Peeta knocks on Katniss's door, curious why she sent for him. They haven't exactly been avoiding each other, but they haven't been seeking each other out, either.

There's an awkward silence when she opens the door, and then she gets straight to the point. "I got a box in the mail. It was addressed to both of us, and I thought we should open it together."

Now Peeta is even more curious. "Who's it from?"

In answer, Katniss just points to the box sitting on the floor beside the door. It's good-sized but not huge, and surprisingly light when Peeta picks it up to read the return address. "Finnick Odair? North Panem?" He looks up at Katniss. "Have you been in touch?"

She shakes her head, looking as bewildered as he feels. "I haven't heard from him since the final Hunger Games. I wasn't even sure he was still alive. And now this."

"I guess we should open it, then."

He holds the box while Katniss knifes open the tape sealing the edges. Then she pulls out a folded blanket. It's made of thick white yarn, as soft as anything Peeta's ever felt. When they unfold it, they see a border on the edge made of trailing green vines and orange pumpkins. It takes the two of them to open it fully. "It's huge," Katniss marvels.

Peeta peers inside the box. "Look, there's an envelope at the bottom."

"You read," says Katniss. She clutches the blanket to her.

Belated wedding gift. This was the only orange and green design I could make that didn't look terrible.

I should have written sooner, but this hasn't been easy to do. I'm writing to let you know that the nerve gas we all breathed in the arena is still affecting me. The water took care of my skin—which I have you to thank for—but not my lungs. I took the worst of it, so I'm hoping you two will escape the long-term effects. But if you've been noticing any breathing problems, you should get yourselves checked out. It can be fatal.

Reading back, I realize I didn't say it. It's not fair to leave you wondering, so here goes: I'm dying. I have maybe a year left. Anything more would just be dragging it out. Not many people know.

I appreciate that you may want to come say goodbye, but I'm not looking for company. It's gotten bad enough that I'm too out of breath to have a conversation. I can't get out more than a couple words at a time.

But I wanted you to have this. I'm sorry I couldn't be there for your wedding, and I'm sorry I won't be there for your children.

"So we kill him," Katniss says slowly in disbelief, "and he sends us a wedding gift? That he made himself, apparently. Is he trying to see if we can feel shame?"

Peeta shakes his head. That's Katniss, always reading a hidden message into everything, usually one that means anyone being nice to her has an ulterior motive.

"Look, I was reaped, and you volunteered to protect your sister. Then you were reaped, and I volunteered to protect you. I think he knows who the real enemy is."

"But we never even apologized."

"I tried apologizing, more than once. I don't think that's what he wants."

"I never knew what he wanted. I never understood the first thing about him."

"One thing I know he wanted was your friendship. He always thought highly of you, and you have to admit he was always reaching out."

Katniss just shakes her head, not in disagreement but in bafflement. She reaches for the letter, looking for some clue to its writer's mind.

"What's that?" Peeta asks, catching a glimpse of something on the other side of the paper.

She turns it over. The message on the back is written in a different hand.

Fuck you all. -J

"Johanna."

Peeta nods. "She must be with him, then. I guess that's good." He hesitates, and when Katniss doesn't say anything, he approaches the elephant in the room. "So you never told him that we're, uh-" Don't be a coward, Peeta. "Divorced?"

"No!" Katniss explodes. "Why would I tell him a thing like that? After what he did? I never even know what to say to him, and now he's dying of it. But I'm going to have to go say goodbye in person. Try to figure out how to say thank you."

Peeta looks at her in confusion. "But he specifically said..."

Katniss has her arms folded across her chest. "Well, I won't make him talk. But he can at least hear a thank you before he dies. You coming?"

"With Delly? You know I can't, Katniss."

"Right, sorry." Katniss avoids meeting his eyes and looks down at the blanket in her arms instead. "So what do we do with this?"

"You keep it," Peeta tells her. "You're the one he cared for. He used to follow you with his eyes, and come talk to me about you."

"Well, he should have been less of an asshole about it," Katniss mutters. "Anyway, I'm going."

Finnick's tidying up the kitchen after breakfast one morning when the doorbell rings. Johanna's sleeping late, so he hastens to answer it before it wakes her up.

He stands in the doorway staring in confusion at Katniss. She looks as uncomfortable as he's ever seen her. Finally he raises his eyebrows in resignation and steps aside, inviting her in. She follows him to the living room, where he takes the armchair.

