Author's note

I promised Annie last chapter. She'll be in the next (the scene is even written^^). For those who have read Showdown, Checkmate and Showdown sometimes entwine, but don't look at it too closely; there are glaring discrepancies, if only because my head-canon evolved since then.

There are a fair few canon victors coming up and I don't want to rush Finnick's time at FLASH. If it starts feeling like filler to you, do tell me. That's where I need your input.

Year 62, August, Hunger Games, arena day 2.

The music pounded in her ears and vibrated through her body, making her feel nauseous. Mags had no place on a dance floor, but running was not for old ladies like her, so she strolled between the inebriated socialites, sticking out sorely amongst the glitter and fake-fur, her step practiced but her insides lead.

Desiré Fairie, Leslie Rosier throwing out his arms and legs in rhythm like a madman, and Antonius Van Fleet supervising his niece from the corner… Mags met their eyes and bowed her head in greeting. Few anonymous faces remained and often Mags had even known their parents. It was a much smaller world than she had once thought.

She froze when she saw Brutus with two women, one russet, the other copper, draped all over him, their makeup as thick as their wallets. One of them had an arm under his shirt, and he puffed his muscles, because his boy was cold and hungry and it was what mentors did.

The mentors who believed at least, and it wasn't just a matter of who was too far gone to care. She'd never seen Seeder or Beetee at these events. Or Haymitch, except for that year, that year Haymitch had told them to go all to hell and had fought tooth and nail to remain sober. He'd lost everything again and trying had made it worse.

She arched her eyebrows at Brutus, pausing so ostentatiously the women couldn't ignore her. They were so unabashed it wouldn't matter.

"I hope you're going to marry them, Brutus," she said. It was easy to make her voice hard and stern, to see those women leeching off his devotion to his tribute.

She wanted to rip them away from him, to hug Brutus and send him home. She couldn't. Her muscles were weak and Snow would crush her like a bug.

Brutus sighed. "How could I choose? They're both so much better than me. I would marry them just for a glance if I could."

He looked so candid. Mags felt nauseous and didn't doubt Brutus felt too. The Capitol didn't need to prostitute him. He knew what he had to do without being told.

"If you become any sweeter, I'll end up in debt," the copper-skinned woman, so youthful Mags wondered if she was any older than twenty, cooed, tightening her hold around Brutus.

Mags didn't flinch, because it was Chelsea who had been called to mentor this year, not Eirene. No one would ever sell Eirene again. And yet the battle was far from over, for now the Capitol had had a taste of victors.

She turned around, meeting Brutus' eyes one last time.

Mags had learned long ago never to fight alone. She sought her out, the figure in the corner, the beauty in the gloom. They rippled around her and her gaze never stopped on one of them. When her gray eyes fell on them, when her lips quirked in acknowledgment, the Capitolites puffed up as if a queen had given them her blessing.

"Chrysoberyl, the woman I wanted for tonight."

Chrysoberyl was quiet. The 48th Games had been storm and thunder, but Chrysoberyl had barely said a word. She had been the shadow, the silent presence among the Careers. She'd come out spotless from the bloodbath, her hair undone, her step light and graceful. The first time she killed, she wasn't even looking at the target, she never said a word. The cameras almost missed it, so silent it all was. Mags hadn't missed it. Reed had been hers, one of the sacrifices, but it didn't erase the memories, the fact he'd been so very human, and that she'd seen him grow.

The second time Chrysoberyl had spoken. "I have come for you." She had caught him before he could fall to the ground and kissed his eyelids. A lingering, gentle kiss.

Her tone was cool, detached. "Mags, I come at a steep price."

Chrysoberyl was a fantasy, her golden hair shrouding her like a mantle, people stared but didn't touch as if she would fade and vanish, like a mirage stared at for too long. The cameras never lingered, taking furtive glimpses, leaving the watcher wanting for more.

But they knew they couldn't have her, and they accepted that. They had to keep accepting that.

"Have you slept with any of them yet?" Mags said.

