charging towards them with all the stealth of a rutting bull. "Do something about that, would you?" he said, his casual tone masking his regret. Brutus had been a friend, a comrade. And Finnick sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to shoot him.

But Katniss's arrow was blocked by the belt Brutus was holding. Before either could act he had thrown himself underwater again. Clangs of metal behind them told Finnick that others had reached the weapons too.

"Let's clear out," said Katniss.

I couldn't agree more, thought Finnick. But then he saw her eyes move automatically to Peeta.

Lover Boy was still on his plate. Apparently he didn't have a big bathtub at home.

Katniss ran towards Peeta and Finnick shadowed her. When she began to remove her weapons from her belt, he put a hand on her shoulder. "I'll get him."

Suspicion showed on her face. So she still didn't trust him. Good. She would have been an idiot if she had. "I can," she said stubbornly.

Finnick lowered his weapons to the sand, ignoring her. On impulse, he leaned forward and patted her stomach. "Better not exert yourself. Not in your condition."

That fazed her enough to give him time to move to the edge of the water. "Cover me," he shot over his shoulder, and dived in. The quick breath he took told him Mags was moving towards Katniss. Good.

He reached Peeta, but before he could speak Finnick said, "Katniss trusts me, we're allies. She's right there on the shore. I'll help you swim back." And he held up the wrist with the bangle.

Peeta's blue eyes tightened as he read Finnick's expression. Then he nodded. "All right."

Finnick slid back into the water, keeping one hand on Peeta's arm. Peeta plunged in with about as much grace as a lumbering cow, but it was easy for Finnick to flip him into a dead man's carry and tow him back to Katniss, who rushed forward to drag him onto the beach.

"Hello, again," said Peeta, kissing her. "We've got allies." Finnick listened to them with only half his mind, preferring to keep an eye out for danger while they exchanged sweet nothings.

"Yes," she answered. "Just as Haymitch intended."

Peeta asked if they'd made other alliances and Finnick listened harder. Had they? And with who?

"Only Mags, I think."

Really? "Well, I can't leave Mags behind," said Finnick. "She's one of the few people who actually likes me." How true was that, he wondered.

"I've got no problem with Mags," said Katniss. "Especially now that I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal."

"Katniss wanted her on the first day." Peeta jumped in like a knight errant coming to Katniss's rescue.

"Katniss has remarkably good judgement," said Finnick, trying very hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Mags had reached the shore, but needed help getting out of the water; Finnick reached down and easily helped her up.

"It's far too easy t' swim," she said. "The belt's a bob – it keeps ya up."

From Katniss and Peeta's blank faces, he could tell they couldn't understand a word of what Mags was saying. But Bolts, floundering around in the water but floating like a cork, was there to helpfully illustrate her point.

"Look, she's right," said Finnick, pointing to him. "Someone figured it out."

"What?" said Katniss.

"The belts. They're flotation devices. I mean, you have to propel yourself, but they'll keep you from drowning."

Peeta nodded once. Katniss was already handing him weapons. Mags hobbled over, repeatedly asking for the awl Katniss had in her belt. Finnick was about to interpret when Katniss appeared to understand and handed the tool over. Mags held the awl in her mouth and reached two withered arms to Finnick, with a wink only he could see. Smiling grimly, Finnick tossed her on his shoulder over the net, grasped his tridents, and ran along the sandy spoke until he reached the woods.

Which, to be honest, he didn't spend much time in looking at. They weren't exactly there for the scenery. But what he did pick up – dark, spongy earth, heat and humidity, and strange trees covered in moss and vines – was unlike any forest he had ever seen before.

They walked single file, Peeta hacking a path through the undergrowth, then Finnick with Mags – damn, the old girl got heavier by the minute – and Katniss bringing up the rear. The stifling heat – so unlike the cool sea breezes he was used to – made it hard for him to really get his breath. Not until his lungs felt like they were going to implode from the pressure and Mags weighed about a hundred tons did he speak.

"Let's stop here," he said. "We all need a rest."