Finnick just sits and waits for an explanation. Stammering at first, Katniss starts giving it to him. "Peeta said I shouldn't come, and you probably agree. But I never did anything for you, because I could never think of anything to do."

He'd tried telling her he didn't want a grand gesture to match his or Mags' sacrifices, that he knew it was impossible. What he wanted was the little day-to-day things that make up a relationship between two people. But she could never believe that, and it's too late to explain again. Finnick's silent, letting her continue.

"But when I got your letter, I thought, I volunteered for Prim. Because I loved her and I couldn't bear to watch her die. That's one reason I could never make sense of what you did, no matter how much you talked about the cause. But no matter why, I kept thinking what I would want, if I came home-" Here she hesitates. "In your condition."

Finnick doesn't mince words. "Dying."

Just as Katniss flinches, a noise makes them both look up suddenly. It's the thump of feet coming down the hall, soon joined by Johanna's voice. "I heard the doorbell ring, and I refused to believe my own ears until I saw it-"

Johanna, wrapped in a house robe, appears in the sitting room. "It is! It's you. You had the absolute balls to come here and insist on him making you feel better." She looks around. "Where's Damsel in Distress, too afraid of me?'

Finnick raises a hand to get her attention.

Johanna turns toward him. "I thought you were done making other people feel better!"

Finnick nods definitively and gestures for her to join them, sit down, and let him handle this.

Seething, Johanna does two of those things. She walks over to him and hovers protectively beside his chair, glaring at Katniss but not saying anything.

A look from Finnick prompts Katniss to continue her explanation. "Well, I thought, if it were me and Prim, the one thing I'd want would be to know that it was worth it. I'd want to see her having a good life, or at least a life. So I thought I'd come here and tell you the news, how Peeta and I are doing. I'll do all the talking, and after that...you decide."

Wordlessly, Finnick grants permission. Johanna puts her hand on his far shoulder, a public statement of where she stands.

Katniss talks about her life, her sister and mother, Peeta, the marriage, and the rebuilding efforts. Finnick finds himself less interested in the glimpses of logistics that he catches in her news, except to be glad that someone else is doing the rebuilding and having some success with it. Just the thought of it makes him tired.

What makes him glad is hearing about their wedding, and the house, and the bed where she spread the blanket he made them. Prim is engaged and talking about kids, so Katniss is likely to be an aunt soon. She carefully avoids talking about her own future with or without children, and Finnick doesn't ask.

He doesn't ask anything, just listens. When she winds down, the room is silent, while Finnick thinks. Finally, he speaks.

"Katniss?"

Katniss lifts her chin slightly, looking intently at him.

"Pay it forward."

She swallows, and nods. "Yes, okay. I'll try."

"Not the dying part," he clarifies, with a flash of his old humor.

Katniss isn't sure if she's supposed to laugh at this, so he just gets a wavery smile. "I'll try," she repeats.

That's the best he can do. He's done trying to mentor her through her guilt and devastation. She'll either figure it out without him, or she won't. She's twenty-four, and she's shown some maturity in saying this much to him. She just needs more time, time that he doesn't have to give.

So he turns to the woman who reached back when he reached out. "Johanna?"

"Yes!" Finnick smiles at the way she involuntarily jumps to attention, eager for something to do.

"Inn?"

"Show her to the inn?" Johanna expands. "My pleasure," she says with relish, getting to kick Katniss out. "Come on, we're going."

She's back in record time, sitting on the arm of his chair and studying his face closely. "You okay? Did she dump all her emotions on you?"

"Fine," Finnick says. "And no. Reminds me of you."

He thinks they don't get along for the same reason he and Elspa don't: so much alike they're practically the same person, just enough differences to make them want to claw each other's eyes out. Not that he'd ever say this where either of them could hear.

"Yeah? Tell me this, then. Who does Katniss care about? Her baby sister. Rue, who reminded her of her baby sister. Wiress, gone batty. Mags, limping and signing. Peeta the pathetic. Who did she hate and fear? You, me, actual competitors. When does she warm up to you? When you're like this. She only likes you if you're weak."

Wiress the genius, Mags the strategist, Prim the field medic...Finnick thinks she's underestimating all of them.

"I'll have you know I decided you were all right when you were saving fifty lives a minute in fifty different ways and making it look easy."