Her bluntness caused no outwards reaction. Mags had expected none. "I fear that if I do once, I won't ever be able to stop," Chrysoberyl replied, her gray eyes cold and her face a mask of stone. "Our girls, they never fought so hard as the boys and now they do even less. I think they know the Capitol would expect them to deliver."

Mags remembered when Chrysoberyl had screamed at Woof to sponsor Cecelia. She doubted she would ever see the woman so impulsive, so genuine, ever again.

"Vicuña wanted to train idols," Mags said. "Women can be idols in other ways. You were."

Chrysoberyl smiled, that tense smile that didn't light her face and didn't reach her eyes. She was splendid all the same, that ethereal, statuesque beauty that sparked awe rather than lust. "Luxury, all luxuries, that is what we are and what we offer."

Mags' smile was warmer because she knew and had lost the patience for lies and masks. "Fur factories stink and precious stones need to be extracted from the ground. You have poverty and grime like us all."

Chrysoberyl stepped back. "How can you be so old and say such things?" For an instant the mask had cracked and there was fear there, the fear someone may hear Mags claim that all of District One was not born with a silver spoon in their mouths like the Capitol wanted them to believe.

"You have power, Chrysoberyl," Mags said. "The Capitol doesn't hold 'villains' close to their heart and the luck that brought others out of the arena didn't cling to their shoulders long. The Careers though, the Capitol remembers. Your image is power. They want you to be untouchable. They want a symbol, the ice queen, the ghost. Don't become real."

Chrysoberyl shook her head gracefully, her eyes on the ground. "How amusing that the outliers are the villains, the wretched ones."

It was never the Careers who bashed a skull in with a stone or drove a stick through a kid's eye. Careers could afford to be honorable, their training preserved them from the madness, at least at first, but most of all, they had to be, for while the Capitol loved its villains, it wanted heroes to triumph.

Mags gently grasped Chrysoberyl's hand. "You have power. Just make sure Snow never knows you know," she whispered, leaving the woman to simply stare, her face impassive but her gray eyes unsure.

"You never come for them," Chrysoberyl finally said. "You're always here, but it's not them you come for."

Mags bowed her head and left, she had no excuses to give. No, she had not come for Storm or Alamar. It wasn't them she was here to save. One's were graceful, aristocratic and flirtatious. Two's were confident, bold and strong. Four's were familiar and cheerful and fun. Mags already had enough sponsor money for being part of that Career game, she would not damn herself for more.

But there was one girl she would try to save. The plastered smile on her face softened when she found her ally amongst the decadent crowd.

"Hello, Plutarch," she said, all too aware of the gazes that turned their ways.

It was odd, how this robust man now looked young enough to be her son. She wondered if it was when those people had started chasing away old age that responsibility and wisdom had fled the city walls.

"How did you know I had always harbored a deep love for you, Mags?" Plutarch said grasping her hand and pressing it to his heart.

Mags granted him a smile. His flirting was more fun when the atmosphere wasn't saturated with greed and lust and the promise of dying children, but seriousness between Capitolite and victor was dangerous where foreign eyes watched.

"I have an idea," she said. "But I am missing one ingredient. Cecelia."

Plutarch set his jaw, and Mags saw the lines gamemaking had etched in his still youthful face. He was a Capitolite born and bred. He didn't let himself get close and he valued the bigger picture, but he was too good a man to shy from reality and pretend it was alright not to care.

"I'll buy her," Plutarch said. "Tell me when, I'll bump off someone else if I have to."

"It's a lot of money." Still too little for Mags' comfort but more than Plutarch could reasonably afford.

"Syrianus will pool in, we're a kinky lot, us." Plutarch winked. He put his hand on Mags' arm, a roguish smile on his face. "Mags, fun thing about uncovering corruption and giving Achlys the figures, is that Glynn gave Achlys the figures," he said, his voice barely audible with the pounding music. "Then Achlys died and the files were erased and the proof with it. They're rich, not Flickerman rich, but rich enough."

Mags blinked. Glynn had been stealing? She chuckled. Of course Glynn had been stealing. It was all so much easier with money.