The others agreed and Finnick swung Mags off his back, putting a hand out to steady her on her feet. "All right?" he asked.

Mags nodded. "Are ya?"

"Yeah." Finnick tried and failed to get a really deep breath. Looking around, he saw Katniss had disappeared. "Where's our heroine?"

"She climbed a tree," said Peeta, jerking his chin belligerently at one a few paces away. "I think she wants to survey the arena."

"Fair enough." But Finnick knew that the second she was alone, she would start thinking. Thinking led to doubts. And she still didn't trust him. And seeing all the victors – who were more or less friends – killing each other wouldn't do anything to help.

Cracking his neck, he waited for Katniss to descend from the tree. Her feet appeared first, but it was the tight, hard look on her face that made him raise his trident, all the while keeping it seemingly nonchalant.

"What's going on down there, Katniss?" he said, only slightly mocking. "Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of nonviolence? Tossed the weapons to the sea in a defiance of the Capitol?"

"No," she said shortly.

"No," said Finnick. "Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance." Well, except Lover Boy, who in all honesty should have died last year. "Except maybe Peeta."

And she still didn't trust him. Finnick could see her eyeing him, preparing to attack. Dammit, girl, I'm only trying to help…He was still trying to figure out how to incapacitate her without seriously wounding her when Peeta planted himself between them.

"So how many are dead?"

One more if he didn't move. The guy was seriously an idiot.

"Hard to say," said Katniss. "At least six, I think. And they're still fighting."

Six? Already? Damn, that was a lot…

"Let's get moving. We need water," said Peeta.

Good point. Although there was so much water in the air Finnick wasn't sure they needed it.

"Better find some soon," he said – because yes, they would want it. "We need to be undercover when the others come hunting us tonight." As he had little doubt they would.

They continued to walk, hiking up the mountain. At last they reached a space where the trees could be seen merging into rocky ground. Katniss halted, looking frustrated. "Maybe we'll have better luck on the other side. Find a spring or something."

Even as she spoke, her eyes were focused on something else – something in the air. Finnick tried to figure out what she was looking at when Peeta, lashing out with his knife to cut vines away, suddenly was hurled back towards them with an almighty crack. His descent to earth brought both Finnick and Mags crashing down as well.

F—k, that hurt. Mags had had the luck to land in a tangle of plants, but Finnick's shoulder had come into direct contact with a large rock. Grimacing, he pushed himself up as Katniss, who had already bent over Peeta, began to shake him and scream his name.

Sh-t! What the –

Finnick helped Mags into a sitting position against a tree and scrambled over, shoving Katniss off of Peeta's body. He felt for a pulse, for breath. Nothing. His mind was working furiously. Whatever Peeta had hit, that zap was definitely electric. Peeta's heart was stopped…CPR.

Autodrive kicked into life in Finnick's brain and he pinched Peeta's nostril's together. Katniss screamed again and attacked him. Instinctively, his hand flew out and hit her in the chest, sending her sprawling. Ouch. Sorry.

Then he returned to the artificial respiration, shutting down any qualms or squeamishness and settling into the familiar motions. Everyone in District Four learned CPR. It was a necessity. Especially for the sailors, who spent so much of their lives at imminent risk of drowning.

Peeta's lungs filled with air, Finnick turned his attention to restarting his heart. Again, this was familiar. Rhythmic. Almost relaxing, to be doing something he didn't have to think about. But as precious seconds ticked by and Peeta still showed no life, Finnick began to worry. There was only so long he could do this for.

Finally, Peeta coughed. Exhausted – damn this hot air – Finnick sat back to allow the couple to kiss and cry. There wasn't any kissing, but pretty soon Katniss was crying – and couldn't seem to stop.

Finnick figured it was time to play the pregnancy card, for the sponsors. "It's okay. It's just her hormones. From the baby."

Bizarrely, that only made her cry harder. Was it possible? Was she actually…? Puzzled, Finnick looked from her to Peeta and back again. Maybe their relationship was more serious than he had thought…

Whatever.