"I'm sorry I can't stick around." If he could do it at all, he would do it for Johanna, but he can't. "I wish you'd get to know her."

"Tell you what. If I need someone to take care of me, I'll go look her up. Until then, someone's going to have to like me tough as nails."

Finnick just has to hope, for Johanna's sake, that her back pain doesn't land her in Katniss's life sooner than she'd like. But he remembers Katniss's hands in Wiress's hair, and he knows that if the worst happens, at least Johanna will be in good hands. And he really is convinced they'd get along if they'd relax and stop taking every single thing as a personal attack.

Remembering Katniss and Wiress, he remembers Peeta helping him pull Katniss and Johanna apart. He's tried to help Johanna find a world that isn't attacking her all the time, maybe Peeta can do the same for Katniss. Maybe in ten years she and Johanna can be friends without Johanna needing to be incapacitated.

He wonders how Peeta's doing. Katniss was oddly specific about some details, vague about others. Well, it's hard to have a one-sided conversation.

Not many days later, Finnick is ripping open a thick envelope in hopes of satisfying his curiosity.

I'm sorry about Katniss, the message from Peeta begins. I tried talking her out of it, but...

A sketch follows, in black ink.

This is Katniss's stubborn face.

Finnick laughs shallowly, then coughs. It is. It's her stubborn face exactly. Grinning, he reads on.

I'd like to think I would have respected your wishes anyway, but I couldn't come. My wife is expecting our first.

My wife?

I don't know what Katniss told you, but she decided she was too young and under too much pressure for it to work. I thought I'd be more heartbroken, and I was at first, but then I realized how exhausting it was trying to make it work for all those years. I'll admire her as long as I live, but maybe she was right, living together wasn't as easy as I'd thought it would be.

Finnick stops reading and stares at the spot where Katniss had sat across from him and lied by omission. More guilt, he can guess. That he died saving Peeta for her, and then she decided Peeta wasn't the one after all.

Finnick's first, instinctive reaction is a surge of blind fury at the wastefulness of Mags' death.

Then reason kicks in. He's not with Annie any more either. But her being happy with Cashmere is one of the best things that's ever happened to him. He doesn't think either Mags or Donn would grudge it.

Telling himself this, Finnick reads on.

I did find someone else. I don't think you ever met her or that her name would mean anything to you, but we've known each other forever.

Another sketch follows, this one in watercolors. Finnick sees a blonde, chubby young woman smiling out of the page at him.

She's open and friendly, not at all intimidating, likes people, likes cooking with me, wants kids too...Maybe more like me.

Finnick smiles. Sounds like Annie. Peeta had always reminded him of Annie. And Katniss more of himself and Johanna.

He's glad for Peeta, and he hopes Katniss has or finds a confidant. Maybe her sister? Once upon a time, he would have liked to have filled that role. But now she doesn't even feel she can tell him that her relationship ended. She sat here and told him all about how she got married and the house they lived in and all the little details, without the slightest hint anything had changed.

You could have told me. No doubt it was her way of being kind. But he still prefers Peeta's approach.

Flipping through the rest of the stack of papers, Finnick sees sketch after sketch. Some in color, some in black ink or pencil. Some with lavish detail, others mere outlines. He smiles at one of them sharing a plate of muffins and remembers dating Annie.

Coming up beside him, Johanna plucks the paper he's holding out of his hand. "Peeta?" she asks rhetorically, with a curl of her lip. "She looks well fed. Did she miss the memo about the famine?"

"Thirteen," Finnick says. If Peeta knew her forever, then she's from Twelve. And thus one of the refugees in Thirteen. "Dibs, foreign aid."

"How convenient," Johanna says, then picks up another sketch and snorts.

"District Seven?" Finnick prods. "Trains?"

Johanna splutters, forced to admit that he wouldn't even be here if her district hadn't seized all the food it could get its hands on.

Finnick gestures at him and her. "Eating enough."

"No," Johanna says firmly. "You're not. Not even close."

With shaking hands, Finnick sets down the paper he's holding. So that's what this is about. Eating is more tiring for him with each passing day. He can't breathe and eat at the same time. He doesn't need to exert himself any more. So he eats—or more often sips enough soup—to take the edge off his hunger, and leaves it at that.

Maybe he's lost enough weight for it to be noticeable. Finnick doesn't know; he tries not to look in mirrors these days. And even if Johanna's given her promise not to fight him on his decision to die in peace, she's too much Johanna to be able to resist entirely.