She forced a grin and lifted herself on tiptoes to kiss Plutarch on the cheek. "I'll join the party at two then. Thank you." She saw him so little and asked for so much. She hoped he was alright.

Plutarch beamed. "Anything for you to stay the night."

Mags slapped him out of principle and tracked Myia down. It was time to pull in a favor.

Myia usually appeared at sponsor events. She enjoyed reminding people that she existed, using her status as Achlys' niece to glide through society before taking her leave. Mags always made a point to greet her, little but pleasantries were said, but Mags found the ritual comforting, and it made Myia so ridiculously happy.

Even in her old age, she was still the Myia that had brought Mags shopping all those years ago, easy to flatter and eager to prove herself.

"Myia, how delightful to see you. I'm glad you spare the time for such events."

Myia beamed at her. "Oh, Mags, it's been so long! I wondered if you would come tonight."

Ridiculously happy. Maybe that was why Mags had a soft spot for her. "Didn't you tell me your grand-daughter, Euphemia, wanted to become an escort?"

Myia's eyes widened in delight. "I'm flattered you would remember. Yes she does, Effie has all sorts of weird ideas, but she's a great planner and so polite. She's unflappable too, nothing like me, all jitters and tears. You were so patient with me."

Mags chuckled. "Would you like to have dinner one of these days, Myia? Me, you, Effie and there's a victor Effie's age who'd be delighted to come."

Myia gasped. "You would want that? Oh I would be so happy! These parties are loud, home would be so much better. But do you have the time?"

Mags almost laughed. Myia had always been remarkably inept at playing up her social status. She had never dared invite Mags or even think herself entitled to it. She was a political disaster, but it was better this way.

"I think I owe it to you to make the time, Myia. At least this once. We go back a long way, after all."

Myia sighed, the lights rippling on her sheer azure hair. Only her stiff movements and skin made tight from repeated treatments betrayed her age. "The times were different. At least I know you miss auntie too."

"Which victor, you said?" Myia added before Mags could betray her sudden unease.

"Cecelia, from District Eight."

Myia gasped again, her hand flying to her mouth. "Her? Oh no, not –" She laughed. Her eternal girlish little laugh. "How… risqué. Effie will not know what to do, but she'll be delighted. She's a nice girl, she won't ask anything inappropriate."

Perfect. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, dear," Myia said. "And now, to bed with me. No matter what those cougars on those dancefloor may think, this isn't a place for old bones. Dinner is quite enough."

Tomorrow, Mags would start teaching Cecelia how to regain control over her own body. She wished she had thought of Myia earlier, but the more pragmatic part of her knew that to quick and overt an action would bring her straight to Snow's office and help Cecelia not at all.

Year 62, August, Hunger Games. Victor: Enobaria.

Mags paused as she walked by the cafeteria. Now that was something she hadn't seen in a very long time. It was late and the room was abuzz with avoxes clearing up the buffet now that escorts, stylists and victors had shared their last meal. In the middle of the chaos –loud enough to muffle any conversation- Mercury from Three and their most recent victor seemed enthralled by their own conversation.

Mags simply watched them for a while, drinking in the normality. Of course, if one looked closely, they weren't ordinary teenagers.

Mercury was a slippery thing. She'd barely been in the mentor's room either this year or the previous, preferring to work with her escort to obtain sponsors. Beetee had assured Mags that Mercury wasn't in any great psychological distress, so Mags had let her be. But she didn't like it when it felt like her hold on victors slipped, especially the victors who didn't lock themselves in an impenetrable sphere of suffering and self-pity. Mags winced at the last. She had been spending too much time with Lyme. She was starting to think like a Career.

Mercury, with the new girl. Another attractive young woman, Mags thought somberly… Enobaria, impetuous and more passionate than a Career ought to be, talking to the cameras like none had sought to before. Enobaria hadn't been supposed to win. She'd been Bahamut's, and Bahamut was Two's last victor. Brutus' fame had being bolstered when he'd been the first since Mordred to bring in a victor before he'd hit twenty-five. No one else had matched it, ever, but the 55th Games remained close enough for Bahamut to join the annals.