"How are you?" he asked Peeta. "Do you think you can move on?"

"No," said Katniss immediately. "He has to rest." Mags considerately handed her a handful of moss to use as a tissue.

Look, thought Finnick angrily, I appreciate that you're concerned about him, but staying put really isn't a good idea right now.

They were exchanging comments on their tokens now. What the hell?

"So you want to make camp here, then?" said Finnick, bringing the lovers back to earth.

"I don't think that's an option," said Peeta, surprising him. "Staying here. With no water. No protection. I feel all right, really. If we could just go slowly."

He wasn't all right, Finnick was pretty sure about that. But – "Slowly would be better than not at all." Extending a hand, he helped Peeta, who tried to hide a grimace as he staggered upright. Peeta needn't have bothered, however – Katniss was totally engrossed in her weapons.

"I'll take the lead," she said.

Predictably, Peeta began to protest, but before he could get anything out, Finnick said, "No, let her do it." Somehow, Katniss had had advance knowledge of that force field. "You knew that force field was there, didn't you?" he asked her. "Right at the last second? You started to give a warning." She nodded. "How did you know?"

Katniss paused. Why? Did she not want to tell him the trick? Did she still not trust him, after he practically brought Peeta back from the dead? Finnick half-wanted to shake her in frustration.

"I don't know," she said at last. "It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen."

Finnick listened, hard. But he heard nothing abnormal.

"I don't hear anything," said Peeta.

"Yes, it's like when the fence around District Twelve is on, only much, much quieter." Right. Finnick had no idea what she meant by the fence being "on." Hell, how was he supposed to know what it was like in Twelve? "There!" she said, like it had suddenly become clearer. "Can't you hear it? It's coming from right where Peeta got shocked."

"I don't hear it, either," said Finnick. "But if you do, by all means, take the lead." He wasn't going to argue with her.

Katniss turned her head experimentally. "That's weird," she said. "I can only hear it out of my left ear."

"The one the doctors reconstructed?" Peeta supplied helpfully.

"Yeah," she said, shrugging, and began to extrapolate on her enhanced hearing. Oh, the clever little b-tch. Whatever she really knew about force fields, she was clearly bullsh-tting all this about her reconstructed ear. Diverting the Capitol's suspicion onto whatever doctor fixed it. Damn.

Mags prodded her into the lead. "You." With a guilty shock, Finnick realized he had barely thought about Mags since the Games started. She seemed okay, though…Finnick made her a staff out of a tree branch so she could walk easier. Then he realized Peeta was going to have trouble moving as well, so he made him a staff too. And so they walked on – following their Mockingjay.

Katniss's cry, harsh with panic, jerked Finnick to his senses.

"Run!" she shrieked. But no sooner had he jumped to his feet than he realized that the enemy was not a mutt or other tributes, but a rapidly advancing bank of fog. Without taking the time to think what it might do, he flung Mags over his shoulder and took off at a dead run. The movement jolted Mags awake.

"Finnick, what's goin' on?" she demanded.

"Fog," panted Finnick. "Dangerous." And he saved his breath for running.

Soon he realized, however, that Katniss and Peeta were some yards back. Peeta, weakened by his encounter with the force field, was slow – too slow. And he kept tripping, too.

"Come on!" called Finnick, an edge of panic to his voice. "Come on, just keep moving!" He started jogging again, continuing to call out reassurances. But it didn't help. The next time he looked back, it was to see them both sprawl to the ground. Their limbs were jerking oddly as they tried to stand, only three feet from the deadly fog. Finnick's stomach lurched with sickening fear as he realized that the fog did more than burn through their skin like acid. It caused nerve damage, too.

"Sh-t!" He ran back, Mags clinging to his back like a monkey with her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Grabbing Peeta's arm, Finnick pulled him along. But even with Katniss, it was too much of an effort. And Peeta was still too slow.

"It's no good," gasped Finnick. "I'll have to carry him myself. Can you take Mags?"