Suddenly tired, Finnick leans his head against her arm. He can't mentor Katniss, and he can't try to keep the peace between Johanna and anyone else. All he can do is try to take some personal comfort in her protectiveness. Her arm slides around his shoulders, and he closes his eyes.

Later that night, when Johanna is sleeping and Finnick can't, he writes a thank you note back to Peeta.

I'm returning the sketches, but please don't think I didn't appreciate them. They'll only be burned here after I die. Let your children have them.

Johanna wakes up to an empty bed with her heart pounding. Finnick never gets up in the middle of the night unless she's having a flare-up.

She follows the sound of his labored breathing to the bathroom. The light isn't on, and she jumps when her foot makes contact with flesh in the dark. When he doesn't react, she freaks out and hits the light as fast as she can, then stands there blinking, trying to assess the situation.

Finnick's sitting with his back pressed to the wall by the door, huddled up with his knees drawn to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them. In his nightshirt, too thin, he looks more vulnerable than she's seen him since he ran screaming Annie's name at a flock of jabberjays eight years ago.

Finnick stares, unresponsive, at the white tiled bathroom floor. Johanna knows the signs of him trying to get an attack under control, so she doesn't pester him with questions he can't answer. There's nothing he'd let a doctor do even if she found him one.

For lack of anything better to do, Johanna takes a toothbrush from one of the glasses by the sink and runs some water.

Then she sits down on the floor beside him, rubbing her hand on his shoulder in their old, familiar way.

Finnick just shakes his head slightly when she holds out the glass, and she sets it on the floor. He's so focused that nothing's getting through.

When the time he usually takes to recover from an attack has passed, Johanna slides an arm across his back. His breathing is still something he has to concentrate on, but it's regular again. She knows he has sheer willpower to thank for that.

"Come back to bed, love?" She catches her breath briefly at the word that slipped out, but he doesn't react even to that.

Just that faint headshake again. Something else is wrong, not just the usual attacks. And given the timing, Johanna has a good guess.

She gets up again, and returns with a blanket and pillow. The pillow she tucks behind his back, and the blanket she wraps around him. "Nightmare?" she asks, slipping under the blanket beside him. He still hasn't moved, still huddling on the floor where she found him.

One jerk in the direction of a nod.

"Living room, then?" Johanna suggests. "I can light a fire."

It takes him some time to come back to himself, but eventually he accepts the offer.

Seated on the armchair, Finnick makes a gesture that Johanna recognizes, and she gets up to pass him his writing desk and a pen. He resorts to this when he wants to say something complicated, something that she can't guess from single words and half-sentences well spaced out.

I was in the arena. Mags was dying, and I couldn't breathe. Katniss and Peeta were dunking me in the water, trying to help. But I was drowning, and I couldn't breathe. Then suddenly I was in the Capitol, being dunked. It was Snow's men torturing me, trying to get me to talk. I was trying to talk, to tell him anything to make it stop, but I couldn't get words out.

For me to feel that much fear in the water...

Johanna sits on the edge of the chair beside him. "Would a hot bath help or hurt?"

Finnick makes an indecisive face. Then he opens his mouth to say something, swallows, tries again, and the fear in his eyes intensifies as he moves his lips and tongue but nothing comes out. Johanna's heart immediately leaps in fear that this is it, this is the fatal episode of not being able to breathe, but when her brain catches up, she realizes that his breathing is "normal."

He's trapped in reliving that nightmare, and Johanna doesn't know how to get him out. And the harder he tries, the more distressed he grows.

"No, no, sshh. Don't try to talk. It'll come back. Just wait it out."

His powers of speech don't come back that night, or he's too afraid to try, but the panic does eventually fade from his face. Finnick's perfectly still for a few moments, then Johanna jumps when his writing desk goes flying toward the window. The window holds, but the back of the desk cracks off.

"Finally!" Johanna cackles. He's been too patient through all this.

But he pays the price a minute later, putting a hand over his chest while he struggles not to let his outburst trigger another episode, this one purely physical.

Then he goes back to pretending nothing is wrong. Johanna seethes, because for a moment that was her Finnick, the best fighter she's ever known.

But this is her Finnick too, she has to remind herself, the strategist who can put a mask on over any of his feelings, if it means getting on with the mission.

