Trigger warning: implied suicide and implied sexual abuse.

Six

"Robin. Do you already know what you're doing for your assessment?"

Even though Finnick was staring at him, the boy continued to gobble down his dinner, as if he were in a contest to see who could eat the most. Every time he poked at the food he did it with such energy it looked more like a knife than a fork.

"It's tomorrow," he reminded him, trying to be patient. He was angry, that was clear. That was what happened when you were approaching imminent death.

"So? What difference is that going to make?" he retorted, sending him a glare filled with rage.

Whether he liked it or not, Finnick was his mentor, a job that had been imposed, but his duty nonetheless. From his position he could advise them, he could comfort them. He hardly ever saved them.

"Are you aware of how many tributes die of natural causes? You don't have to kill anyone, sometimes it just happens."

"No one has won like that."

Finnick was silent for a moment, choking the lump that formed in his throat by drinking from his glass of water.

"Annie did," he replied, almost in a whisper. He didn't want to, but maybe it would help Robin hear it, and Estee too. "She hid throughout all the Games."

"Yeah, and was it worth it for her to win?"

The fork slipped clumsily from his fingers and he suddenly couldn't breathe. Annie…it still hurt to think of her. Two years had passed since she was gone and he suspected that even if twenty more passed her mention would continue to leave him just as paralyzed. Of course it had been worth it. She had given him the best years of his life, the ones they had been able to enjoy together until she couldn't take it anymore. Now he could only see her in his dreams, floating with the rhythm of the waves of the sea, lifeless, finding the calm she had never recovered, because the experiences in the Arena had taken it from her. He should've done something, he should've done more.

Finnick picked up his fork slowly, noticing Estee slamming her partner under the table. He blinked a few times and smiled slightly at the girl. It was just the comment of a pissed-off fifteen-year-old who didn't know what it really meant to him.

"Sorry," the boy muttered.

"Can we talk about the interview?" Estee interrupted. "I don't want to do it all. I don't know what to say."

"The best thing is to be optimistic, nice. Just be yourself." At least she wouldn't have a problem with that. She was a quiet girl, but smart enough to know what she was immersed in. "We'll write a few lines together to practice if that makes you feel better, okay?"

Estee nodded several times, with a shy smile. Finnick thought about himself almost a decade ago, about Mags, who had become his only family and still was. She had treated him with affection, not deceiving him at all, but being realistic instead. The fourteen-year-old Finnick who had arrived at the Capitol was very different from those two kids. That Finnick knew he was going to have to get his hands dirty and he hadn't cared, not as long as he could get back home. Saying it like that, it seemed that he had had no remorse. The truth was, he just wanted to be free, prove what he knew and keep his head attached to his body, even if it meant killing. He had felt pride back then, now only disgust and shame remained.

He was trying as hard as he could, he really was. He was trying to occupy Mags's place just as efficiently, but it was an exhausting task and getting even the smallest sense of satisfaction seemed impossible. He had only returned to 4 with one boy in nine years, apart from Annie, of the eighteen tributes he had mentored to date. He couldn't understand how Mags had done it, or Haymitch, for example. Year after year he came back alone, over and over and over again. When they finished with dinner, he allowed himself the luxury of stretching out on the sofa in the dark to sip a beer, something unexpectedly rare in the Capitol. They preferred strange, refined wines, champagne, and drugs with the most ridiculous and dangerous effects one could imagine. It was completely crazy. Sometimes his life became too much, too big, too overwhelming, too brilliant, and felt trapped in a spiral of surrealism. Nothing was as he had imagined while they were announcing his name at the Arena, when he had won. He just wanted to stay at 4, by the sea, forever. Since he was trapped, the only thing he could do was curl up on the velvet sofa and forget the world. He wasn't even halfway through the beer when he drifted off to sleep. For one night there were no dreams starring Annie, nor his worst nightmares, unknown bodies he despised and then his own, forced to do so many things he was repulsed to remember.

He thought he had slept for hours, but when he woke up, his body fully rested, the living room was plunged into darkness and the digital clock read half past four. He stirred, drowsy, at a vague sound coming from the hallway. He got up and stood still, until he figured out what was happening. It seemed like a slight moan, or the hiccups that accompanied crying. He followed the sound, barefoot, until he stopped in front of the door from which it came.

"Estee," he called once, in a whisper. "Are you alright?"

The crying stopped, but she didn't respond. Finnick tried again and the door opened slowly. He couldn't see Estee's face clearly, though he could feel the tremor in her body.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" He took a step forward and touched her arm carefully. "You can cry, you know? It's allowed. Come with me."

He released her and let her follow him into the living room, to sit her on one of the maroon sofas. Meanwhile, Finnick looked for someone who could bring the girl a valerian infusion and a ton of tissues as well, much as he hated to bother anyone that late. He decided it was best not to pressure her, so he dumped the warm beer and sat down a few feet from her. Estee was sitting on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face still red from crying.