Bahamut mentored little, and when he did, he chose them outspoken and angry. Twice times he'd brought whirlwinds to the screens, twice a piece of him had died when the cannons had rung loud and clear.

Enobaria had been the third, another extra, something spicy and colorful to add a bit of entertainment. Nothing serious, not a victor surely, why, she'd not even joined the pack, preferring to delight the audience with her brand of chaos.

A tundra arena. What fools. There was a reason why the previous Gamemakers had never played with extreme cold. It was ugly and crippling, spreading illness and misery. The few who had kept moving had gone mad, Enobaria among them, gone feral with thirst and the keen knowledge that her body had hours before it would fall apart. An animal had won, and Mags hoped dearly that the young woman would piece her humanity back together. At least she would not be alone.

Enobaria looked fine, but Careers always did. That was why it had taken Mags so long to see beneath the armor, beyond the conditioning.

She finally walked in. "What's the secret to getting Careers and non-Careers to have a civil conversation?" Mags said with a cheerful smile. "I've been trying for decades."

"Civil, civil…" Enobaria said, her lips pursed. She then bared her teeth.

Mags blanched. A row of golden, sharp teeth glimmered in the light, like a monster eager to tear its way through. She took a deep breath, flushing at her embarrassing reaction.

"That was Mercury's bright idea," Enobaria snarled. "How you snuck past Bahamut and got the doctors to agree..."

Mags turned to Mercury, unable to believe her eyes. The Capitol would be delirious. Enobaria was as 'villain' as you got, but now she was more. Add the teeth to the mix, and she was over the top. Who in their right minds would- ?

"I did no sneaking," Mercury said calmly. "Dante, my escort, he's eighty, he knows the hospital personnel well. I thought you'd prefer that to becoming their sex toy."

Oh… smart. No, brilliant actually. Mags let a small considering smile replace her astonishment. Brilliant, but bold, bordering on crazy.

"As if you planned it," Enobaria said. "It was bloody impulsive of you and I'll bite my tongue off next time I'll sneeze."

The strong edge to her tone made Mags realize exactly what Mercury had unwittingly done. A sharp ache knocked the breath out of Mags and her hand went to her chest. She pulled out a chair to give herself countenance.

A blizzard on every screen, three tributes, crawling, shivering, spending the very last of their energy to reach the bonfire near the frozen lake.

A cannon blast, Miracle had given up, the frost cradling him in a loving, permanent blanket.

Enobaria, skin raw, her short hair caked with mud and ice, taking her sword out. Her eyes blinked and blinked and blinked, half-frozen tears slowly running down her cheeks as she struggled to see more than shapes and blurs in the furious snow storm. The sword dropped, too heavy for numb fingers. Jaggary, wrapped in furs, grabbing a burning stake and brandishing it like a sword.

A lumbering run, both knew that if they did not finish it in minutes, the arena would finish them.

The stake kept burning and Jaggary's furs took fire. Enobaria had no grip, her hands tried to grasp his sleeve, but she ended up shying away, her instincts too strong, the fire's bite to raw. Her arm wrapped itself around Jaggary's scarf and she pulled, her breath desperate clouds of steam. Jaggary choked and screamed as the fire burned down to his skin. He flailed with the staff, burying it into the snow but finally freed himself from the scarf. The screen showed Enobaria stiffen and for one moment, Mags thought the young woman would faint, but Enobaria pounced, a rasp of anger, a promise of life escaping her raw throat. Jaggary fell. Hands and elbows, knees and legs, Enobaria crouched over him, all her weight on his chest. He was almost a match for her strength, she couldn't let go, not for one second.

Her lips cracked and bleeding, smoke enveloping them in their very own little piece of Hell, Enobaria opened her mouth and dived for Jaggary's neck.

Mags had glimpsed her reflection in those teeth. She shivered, but her greatest sorrow was for the young woman before her. Enobaria could never forget now, not for one moment, that she had torn a boy's throat open in one moment of desperation. Those teeth would let no one forget.