He writes another message at dawn, leaning on a tray she's brought from the kitchen. This one is longer. Johanna doesn't watch over his shoulder, letting him write draft after draft until he's satisfied. He crumples up the rejected drafts and tosses them across the room into the fireplace. Johanna returns his triumphant smile when the last one lands. His aim is still true.

Then he lets her read.

Annie,

I'm writing to ask a favor. Johanna and I are more or less going to be stuck in the house for the winter, and food is becoming a problem. Not the amount, but the quality. I'm tired of toast and tessera mush. So I'm looking for recipes. Some things to keep in mind:

1. Cooking's a hassle. The simpler, the better.
2. There's not a lot of fresh fruit in the winter here. We're stocked up on veggies, though.
3. One of us is having trouble with anything that calls for breathing and a lot of chewing at the same time. Johanna tells me I can't keep living on broth.

Ideas?

Lots of love,
Finnick

P.S. Send letters, tell me how the kids are doing. Send pictures!
P.P.S. Give our honeybee a good hug from me.

The mail is slow up here, but in time, a bundle of papers arrives. Some make Finnick smile inwardly about Annie's idea of "simple," but others will be very helpful.

Not long after, boxes start arriving. When Finnick opens the first one, he exclaims, "Care packages!"

She's sending jars, cans, and boxes of prepared food, of the sort that isn't readily available here.

"Must be nice to live in civilization," Johanna says, but her words have no bite to them.

Finnick remembers gorging in the Capitol, throwing up, and wishing he could send food home to Annie. They didn't do boxes and cans, they did elaborate banquets and private chefs. Now Annie's sending him food.

It helps, though she's still underestimating his difficulties eating. At least it's working for Johanna. And the sauces and spices help with the monotony of his diet. Pounding potatoes is getting more and more tiring, though he hasn't admitted it yet.

He's sitting one day, finishing up a shawl, when a knock comes at the door. Johanna narrows her eyes and goes to answer it.

Finnick stares, stunned, at Annie, pushing inside past Johanna and pulling a giant suitcase behind her. She doesn't look at either Finnick or Johanna as she says briskly, "I've only got a couple days before I have to go back, but I brought some things I didn't want to trust to the mail, and I can show you how to make any of the recipes I sent, if you have questions. And I can give you a couple of days of food made by someone who does like cooking."

Johanna stands blocking the entrance to the living room. "Do I need to kick her out?" she offers, looking back and forth between Annie and Finnick.

Finnick shakes his head firmly and holds out his arms to Annie. "All this way?" he asks with a tender smile.

Annie looks at him then, walking past Johanna as though she doesn't exist. "Well. I still don't like traveling. But it won't be the hardest thing I've ever done."

Finnick understands. She gives him a brief, impersonal hug, and then she hesitates.

Finnick catches Johanna's eye. "Guest room?"

With a sigh, Johanna nods, and heads down the hall to fix one up for Annie, leaving them alone together for a few minutes.

Annie looks Finnick up and down, not bothering to hide her scrutiny, and in return he doesn't hide how tired he is. He's done acting.

When she's seen what she was looking for, Annie nods to herself and opens her suitcase. A couple of parcels go into the kitchen, and the rest she takes with her when Johanna comes down to show her her room.

Then it's Johanna and Finnick alone, exchanging a look. Finnick's says, I'm fine with this, please tolerate it for me, and Johanna's, All right, but don't forget you're my mission.

Finnick eats well. When he first makes a skeptical noise at the amount of chewing in this lentil, meat, and vegetable concoction Annie is making, Annie laughs. "Don't worry, I've got it covered."

She breaks out a device from her parcel that she calls a blender, and it minces his portion so finely that it barely has to be chewed. "You won't get to enjoy the separate tastes, but you'll get the nutrition, and it still tastes decent. Cashmere and I experimented before I brought the blender. She approved."

The other parcel turns out to be an electric pot, which she shows them how to use. They can do the minimum amount of preparation, throw the ingredients in, and come back a few hours later. "It's a wonderful labor-saving device. I like to cook, but I don't love it, and between my job and my family and all my home improvements, I don't always have the time. I'll throw in the ingredients in the morning, leave it simmering all day, and we'll have a good supper when I get home.

"I'm so busy I hardly even have time for woodworking any more! I was hoping to improve my carving skills, but I guess that was a good hobby for when I had nothing to do all day in the Victors' Village. Now my days are too full—all with good things, I might add."