"I want to see my mother one more time," the girl uttered, in a whisper that made his stomach drop.

Finnick looked at her silently. He recognized the vertigo one felt the days before the Games and he missed her mother, too, even then.

"My parents are teachers," she continued. "I was going to study too and follow in their footsteps, one day. I have never wanted to train for the Games. I didn't want to be like them."

Like him, Finnick corrected her in her mind. She was referring to the careers and he belonged to them too. It wasn't surprising that Robin hated him that much.

"You can do it, Estee," he encouraged her, and for once, he didn't have to fake it. He was convinced she had a chance. He had seen stranger things happening. "You're smart, you can adapt well. If you don't want…if you don't want to hurt anyone, defend yourself. Hide, watch."

The girl averted her glassy gaze and sniffed before turning back to him. He shouldn't even be encouraging her not to be violent. That was what they were supposed to do. Only protecting yourself was kind of a loophole.

"Did Katniss agree?"

Finnick nodded slightly. He had spoken to Haymich after seeing her, though he hadn't confessed that, and the girl had been quick to accept. The boy from 12 had too. Still, Finnick had a feeling he wouldn't last long enough to ally with anyone, and to be honest, he didn't have much to contribute to anyway. Robin, on the other hand, didn't want to participate.

"I don't know if I can do it. If we help each other and then it's over, how am I going to…?"

How was she going to kill her? How could she? Alliances were broken, after all. In the end there will be only one of them left.

"I know," he replied, swallowing. "I'm sorry, Estee. The rules are the rules."

Then he reached out to pat her on the shoulder, trying to give her some reassurance.

"Okay," she said, standing up after a long exhale. "It's not your fault. I'm going back to bed. I'm feeling… better. I just wanted to tell someone."

"Estee. I'll do everything I can to get you back home."

What he had told Katniss wasn't a lie. He truly wish she could do it, protect them all. He saw himself in their faces, he imagined what they would be like if they won and what might happen to them afterwards, considering what his life had become. If that girl won, that wouldn't be her fate. He couldn't let something like it happen to anyone else. When Estee left, he stretched out on the sofa again, since it was too early to do anything else, and ended up dozing off again. The first to wake up the next morning was Robin, who appeared in the living room before breakfast had been served, even before Finnick decided to get up.

"I know what I'm doing for individual assessment," he heard the boy say suddenly.

He was standing between the sofa and the screen, a slightly tired expression on his face.

"Good morning, Robin," he managed to wish him, getting up with a yawn.

"What are you doing there?" He asked him, confused.

Finnick shrugged.

"It's more comfortable than it seems. Well, what did you come up with?"

"I'm building some sort of shelter."

Stretching at last, he noticed Robin was clenching his fingers nervously. He was still wearing his pajamas, his hair half tousled. He seemed even smaller that way. Someone had had a rough night. Everyone, it seemed. Finnick stood up and put one arm around his shoulders.

"That's very good, Robin. It's useful."

Finnick tried to head for his own room, but Robin kept walking beside him as he crossed the hall.

"I'm sorry about what I said yesterday," he said, breathless, hastily. "I was angry and I took it out on you."

Finnick turned and improvised a tight smile. The boy's gaze jumped from his face to the wall, most likely embarrassed.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does! What happened to her was fucked up, she was your tribute, you helped her go home and she still didn't… Sorry."

"Hey, it's already forgotten, Robin. It's fine, but if it's that important for you...then I forgive you."

It was the least he could do for him. Being reminded of what had happened to Annie upset him, but he didn't want him to feel guilty just two days before leaving for the Arena.

"Everything is so…uncivilized," he said, regaining the energy that Finnick recognized as his. "I don't want to carry the burden of killing someone. I don't know how to do it and I won't."

Finnick nodded, surprised by his effusiveness. That boy was daring as hell and they couldn't take that away from him.

"I respect that."

"Fine."

As if that was all he needed to hear, he nodded slightly and left without another word. Finnick hated the individual assessment, the interviews on the last day... In general, everything that preceded the Games, almost more than the Games themselves, because they extended the tension and fear. He took it upon himself to accompany them to their test and before they knew it, the day had already passed and they were nervously waiting for their results in front of the television. They were lucky to be fourth, at least they didn't have to hold their breath for so long. Estee got an 8 and smiled with more happiness than Finnick had ever seen her expressed and Robin a 6 that forced him to insinuate a tiny grin. The smiles turned into stunned expressions, mixed with some admiration when it was 12's turn. Katniss Everdeen had landed an 11. An 11. Finnick leaned back against the couch, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"Holy shit," he blurted out. What had a girl who wasn't even a career done to get such a high score?

