Just to say thanks to the anonymous reviewer who left me such a kind, sweet message after the last chapter. I shamelessly begged for reviews and I maybe didn't realize it might be hard for mobile reviews because I don't use the site that way. I apologize and I thank you profusely for the too sweet message!

Twelve

"Didn't tell her everything."

I glance over my shoulder at Mags, then turn back to her grits before they burn from my lack of stirring. "She seemed to know everything," I argue, still not sure if I'd mind her knowing everything.

I hear a spoon smack against the wooden surface of the table. "Not from me," she snaps.

I ladle the grits into a bowl and set it in front of her before getting my own - Annie is never up before the sun while Mags and I can't sleep much past the first light of dawn - and sit across the table from her. "What did you tell her then?"

She shrugs her shoulders and lifts the spoon to her mouth. "That you don't love the women in the Capitol. That you hate what you do there. No details. Those are for you to tell."

"If I want."

"If you want." She reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. "One day, one day."

She means that one day all this will be over. She's never said that to me exactly, but something tells me it's what she means. I nearly choke on my grits when the memory of my odd meeting with Haymitch and Plutarch Heavensbee comes to mind.

Mags only raises an eyebrow when I tell her Haymitch was in the Capitol when I was there. "Did you get a chance to talk to him?" she asks as casually as the lingering effects of her stroke allow.

I narrow my eyes at her. "You're a bad liar, Mags. Very bad at keeping secrets from me. So don't try. Did you or did you not tell Haymitch to talk to me in the Capitol?"

She's got the hand-eye coordination to fling a spoonful of grits at my chest. "Rude. I didn't tell him. I suggested he talk to you. Suggested. Not told."

I should be upset, but I'm not. I feel much better about the whole thing if Mags is involved. It's all the reassurance I need that telling Haymitch what my dates tell me is the right thing to do. Before we can talk any more about it, Annie comes into the kitchen and gets herself a bowl of grits.

"Why are you wearing your breakfast?" she asks, sitting down next to Mags.

I point my spoon at the old lady but she only laughs and takes the blame. As the three of us eat, I realize something mildly alarming. Neither Annie nor I have slept in our own houses since Annie won the Hunger Games. We live with Mags.

I have no doubt President Snow is aware of our living situation but it doesn't seem to bother him much because he lets it go on. I'm grateful for that, at least. It means I get what I want for once.

"I've never seen your house," Annie says as she tastes her breakfast.

Mags snickers. "Finn hardly sees his house."

I look away from Annie's eyes. "I was just fourteen when I won, remember. Mags had me move in with her when we got home." I can feel my cheeks flushing. "I never moved out."

She doesn't seem to be alarmed or even surprised by my revelation. I don't understand why. But there's a lot I don't understand about Annie.

Mags takes matters into her own hands, waving her spoon to get our attention. "Both of you belong with me. I'm old. I need to be taken care of. Nobody is going anywhere."

Annie grins at me and shrugs her shoulders, already knowing enough about the old woman to know that arguing is useless. Or maybe she really doesn't want to argue with her. I don't. I don't want to leave and I consider myself lucky every day that Mags doesn't tell me to be a man and move in to my own house.

We finish the grits in a lazy sort of way and the women elect me to clean the dried food from the pan and our bowls while they prepare a picnic lunch. From one meal to the next, it's odd but I like it - even if it does mean I'm left scrubbing pans.

"Sailing," Mags says abruptly as she puts a bottle of wine in the woven hamper. "We should go sailing."

I don't want to argue with Mags about that so I don't. I just ask her twice if she's sure she feels up to it. When she assures me that I can give her a burial at sea if the worst happens on her sailboat, Annie declares it settled and picks up the hamper. Arguing with women in general might be the futile thing. So I follow them out the door and across the sand to the small dock where Mags keeps her sailboat, the Lorelei, which she hasn't sailed on in at least a year.

Annie and I make quick work of prepping the boat for water while Mags sits in the shade and makes new fishing lures - proving again that the stroke did not affect her hand-eye coordination. When everything is ready, we head out to open water. The rules are that victors are allowed to sail for pleasure to a ring of electrified buoys that will bring up a force field if crossed, forcing us to go back home. The fishermen are allowed further out before they reach a force field but they're not allowed in our patch of ocean - considered a sort of extension of the Victor's Village.

I hate the limits but they could be closer to shore so I accept them.

And I hope things will be better soon.

The water is clear and sparkling in the sunshine and there's just enough wind to carries just far enough that we can't see land or the buoys. I adjust the sails so we stay mainly where we are and drop onto the deck beside Annie while Mags sits on a cushioned chair. We drink the wine while we eat the cheeses and fruits and breads that they packed.

Mags falls asleep in the evening sun a little while later. Annie and I stay where we are, close by enough that we can help her if she needs it but far enough away that we won't wake her. She leans against my shoulder and I wrap my arm around her back. We kiss some, for a little while, and then the wine goes to our heads and fall asleep within seconds of each other.

Mags wakes me up by shaking my shoulder. She smiles, nodding toward the way Annie's curled agaisnt me. "Sweet, but time to go. Getting dark. Don't want the Peacekeepers coming out and scaring her back four steps."

She's right and, as much as I hate disturbing Annie when she's so peaceful, that would be the last thing she needs. So I get to my feet as Mags slips a cushion beneath her and go attend to the sails. We're not as secretive as we hoped, though, because Annie appears behind us. She tells Mags to go sit back down and, to my surprise, her orders are followed.

I thought Annie would be nervous so far out on the water but she climbs the rigging on the sails and adjusts the knots so the wind will carry us home. She doesn't come down either, perching precariously on the yardarm and waving at me until I climb up and join her. We won't be able to sit there for long, but I like the view while I've got it. And the company is even better.

"Do you need us to come down and entertain you?" I call down to Mags when guilt gets the better of me - a sailing trip was her idea after all.

She waves me off with a flick of her wrist. "You entertain me more up there. Just don't let my Lorelei sink, you hear?"

I cup my hand to me ear to say that I do and then twitch my fingers over my heart to vow that I won't. And when we reach the dock again and the boat is secured, she leans on my arm for the walk back home while Annie carries the now empty hamper.

"I said my Lorelei," Mags says so we can both hear her, "but I'm too old for my own boat. She never gets out on the water anymore. So she's your Lorelei now, she belongs to the two of you. Treat her well."

Annie splutters a protest. "Mags, we can't take your boat from you."

"Not taking," she corrects her, "accepting as a gift. Just treat her well and take me out on her once in awhile. Can you agree to that?"

She looks at me over Mags and I nod, ready to accept the gift - and maybe seeing it as more than I should since I should not love this girl. We agree to the terms in unison, earning a bright smile and a kiss for each of us from the giver.

Then she declares herself long since ready for bed.