Finnick smiles. "News?"

So Annie gives him all the news. Cashmere put in the vegetable garden she's been talking about, so now they have more tomatoes and basil than they know what to do with. She might try squash next, but not until next year. It's too late for this fall. "I see you guys already have piles of snow."

Maggie's started school, and Evan's running around and talking.

Finnick determinedly considers it a pleasant dinner, ignoring the fact that Johanna hasn't said a word since offering to kick Annie out. She's not angry that Annie's here, so much as angry that Finnick is dying, that he's still in love with Annie and had to let her go, that she feels so helpless, and that having Annie here reminds her of all those things.

Finnick takes Johanna's hand after dinner and smiles at her, communicating, It's all right, I'm enjoying what I can, and right now that means Annie.

After doing the dishes, Annie excuses herself early. She's traveled a long way. Finnick comes with her to say good night. He knows she's pushing herself through a list of things she wants to do here, that she'll return home, and then she'll crash, and Cashmere will take care of her while she recovers. He doesn't insult her by suggesting she take it easy. She wouldn't have come here unless she was very sure this is what she wants to do.

"You're content here with Johanna?" Annie asks, just checking on him.

Finnick nods.

"She's good for you?"

Again.

"Good."

"Thank you," he says, and hugs her. Then he's gone.

Later that night, when he can't sleep, he hears her crying quietly in the room next door. It might be grief over seeing the shell of the man she used to be married to, or it might be the trip catching up with her.

Either way, he doesn't go to her.

She wants to be alone. Or if she doesn't, she wants Cashmere, not me. I don't know. I'm too tired.

Johanna had asked him if he wants to spend the night with Annie, and just as definitely as he had said he wanted Annie to stay, he shook his head. Johanna believed him, because he's not pretending any more.

As promised, Annie leaves after only two days of good food and training in the equipment she brought. Finnick lets her go with just a quiver of regret. He wants to say, I love you, as she's leaving, but he doesn't want to make her feel bad that she doesn't any more. So he hesitates, and the moment stretches out into an eternity as she walks out. Then the door is closed and his chance is gone.

Finnick spends the winter in his spot on the couch. He rarely leaves it now. Johanna takes over the cooking, and she brings him food in the sunroom.

Finnick forces himself to eat whatever she makes, because he appreciates the effort she and Annie have gone to to keep him fed, but even with Johanna blending his dinners into a pudding, the dance of spoon-swallow-breathe, spoon-swallow-breathe is too tedious to keep up for very long. Broth is still easier, and thanks to Annie's spices, the broth can at least be interesting.

Besides, it's not like he's training for combat.

More interesting than food is looking out the window. Some of the overgrowth in the Village has been cleared up, but it's still very rural, and there's plenty to see. Even after most of the animals have migrated for the winter or gone into hibernation, he can watch the ones that have stuck around. Unfazed, the squirrels scamper around digging up their caches, and he smiles at their antics. Sometimes he tries to be awake in the afternoon, when they come out to forage in the winter sun.

Even when there are no animals in sight, the changeable weather is never boring. He can spend hours watching the snow fall. Large flakes, small flakes, flakes racing to the ground, flakes dancing in the air and drifting up and to the side and every which way on their journey to the earth. They coat the trees sometimes inches thick, but a breeze can suddenly turn a white branch green again. The long, slow northern twilights are like nothing else.

Sitting inside the warm house with Johanna beside him while a storm rages makes him feel safer than he's ever felt. The worse the storm, the greater the contrast and the greater his pleasure.

Johanna lights fires when her back lets her, and turns up the central heating when it doesn't. Finnick leaves all the curtains drawn at all times.

Watching the weather entertains him more and more as knitting leaves him wearier and wearier. Johanna lets him see her wearing the red shawl he made her around the house, but it's taking him all his strength to finish the scarf he's working on. He pauses after every row to look out the window.

Even the fog doesn't bother him now, because it shrouds a well-loved landscape. If he sometimes sees a shadow of Mags in it...well, it's like Johanna once said. Ghosts follow people, not houses.

Oh, Johanna. She'll have one more ghost soon. That she hasn't raged more on the subject is a testament to her willingness to do anything for him, even keep a clamp on her all-consuming passion to keep him alive. She'll let him go in dignity and peace if it's what he wants.

Sometimes he fingers the pill in his pocket. More rarely, he takes it out to look at. So far, he's always put it back again. But the day will come when he doesn't.