"You haven't seen her train with anything specific, have you?" he asked Estee.

The girl shook her head, just as confused. That meant someone had a little secret. He immediately set out to discover everything he possibly could. He had always been very good at secrets, because people only saw his façade, they trusted a pretty face like his quite easily. However, Haymitch Abernathy was another story, because he knew the truth.

Although he didn't consider them to be that close, Finnick would've firmly stated he was one of the few people who understood what it was like to win the Games and having one's life destroyed in spite of it. He had nothing left, just like him. It was easy to guess where he would be when he wasn't busy mentoring. 12's winner wasn't into exclusive clubs and in the tributes' center there was only one bar, in addition to the rooms they would occupy when the Games began. Just as he had expected, he found him in a corner of the counter, when night had already fallen. At least the bar wasn't full so he wouldn't have to dodge the looks from people who had ever paid to spend a night with him. It was nauseating to be recognized for that.

"Haymitch," he greeted calmly, before taking the stool to his left.

He didn't seem too surprised to see him, and even patted him on the back.

"Odair. What are you drinking?"

"Beer."

"Too cheap for you. Don't you prefer pink gin or some shit like that?"

Finnick offered him the same crooked smile Haymitch was wearing with amusement.

"No, thanks. I'm here to say congratulations. Your girl…well, that's a score."

He almost snorted.

"Congratulations?" he repeated suspiciously. "Not being considered a disappointment for once is something, but now she's going to be eaten up by the careers."

"A score like that will attract a lot of sponsors too."

"Yeah, and now the others will decide they have to get rid of her first," Haymitch decided harshly. He was partly right. "I don't know if this alliance will turn out very well for you."

Finnick spun around on the stool, eyeing the tall, half-empty glass tables, calmly, but actually checking to see if they would be heard before leaning over to Haymitch.

"What does Katniss have? Knives? Axes? What is she good at?"

Haymitch shook his head.

"Do you honestly believe I'm going to tell you?"

"Aren't we allies?"

"Only up to a certain point, boy."

Finnick held his drink, holding back a slight smile. He would find out sooner or later.

"I think the odds are in our favor this time."

"Our?"

"Come on, Haymitch," he snapped back. "Look me in the eye and tell me she's like your other tributes."

Finnick wasn't stupid, nor was he delusional. 1 and 2 were the favorites, as always. Estee had the intelligence needed, but not Katniss's determination. Life in 12 had likely given her that.

"Well," Haymitch half grumbled, "they've never been given a 11 before."

"I imagined. Our boys are quite the opposite, aren't they?"

Maybe that's why they deserve to be saved, he told himself. He didn't have to measure and plan what he said to Haymitch, but he did have to be careful because of where they were. Haymitch raised his glass and grimaced after sipping.

"Alder won't make it pass the beginning."

Finnick had long stopped being impressed by how lightly they spoke about the lives of mere teenagers. It was heartbreaking.

"Robin isn't even going to try. Do you know what I'm beginning to see?"

He looked up. They had a music speaker above their heads, almost imperceptible, he knew it because he had been there a thousand times. He was also aware of where they kept the microphones. A rich guy from 1 who installed those things had told him about it after a night together. They might've installed more ever since, so he leaned closer to Haymitch's ear.

"It's like a pattern."

He didn't move.

"What is?"

"They no longer keep any hope. If you're not a career, you're a scared kid, we all know that. I see something else."

"They're pissed off," Haymitch muttered. Reading between the lines, Finnick interpreted he was too.

"Yes, of course. I meant the…system," he added carefully. When the rhythm of the song picked up he spoke again. "They don't want to accept it. Kids from 1 and 2 and many others have nothing to question, right? They don't ask themselves if all this is moral or not, they just see it as something that happens."

As he moved away from his face, he watched Haymitch's gaze scrutinizing him, torn between fear and a little longing. Turning, he adopted his carefree expression again. He was good. He was almost as good at faking it as he was, but he drank too much and sometimes he forgot to behave. Or maybe he did it on purpose.

"One day, all of this will blow up," Finnick said.

"If you say so."

"And we'll be here to see it."

"I hope you're not mistaken, boy," he said, raising his glass. "I'm getting old and I need to save someone. Just the one."

Finnick lifted his beer. Me too, he thought desperately. Me too.

A little compensation for not having been able to update the previous week. This one was challenging but also quite nice to write. Obviously Finnick is one of my fav characters from the series so I wanted to explore his role a little bit. I've been wondering, what kind of mentor was he? I imagine him trying to be supportive, I think. And also quite fed up with everything in his life, I suppose. I hope you have found this one enlightening! Thanks for reading, Julia.

P.S: I've had some technical problems when uploading so sorry for the dozen emails with alerts ;)