"Yes," said Katniss, though her arms were twitching uncontrollably. The minute Mags clambered off of his back, Finnick pulled Peeta over his shoulder and began running again. It struck him that if they got out of the jungle, the fog might stop, so he took a diagonal course both away from the fog and towards the beach. But he couldn't run nearly as fast, not carrying Peeta. His skin began to burn horribly as the fog reached out with vaporous fingers. It hurt…dear God, it hurt…

Behind him, Katniss and Mags crashed to the ground. They managed to regain their feet, but fell again only a few seconds later. When they fell the third time, neither got up.

Cursing internally, Finnick ran back. Katniss looked up at him from the ground, the moonlight shining faintly on her face. "It's no use," she said. "Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

He couldn't. He could only save one, and the choice had already been made. "No," he said. The pressure on his heart forced tears into his eyes. "I can't carry them both. My arms aren't working." They twitched and danced like someone else controlled them. And the fog crept inexorably closer.

"I'm sorry, Mags," Finnick said. Guilt and pain burned him far worse than the mist did, making his voice shake. "I can't do it."

But Mags understood they had to save Peeta. She'd been expecting to die the minute she volunteered. With surprising speed, she got up, kissed Finnick, and walked right into the deadly white fog.

Finnick didn't stay to watch her die. He spun around, Peeta – the goddamn, useless sonofab-tch – hanging over his shoulder, and ran for the beach. The acid burned, working its way deeper into his body. His arms spasmed, his skin was raw. And the skin on his face stung where the tears ran down it. He ran until his lungs couldn't seem to get any air and he collapsed to the ground. Pain threatened to overwhelm him.

Peeta was crushing all the air out of him, too, but Finnick didn't have strength to push him off. Then Katniss sprawled over them, adding her weight too. Finnick simply lay there, his face pressed into the earth, pain attacking him from both inside and out. Mags…dead…they'd expected this. Prepared for this. But he'd never thought she'd die voluntarily, when it was in his power to save her.

Katniss had managed to drag herself off of them. For a second, Finnick hated her intensely. If it wasn't for her and her bloody "priority," Mags would still be alive…she didn't even love Peeta.

Some garbled croaking attempt at speech came out of her mouth. Her second try came out clearer. Something-"stopped."

Wearily, Finnick turned his head. The fog indeed had stopped. Hooray. Peeta finally getting off of him and letting him breathe was a far better cause for rejoicing, though the pain was so bad he could hardly focus on anything else.

And it was only getting worse. Finnick wondered if it traveled through the blood like venom, if each beat of his heart spread more and more poison…? He was vaguely aware of Peeta gasping something. Not until Katniss and Peeta began to drag themselves toward the beach did he muster the energy to crawl with them, inch by agonizing inch. They reached the sand, and then –

Pain rocketed through Finnick's body at the touch of the salt water. He could only back a few inches away before agony so complete it nearly overwhelmed him left him motionless on the sand. Pain…pain…it was all he could process. Every inch of his skin, even his mouth and nose and eyes, was little more than throbbing distress.

Oh God, it hurt…and it didn't stop. In a state where every second hurt, a minute was like an hour. An hour of unceasing pain.

When change came, it was worse. Spikes of intense agony shot up his fists.

By the time the sharper pain began in his arms, he dimly realized that it was Katniss and Peeta, pouring water on him. It hurt worse than the fog – once or twice he twitched and moaned, unable to tell them to stop. They didn't listen.

Then someone grabbed his feet and swung him around. Suddenly his feet were immersed in what seemed like liquid fire. But by now Finnick had realized something else – yes, the water hurt, but after the pain came a blessed cessation of the pain. So he simply lay there and let them pull him, bit by bit, into the water.

Gradually, the hurt and sting began to leave and his consciousness returned. Opening his smarting eyes, he saw Katniss's face above him, a black shape against the dim blue of the false sky. With a tenderness he hadn't expected from her, she pulled his head onto her lap, his body submerged. Finnick closed his eyes again, pretending it was Annie who held him, that it was her fingers on the side of his head. In his half-dazed state, it was only too easy to convince himself that it was her. He'd actually reached for her before remembering where he was and turned the movement into a stretch.