Finnick knows Johanna's holding back when she wants to fight, and he's sorry for that. He tries to tell her he never wanted that, but she tells him to shut up and be selfish for once in his life.

Finnick has to end that conversation while he can still keep the tears from choking him.

She's having to hold back, and he's having to pretend more than he wants. He really is tired enough to feel some relief at not having to fight. But has to admit he's drawing on that tiredness to achieve his goals: numb his fear, avoid triggering attacks. It's the same strategy he used as a playboy, channeling his enjoyment to mask the desperation. Both are real, but acting is when he pretends only one is.

I guess it's true...I don't even know when I'm acting.

He wishes he could stay and see Cashmere find her way out of that trap, but he trusts Annie more than anyone to go on that journey with her.

But he does wish he could hold her one more time.

The thought stays with him, and it grows with the passing of time. Even in his current state, Finnick thinks he might be able to handle having her here.

Not until spring does he act on this thought, though. One morning, he shows Johanna a letter he wrote in the dark hours, while she was sleeping.

To Cashmere and Annie with love always,

Since I'm sworn to spending my last days asking for what I want, I'm writing to ask if Cashmere would like to come for a visit. Only for a few days.

If you're needed at home, or it would be too devastating, you know I'll understand.

Annie, I think you'll understand why I'm only asking for Cashmere. It's not just that you don't like traveling, or that it would be hard to bring the kids or leave them there if you both came, or that I saw you last year and haven't seen her in two. It's that I want nothing more than to talk to you for hours, the way we always did, and I'm afraid it would be frustrating if you were here and I couldn't. And I'm too far gone to take much advantage of your excellent cooking.

But Cashmere and I have always said more with touch than with words, and that I can still do...and enjoy.

Finnick.

P.S. I saw in your last set of pictures that Maggie was standing in the back row with her tall classmates. I've told the Mags in my head, and she was very amused. She may also have poked me with her cane for making fun of her, not sure.

P.P.S. She sends her love too. I'm authorized to speak for her, as much as I was when it was the stroke keeping her from speaking for herself.

Finnick gives Johanna a questioning look, asking if she minds him inviting Cashmere.

"Sure," she says. Her voice is unusually thick.

When a knock at their door turns out to be Cashmere, Johanna lets her in, and then starts pulling on her boots. "I'm going to go...chop some wood."

Finnick, picturing the full woodbin, says nothing. He just lifts his face to Cashmere, the old happiness filling him.

"Honeybee," is the only word Finnick has the breath to croon into Cashmere's ear, when they fold gratefully into each other's arms. Sweetheart, wonderful, loyal, precious angel, the only sunshine in my life...He knows she can hear these things in his hands curving over her damp cheek, her golden hair, and the strong lines of her back.

Finnick basks in the closeness. He'd thought he'd known how much he missed this, but now he realizes he was tamping that down just like everything else he missed and is going to miss. He has to, just to get through each day, knowing he doesn't have many days left.

But today, it doesn't hurt. Something about Cashmere's body pressed against his has the same magic it always did, to alleviate the worst life has to throw at him. He remembers the first time he held her for his own comfort, with the arena just behind them, Mags newly dead, and Annie hunted, her fate unknown. Even that pain receded in the face of the precious gift of Cashmere's trust, enough that they could both breathe.

Not wanting to break the spell, Finnick doesn't ask for news. He kisses her tears, not holding back his own, and twines his fingers through her hair. The thought of stroking it is too tiring, but he lets himself hold it.

Then he realizes it's golden more in his memory than in reality. Her once blonde hair is both fading and darkening, and even silvering in places. Finnick finds himself smiling. He's glad she's made it this far, not only past eighteen, but into this new life that's so much better than her old one.

She's stronger than he is now, and he lets himself accept the comfort of that, too. When he hears the front door open, he lifts his head slowly, to realize that he had dozed off in Cashmere's arms.

"Snuggle bunny," she whispers in his ear, too softly for Johanna to hear, and Finnick smiles.

Johanna joins them on the couch at an inviting look from Finnick. He sits contentedly between them, letting himself not worry about what they think of each other. He's glad to have both of them.

"I made up the guest room last night," Johanna says after a long silence. "There's not much to do around here."

Finnick makes a noncomittal sound. "Hot pools," he points out.

"I suppose," Johanna says with ill grace. Then looks closer at his face in disbelief. "What, you want to go?"