A frustrated hiss escaped Enobaria's mouth. "If your tribute dies, Three. You stay the fuck away from the others, I thought it was a rule."

Mercury paled, flinching as if struck, but she did not apologize. "People are definitely going to stay 'the fuck away' from you now," she replied instead, sitting tall and triumphant.

"The teeth are reversible, Enobaria," Mags said, "but I would take the time to think about it if I were you."

Enobaria nodded, her anger still obvious.

"What's your last name?" Mercury asked. "At the reapings, they didn't give any."

"Career volunteers never give a last name," Enobaria said, her eyes tightening. "The annex is our family."

"Was, now Victors' Village is," Mags said with a smile.

Enobaria took a sharp intake of breath, her eyes slowly filling with awe. Mags suddenly wondered if the young woman would weep. Instead, Enobaria simply stared ahead, her back straight and her chin high.

"Yes," Enobaria whispered. It was just beginning to sink in.

Mercury frowned. "No family to bring in?" Enobaria didn't answer but Mercury finally smiled, her inquisitive stare digging into Enobaria. "Of course, no one forces you to join training, do they? Of course there's no family left, in the end."

"Don't think you understand, Three," Enobaria snapped, her fingers flexing and unflexing as if she checked they could still move.

Three. She spoke to Mercury as if the two of them were still tributes in an arena, and that alone told Mags that Enobaria was far, far from fine.

"I won, I did my damnedest to win," Mercury replied, her voice hard. "Killing, betraying, manipulating and all. That makes me more a Career than most."

Enobaria's eyebrows shot up and soon only the deepest scorn showed on her face.

Mercury blinked. Her lips broke into another curious smile. "You look like you're about to spit at me. I just said something horribly naïve didn't I?"

"Yes," Enobaria said. Her grudging smirk vanished instantly when she realized her teeth had probably showed.

"Then tell me," Mercury urged. "I want to understand, how they make you. How you feel about it."

"Why?" Mags wondered. Maybe, maybe things could change, and the victors would unite.

Mercury abruptly stood up, her knuckles white on the back of the chair. "I'm curious," she said. There was something brittle and desperate about her now. "It's the one thing they couldn't touch." She paused, her eyes darting to the avoxes, before settling back on Mags. "The world is full of lies, we're all separated, kept ignorant. The cogs have no idea what the machine is for. I think it's high time I saw the machine." A grim smile drew itself on her tense features. "Judging is for little people."

"So I'm your pet project, delighted," Enobaria said, her face whitewashed of emotion.

There was no venom in her tone, which made Mags suspect Mercury wasn't the only curious one of the two. Despite the tension, either girl still had to raise her voice.

"Do be," Mercury said brightly. "We're all brainwashed one way or another. District people, Capitolites, Careers. All very different but all too deep in it to be objective about how it molds us." Hunger, plain and almost frightening, blazed in Mercury's eyes. "But, by sharing that knowledge, we could learn to see how the strings are pulled."

And what would you do with that knowledge? Mags stood silent, her hands cradled in her lap. Was it just Mercury? Or had Mags been too distant to see the potential of the new generation of victors. There were so many who deserved her attention, and so little time.

Woof, Seeder, Beetee, Lyme, those Mags could trust. There was Brutus, predictable, solid, but too trapped in the Hunger Games to consider the politics, there were Chaff and Haymitch, volatile loud, and provocative, but they would do right when the time came, even Wiress would not unwittingly betray her, but there were those she knew little of: Aster and Mercury, Cecelia, even Blight - who knew what lay behind that sullen haze of drugs?

A shadow filled the edge of her vision. Alarmed, Mags turned around. She smiled slightly. It was only Bahamut, tall and sleek with that effortless power that radiated from those of District Two.

Bahamut acknowledged Mags with a nod, relaxing his stance, but the glare he shot at Mercury would have melted steel.

Mercury bristled, her hold on the chair tightening.

"You alright?" Bahamut asked Enobaria.