"There's just your head left, Finnick," said Peeta. "That's the worst part, but you'll feel much better after, if you can bear it."

If you can bear it…Thanks a lot. Finnick sat up – with their help – and gripped their hands. Yes, this'll hurt like hell, thought. Just screw up and do it.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged his head under the surface. Christ, it hurt! But within seconds the agony began to fade away. He held on until he was out of air before surfacing.

"I'm going to try to tap a tree," said Katniss. What? Oh, right, the spile-thingamajig.

"Let me make the hole first," said Peeta. "You stay with him. You're the healer."

Katniss a healer? Since when? Finnick ignored her as Peeta tromped back up to the trees, preferring to focus on regaining his coordination and purging the last of the poison. The water, warmer than he was used to, became more and more soothing on his raw skin. It was like a mother's touch, this gentle, watery embrace that gradually brought him back to life. For a while, Finnick played in the water as he hadn't since before his first Hunger Games, forgetting all the bloodshed in the healing caress of his element.

Katniss was watching him. Finnick dived, coming to rest on the sandy floor. He waited until he couldn't possibly hold his breath any longer and shot to the surface only a few inches from Katniss, startling her.

"Don't do that," she said.

"What? Come up or stay under?"

"Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water or behave." Since when was playing not behaving? Finnick was tempted to grab her hand and drag her underwater when she added, "Or if you're feeling this good, let's go help Peeta."

Oh, goody. Finnick wanted to keep swimming, but the practical voice in his head said that he wasn't here to play games. Grumbling silently, he hauled himself out of the water and trudged behind Katniss to go help Peeta.

From the shadow of the trees, Finnick watched as Peeta floated the morphling's body in the warm ocean. He hadn't expected her to save Peeta like that; now he realized that she must have been in on the rebel plan as well. It made him wonder what else Haymitch and Heavensbee hadn't told him.

All the same, though, Finnick was glad he hadn't known. Because, to be honest, the morphlings scared him. Something about them – their wasted, skeletal figures or those huge staring eyes – gave him the creeps. Or maybe it was the fact that they were wrecks of humanity that inspired that almost primal fear in him.

Whatever the reason, the last thing he wanted was to watch one die. So he had volunteered to "watch" the trees, leaving Katniss and Peeta to deal with the dying morphling. Not until the cannon fired and the hovercraft came to take her body did he walk back down the beach to Katniss and Peeta, who were little more than shapes in the dim moonlight.

"Thought you might want these," he said, handing Katniss a fistfull of her arrows.

"Thanks," she said, and started washing them off. When they were clean, she headed back into the jungle for moss, leaving Finnick and Peeta temporarily alone.

Finnick didn't feel like talking. With the adrenaline of battle leaving his veins, the loss of Mags weighed down on him more heavily than ever. Propping his elbows on his knees, he let his head fall between his arms, hoping Peeta would get the hint.

He didn't.

"You know, I never thanked you for saving my life," Peeta said.

Finnick shrugged wearily. "S'all right."

"No, I mean it." Splashing sounds from the water told Finnick Peeta was washing himself off. Belatedly, Finnick realized he was splattered in monkey blood. He didn't much care. His acid-scarred skin itched like hell, though.

Katniss returned. The moon was brighter; Finnick could see her perplexed expression. "The monkeys' bodies have vanished," she said. "Where did they go?"

Finnick had noticed that earlier. "We don't know exactly." We? Why am I talking in the plural? "The vines shifted and they were gone."

Did it matter, really?

The three of them sat on the beach, staring at the jungle. Finnick didn't know what Katniss and Peeta were thinking about, but all his thoughts returned inexorably to the fact that Mags was dead. And his skin itched.

"Don't scratch," said Katniss, sounding exactly like the mother of a five-year-old. "You'll only bring infection. Think it's safe to try the water again?"

