A/N: Possible trigger for light gore. Also, I've done my best, but I've never been a dancer. Please feel free to correct me if I've gotten anything wrong.

Just because she couldn't see any cameras didn't mean there weren't any. She didn't want to think about how many rules she was about to break. Doctor's orders. Museum rules. Possibly state law as well. She wasn't so sure about that one. This place was run by the state, but Annie hoped that the legislators and policemen and whoever else might try to enforce these types of rules had better things to worry about. It wasn't like she was going to hurt anything. Hopefully.

She swallowed as she scanned the gallery one last time, praying that nobody would happen upon her in here. Tuesday afternoon, from what she'd seen online, was usually a quiet time here, but that didn't mean she had the museum to herself. As close to satisfied as she was going to get, Annie sat down and pulled the shoes out of her backpack.

For the first time in her life, her feet actually looked decent. No bandage-covered blisters or bruises today. The knobbiness of her joints and the overly high arch, though, would never get better, both sacrificed for a future she wouldn't get to have.

One extra time won't do any more damage. Best to end this the same place it began. She laced up her pointe shoes with practiced ease. Another heartbeat, one final please God, just one more time, and she's up.

Immediately, her foot cramped up, and she fell back onto the gallery bench, hissing. But she did not spend three weeks working her courage up and eleven dollars on an admission ticket to go home without this. Annie forced herself up again, and her legs groaned. She could all too easily imagine her legs breaking, the bones cracking into such jagged edges that they poked through the skin and blood dripped down onto the floor. Here, even the building is a work of art, and it would be a sin to soil it. But she was up, and this time, she would not stumble.

The routine had been drilled into her since she was four. Balancé, couru, pirouette… she had repeated each of them so many times that it didn't require any real thought. The motions had to be effortless, but it took years of tuning and training each individual muscle until one broke to make it seem easy. Annie felt the burn of acid on muscle as she spun, but it had always been her greatest delight.

Above her, the girls danced along, and for the first and last time, she was the principal. They served as court and audience all in one, and as long as she did not stop, she could stay in their world, where promising careers were not ended by a single fall. Here, having three surgeries to pay off was unthinkable, and no doctors would dare tell a dancer to stop forever. It was a dream she never wanted to end, but then again, she'd never wanted any of it to end.

She took a deep bow, the one she deserved, her goodbye to the other dancers. In her mind, those same pale pink roses from the painting above rained down on her, and it was hard to say goodbye to the applause and adoration. She may have worked all her life for it, but that didn't mean it was ever going to be hers.

She nearly stumbled when a sound came from behind her. I haven't touched anything, I promise. I'm done, please just let me leave. I promise I won't do anything like that ever again. A hundred excuses, none any better than the last, swirled through her mind, but they all left when she saw the man clapping behind her. Annie stood, frozen, ready for him to call in security and have her escorted from the premises.

"The Degas ballerinas have never been my favorites, but after that, I think I might have to change my mind." His smile was charming, certainly, but she saw the badge and the walkie-talkie and oh no, that couldn't be any good, and –

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again." The words are too rushed, and Annie doubts anyone could make them out. Even she's not sure what she just said.

The security guard grinned. "Hey, don't worry about it. You shouldn't pull that one again, but you didn't touch anything."

"Oh."

"You seemed really good. You a professional or something?"

"I was." Now that her heart rate was finally slowing down again, she could take a closer look at the newcomer. How had a guy like this ended up as a security guard, anyway? Tall, bronze hair that did that supermodel disheveled-but-flawless thing – he looked like he belonged in a lifeguard's chair. Or on a magazine cover. Definitely not in a second-tier art museum, that was for sure.

"And now?"

"Let's say I suddenly have a lot more free time on my hands."

"Sorry to hear that. I'm Finnick. Pleased to meet you." She shook his hand. This was definitely the longest conversation she'd had with a security guard in, well, ever, and surprisingly enough, she wasn't minding it at all. Oh dear god, from this close, he even smelled nice. Lord have mercy. How was a girl supposed to focus on the artwork?

She was going to keep it together. He probably had to pick up enough drooling female messes as it was. "Annie."

"So, Annie, since you've got all this spare time, mind telling me a bit about ballet? It'd be great to know a couple things for when people ask me about these paintings."

"Of course." He probably should be doing other things; the museum wasn't paying for him to stick around and flirt with a patron. On the other hand, she should probably be doing something to put her life back together right now, so she couldn't judge. Still, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon. She took him from painting to painting, telling him what positions the ballerinas were in, what style of costumes, anything interesting she could think of.

When they had circled back to where they began, Finnick gave her another one of those gorgeous grins. "Thanks for that. I suppose I don't have any excuse to tell guests that ballerina's toes sometimes fall off from overwork now."

"You don't."

"Oh, I do." There's pure mischief in his eyes, and she wasn't sure where it was directed.

"Well, you don't get to say that anymore."

"I might. Could be fun."

She glared up at him. "You said it yourself. You don't have an excuse anymore."

"So, Miss Annie, will you be coming back to make sure I'm on the straight and narrow?"

"I think I might have to."

"That's the spirit. So, have anywhere to go real soon?"

She shook her head.

"Then, mind if I take you on a guided tour of the rest of the floor?"

"I think I could be convinced."