Finnick shrugs, and smiles. He didn't want to, hasn't felt like leaving the house in weeks, and it's probably foolish, but Cashmere's arrival was like a breath of fresh air after the long winter. Suddenly, he wants to do something with his body again.

Before they leave, Finnick points Cashmere in the direction of the shelf where he stores his unfinished knitted goods. Or, in this case, one he finished but hasn't been able to give away yet.

Cashmere brings him the parcel. It's wrapped in an old, thin tablecloth, to keep the dust off. Finnick unwraps the long pink scarf he'd made over the winter, winds it around Cashmere's throat, and smiles.

She touches it in surprise, and leans forward to hug him again. He gets just a glimpse of her eyes filling with tears. "Finnick."

She wears the scarf on the way to the pool. It's a long way, and Finnick has to stop and rest often. The trails aren't entirely empty, and he's not the only one wanting to stretch his legs after being cooped up. He gets a few curious looks, but people around here respect his privacy. Though no one knows the details, it's an open secret that his health isn't great. Let everyone fill in the blanks and figure out the war must have taken its toll.

He leans on Cashmere heavily, and he finds himself exulting in her strength as though it's his own. I chose well, in my life. Mags. Annie. Cashmere. Johanna. I've done well.

At the pool, he doesn't have the strength to do more than lie on the shore, and maybe let himself float a little from time to time, but Johanna tucks their sweaters into a soft, if lumpy, pillow for him, and he's comfortable enough.

Cashmere doesn't want to leave his side, but Finnick nudges her into the water. This may be the last gift he'll be able to give her, and he wants to leave her with this memory of blissful water in the brisk air.

Admiring Cashmere as she surfaces and dives with the grace of a dolphin, Finnick wishes he never had to let her go. Then a tiny thought tickles the back of his mind: maybe he doesn't. There's one way to keep her in his arms for the rest of his life. But he shies away from that image, not ready yet, and turns his attention instead to the blue sky above.

Heavy, cottony clouds drift across, while Finnick studies them. He's trying to make one look like a fish, when one strikes him as a trident. Silently, he salutes it with two fingers to his forehead, amused at his sentiment.

It's the best afternoon Finnick's had in a long time. Enough that he starts thinking about asking Cashmere to extend her stay. Johanna's been nothing but wonderful, his mainstay when she needed one herself, but he's never been able to love only one person.

Finnick doesn't want it to end, but as with everything, there comes a moment when he's sated, and ready to move on. He shifts up into a sitting position.

"Ready to head back?" Johanna asks immediately. She's always the one checking on him, making sure his needs are met, taking the initiative. Cashmere, he can sense, is like him. She wants this not to end badly enough that she'll wait for someone else to make the first move.

Finnick is silent a while. Then he smiles apologetically at Johanna. "Do I have to?" he asks.

Johanna's eyes go wide. She takes in the water, the mountains, herself, and Cashmere. And the water again.

"Did you plan this?" she demands. She keeps her voice steady, but it's higher pitched than normal.

He shakes his head. He truly hadn't. But the journey back is daunting. Cashmere's here. And the water.

Cashmere joins the conversation belatedly, swimming up to them at the edge. "What, here, now?!"

Finnick looks at Johanna, asking. He'll be leaving her with the cleanup. But will it really be any easier on her if he dies at home in their bed?

"Well, can you think of a better place?" Johanna snarls at Cashmere. "All right."

She fetches his pills from the clothes he left piled up on the ground.

Finnick spreads open his palm, showing Cashmere. He's sorry to spring this on her so soon after she arrived, but he needs all the help he can get to go through with this.

"Okay," she says unsteadily, accepting it.

Cashmere knows without asking what he wants from her, and she lies down beside him on the shore, warm in his arms and half enveloped by the water. Now he can hold her forever, just like he wanted. Johanna's on his other side, hand on his shoulder.

It's still not quite enough for him to let go, so he does the only thing he can think of, to bring his hand to his mouth.

Mags? Mags. Where are you? I know I'm late, but I'm coming.

[A/N]: That's right. I wrote a 400,000-word AU just so I could...also kill Finnick. *hides*

Fortunately for you, I can't handle this ending either, so the series ends here, and all further work will be done in a "Finnick lives" AU. "Mags' Heir" is the alternate ending, which I strongly recommend you check out, especially if you hate me right now.