In the time he had been resting and cooling off since the fight (cooling off being a figure of speech, an icicle couldn't get cool in this hot air), Finnick's muscles had stiffened. He barely stifled a groan as he levered himself off the sand and followed Katniss and Peeta to the tree. Remembering the jungle was still dangerous, he followed Katniss's suit in standing guard. It only took Peeta a little time to get a good stream going. That water was warm, and had a strange aftertaste, but it was the best drink Finnick had ever had. It felt good on his tingling skin, too.

As they returned to the beach, Finnick could feel the tears welling up. His self-control, sabotaged by exhaustion and injury, was slipping. He desperately wanted to be alone, to be by himself…

"Why don't you two get some rest?" said Katniss. "I'll watch for a while."

Well, sleep was a sort of privacy. "No, Katniss, I'd rather," he said.

Her eyes searched his face with an intensity he hadn't expected. "All right, Finnick, thanks," she said softly. She understood.

Katniss and Peeta lay down in the sand a few feet away. Finnick lowered his stiff and aching body to the ground. Taking off his shoes, he let the surf lap at his feet. God, he missed the ocean. Not this tepid, lifeless pool. He missed the endless surge and crash of the ocean in District Four, the sharp smell of brine on the air, the icy water that brought the blood to your skin and the life to your heart…He missed home. He missed Annie. He missed Mags.

And now the tears he had been fighting for hours refused to be restrained any longer. Bowing his head – not caring that there were cameras on him, that millions were watching – he began to cry low, broken sobs that were hardly louder than the hiss of water on sand but shook his entire body with racking pain.

Mags had been a mentor, teacher, mother-figure, friend, his last true ally in this arena, his only link to Annie and home. Her loss meant he was alone; it dragged up half-forgotten memories of Gaila's passing.

After about fifteen minutes, Finnick's sobs quieted, the sharp, piercing pain replaced by a duller ache. In his head, he said a little prayer, though he wasn't sure to whom. Mags had essentially died for Annie, died so that Annie would be safe. That had to count for something. He hoped there was a life after death. Otherwise…what did anything matter?

Point by bright point, little stars began to appear in the artificial sky. Finnick stared up at them, wondering. Was this something that would happen every night? Was it simply designed to be a "natural" event? Or did it hold some greater significance?

And then…a handful of stars, brighter than the others, formed themselves into a shape instantly familiar to Finnick. To someone not from District Four, it would look like nothing – a V, perhaps with a shape at each end of the prongs. But at home, every child knew this constellation. The Fish. It was a symbol of hope, renewal, of better things to come.

Finnick stared up at it, his face wet with tears. There was no way, no possible way that could be there by accident. Most of the people watching wouldn't understand – nor would anyone in the Capitol. But somehow, Plutarch Heavensbee had made this happen, for Finnick…

Suddenly frustrated, Finnick struck the sand with his fists. What was this? Why was he so goddamn important? All he had ever wanted was to live a peaceful, happy life, first with his family and then with Annie. But he had gotten roped into the damn Hunger Games, and since then he had somehow gotten himself tangled into a mess of events that were too big, too important, for him to understand why they even mattered.

A soft sound interrupted his existential crisis. Finnick whipped around, sure it was another tribute sneaking up on them, but it was only Katniss. Still asleep, she turned and rolled so that her face pressed against Peeta's chest.

Annie sometimes did that…Finnick stared at the pair. In his typical cynical way, he had refused to believe they were really in love. It made him feel better. Here was another couple, their lives f—ked up as bad as his and Annie's. It was another reason to hate the Capitol. But now…Finnick had no idea. He really didn't.

And it didn't matter – except he missed Annie so, so much. Looking back up at the sky, he saw the stars had faded. Their message given, they were gone before anyone could get suspicious. But the moon was brighter than ever.

Finnick wondered if Annie was watching. If she had been…normal…he had no doubt she would have been glued to the television screen. But he wasn't sure if her fragile nerves would be able to handle the stress. Then again, maybe she was stronger than he thought. He didn't know.