"I'm a pet project. And maybe the teeth were a favor," she granted, the edge to her tone stressing that that particular argument wasn't over. "Mercury's a human-sized question mark."

Mercury bowed her head gracefully, taking it as a compliment. "I might have trained had I been born in Two, you know," Mercury said. "Besides, the brightest games-oriented minds of your district devised the Career system. I'm sure it's genius."

Enobaria barked a laugh. She stood up and took a step towards her mentor. "You told me the outer victors would hate my guts."

Bahamut just frowned at Mercury. He saw a slip of a woman with jagged short black hair, pale skin and cutting blue eyes, and probably remembered her every kill and fact they'd never shared more than a greeting. He glanced at Mags but she had nothing to tell him. Mags watched in delight as the lines between trained and untrained seemed to blur.

"People are sheep, they fall into roles," Mercury said with a sigh. "Sometimes ago, hating Careers became cool in the Districts." Mercury shrugged, her levity obviously forced. That young woman was a ball of nerves. "Nothings' permanent."

Hold onto that thought, Mags thought, a smile blooming on her lips.

Seeder joined her, reminding Mags it had been her she'd gone to see in the first place. "What's on your mind?"

"Enobaria, Mercury..."

An odd smile flitted over Seeder's lips at the last. "I've spoken to her. Have we a new friend?"

Mags reluctantly shook her head. "Unfortunately intellect isn't the mother of virtue."

Mercury wasn't just sharp, she was intelligent. She was the one who'd gotten out of prostitution on her own. If there was one person calculating enough to sell Mags out to Snow for the privilege to live in the Capitol and who could pull it off, it was Mercury, and Mags was too afraid to take the risk.

She would wait and see. She itched for news of District Thirteen, for a plan, any plan that did not involve civil war. And yet, deep down she knew they were just delaying. There would be war, it was just a matter of setting the terms.

Year 62, December, FLASH

Finnick pressed his forehead against the cool wall. How'd he ever get out of that one? It had seemed so simple before. Sheller had warned him, he'd been such a smartass about it too.

And now he was stuck in the dark classroom in the middle of the night, freezing his ass off as he held the stupid box that wouldn't open, wondering how things never went according to plan.

"Listen, Krill, you need to put those back," he said in hushed tones. "We're in over our heads."

"No one asked you to follow!"

If he waited to be asked, nothing would be done. That's what Mags said. Bystanders are as bad as bullies. Letting something bad happen or someone getting hurt is a choice.

"You screwed up," Finnick replied. "You'll make up for it. You'll get a second chance. Don't dig your own grave."

Krill scowled. He looked like a krill too, long and skinny with hair so short is was barely there. A mean krill when he got upset. "That's not what you were saying 'fore we went."

Finnick grinned, excitement mixing with the fear of being caught. "I thought it was a good plan, then." His smile fell. That was before they'd found the box where the exams were held locked tight. They'd thought picking the classroom lock would be enough.

"They'll give me no second chance," Krill said, clawing at his cheeks in despair. "They keep the mean, they keep the angry, they don't keep the lazy."

Finnick snorted. "I saw what you do."

Most guys, you gave them regular seashells, they hit them together to see what noise came out, or they just tossed them in a corner, or maybe straight back at you. Krill, he took a needle and he made the prettiest things, even if it took him all night and he fell asleep in physical the next day. It was his secret.

Finnick loved secrets. Secrets tied you up and that's how you made friends or got enemies to back off.

"One word, and I'll kill you," Krill hissed.

Except most secrets were stupid. Finnick knew Krill had gotten in for his memory. He just blinked at something and everything stayed right there in his brain and just by walking around he could draw crazy accurate maps. He hadn't gotten in for the carving, but no one would kick him out for it.

"If we can't open the box," Finnick replied. "Then we must make it disappear." Krill's trust mattered. When people trusted you, you could make them listen.

"Make it look like a thief, like Instructor Cody forgot to lock the door," Krill eagerly said.

Finnick grinned. Now they had a plan.

Finnick knew it had been a bad plan.