He hoped she was watching. It was a comfort to believe someone he loved was seeing him, loving him back just as fervently. He knew Riley and Ciara would be watching – and Connor – but it wasn't the same.

And then the fierce longing for Annie flared up so strongly within him that it shook him to his core. Everything he had known about their relationship – why they could never marry, how the Capitol forced them to be apart – came crashing down on with the force of a thousand tons. He would die in these games – she would go fully and irrecoverably mad – it would all be over.

Finnick wept on and off throughout the night, though never with the painful intensity of those first fifteen minutes.

As the sun began to rise, Finnick searched for something to do. He began weaving, though it reminded him of Mags, bringing the tears back temporarily. A mat to shade the two lovers. Bowls of grass – two to hold water, a third to hold the clams and oysters he had found on the seabed.

Katniss woke first, looking around at his handiwork. Finnick knew he looked like he had been crying; to distract her, he said, "They're better fresh" – referring to the shellfish he was cracking open.

Clearly ravenous, she stretched out her hand, but then paused. Finnick saw that her nails were bloody. She'd been scratching herself in her sleep.

"You know, if you scratch you'll bring on infection," said Finnick blandly.

"That's what I've heard," she answered, going into the ocean to wash. Finnick continued to crack shells, watching her idly. She's really not that bad-looking, he thought. I mean, if I'm going to be stuck allied with a girl in just her underclothes, there could be worse choices…Like Enobaria. Bleghh. Or the morphling.

Katniss tramped out of the water, clearly irritated. For a second, Finnick was worried his thoughts had shown on his face, but she shouted "Hey, Haymitch, if you're not too drunk, we could use a little something for our skin," up at the sky.

In about thirty seconds a parachute floated down, bearing a tube full of some sort of ointment. "About time," said Katniss as she received it, trying to frown but failing.

Sitting next to him, Katniss opened the tube, revealing a dark paste with a sharp, piney smell. Finnick sniffed with interest and watched as Katniss smeared a glob of it across her leg, her expression skeptical. A second later, though, she sighed in relief. Clearly it worked – though the visual effect was less than attractive.

After covering her other leg – and making it seem like she had contracted some ghastly skin disease – she lobbed him the tube.

"It's like your decomposing," he said. He had never been quite so aware of the hundreds of thousands of people watching him as he had been now. And yet, this damn itching…

Katniss watched smugly as he resignedly covered himself in the goop. "Poor Finnick," she said. "Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?"

Actually, that didn't bother him so much as the fact that he actually minded not looking good. But if she thought she could get all sarcastic with him… "It must be," he answered. "The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" Zing!

"Just avoid mirrors," she said, apparently unfazed. Damn. "You'll forget about it."

"Not if I keep looking at you."

Done complimenting each other, they continued to apply ointment. There was a sort of camraderie in looking hideous together, and in rubbing medicine on each other's backs. So when Katniss proposed waking Peeta, Finnick had an idea.

"No, wait," he said. "Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his."

The concept tickled Katniss. "All right," she said.

Together, they got on either side of Peeta, faces barely apart from his. "Peeta. Peeta, wake up," sang Katniss, shaking him.

Peeta woke spectacularly, first blinking bemusedly and then jumping about a mile, with a shout to match. Finnick burst out laughing, collapsing on the beach next to Katniss. Peeta stood over them, trying to pull off offended pride…Finnick laughed until his ribs ached and he thought he might have burst a lung. At last, he managed to calm down, wiping the tears from his eyes.

It was then that he noticed the bread.

Down it came, floating gently under its little silver parachute. A large, rounded loaf with a hard crust and that faint tinge of green that only District Four bread had. He immediately took it, wondering. Haymitch and Heavensbee had told him messages would come through bread – rolls, they had said. But this…they hadn't mentioned this loaf. Was it part of the plan?

Finnick became aware of Katniss's eyes on him. And for the hundredth time, he wondered exactly how much she knew. If this were important, would Haymitch somehow have a way to tell him? Should he let on what he knew, somehow – find a way to communicate without letting the Capitol know?

"This will go well with the shellfish," said Finnick.