Mags pulled out a chair. "Finnick, how breaking into a classroom and destroying a week's worth of exams, which you'll all have to take again now, ever seemed like a great idea."

Finnick felt terrible. He'd never meant to ruin anyone's work.

He forced a confident smile. "Auntie, you always find out when someone does something wrong and you make them understand its bad. I warned Krill, but then I had to be his friend and go with him because if he can't trust me, how can I ever teach him to be good?"

Mags eyes narrowed and Finnick squirmed. There were so many instructors that were taller and stronger, and Mags was his great-aunt, old and nice and pretty, but Mags wasn't soft and there was no lying to her. His answer sounded like a bag of knots and he knew he wouldn't be leaving until it was untied.

He really wanted to be good and to impress her. Not the easy good, manners and good marks, the hard good, the fixing things and seeing problems. Sometimes he was good at it, like the time Marina had been hitting people because her dad had paid a peacekeeper to deliver his letters to her and it made her all scared. He'd gotten a black eye for prying, but now Marina didn't hit people and the peacekeeper was gone. Sometimes, he just sucked, and now he wanted to punch Krill for that look of annoyance in Mags' eyes.

Why couldn't there be simple rules? Good and bad got just so blurry when you tried to act.

"Why was Krill was so terrified he decided rules were optional?" Mags demanded.

Finnick hung his head. He felt like a baby, even if her tone was normal. "He thought you'd kick him out for bad marks. He would have gone without me if I hadn't gone. I couldn't have stopped him short of posting an instructor in front of the room." Finnick sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought we'd just change his answers to the good ones and it'd have been fine."

"Finnick, when Krill 'fails' a test, he usually gets 75%."

Krill was annoying like that. "He said he'd really failed. That the letters just blurred and he couldn't read the questions."

Mags frowned. "But if he was sick, you'd have taken him to the medics."

"He's just real tired," Finnick mumbled. He hated all this half-lying to Mags, but Mags would forgive him, and Krill wouldn't. He really liked being Krill's friend. Krill owed him big now.

"Krill obsesses over exams, Finn. What's he obsessing about more?"

Finnick swallowed. He couldn't well say seashells and needles, or that Krill carved only at night, because that's when no one would see him, and his memory was so good he barely needed any light at all. Now that Mags had said it, it sounded obsessed alright.

"It's not dangerous. It's… it's weird, Auntie," Finnick whispered. "Maybe he'll tell you. It's his secret, I can't tell."

Mags pursed her lips, but she nodded and Finnick suddenly felt tears prickling at his eyes. He fiercely swallowed them back. Twelve was much too old to cry.

"Him too, Mags?" He exclaimed. "Is it another bad family thing? Does Krill do it at night because they'd have hit him if he'd tried during the day for some nonsense reason?"

Finnick had trouble with his Ma and Pa too, he did and sometimes he got so angry, especially when they had a go at FLASH and Mags and everything that gave Finnick purpose, but no matter what, when he came back, he always hugged them, because they loved him and treated him proper and before FLASH he'd never thought that made him special, except it did.

"Is there no one good enough for FLASH from good families?" He said, anger making him feel like his head was boiling. What had Krill ever done to anyone?

'Yes, Finnick," Mags said with a small smile. "But usually they live out their childhoods and come for the adult classes or just learn on the job, with a master, like it was done before."

Finnick nodded. He understood, he did. Mags had made FLASH for those who needed her, and she'd made him come because they needed him too. He'd not break that trust.

He straightened. "I'll try to be good in a cleverer way next time," he promised.

Mags smiled, it was teasing and warm and Finnick blushed. "Practice makes perfect, but do think before you act," she said. "You're still getting punished."

"I know, Ma'am," Finnick said. He grinned, because that didn't matter, not as long as Mags trusted him to get good enough in time. His Ma said heroes all died, but Mags was old and she was teaching him, so he'd be a hero too.

Mags fondly watched him go, and wondered if Finnick would learn first, or if, in his impulsive desire to save the day, he'd make one mistake too many.

There you are, I should have been studying instead of writing this, but I'm too old to change my bad habits now.

Please review.^^.