Chapter 53: Clean

"No." Finnick crossed his arms and leaned against the counter in Sera's kitchen.

"I'm not asking for much, Fin." She threw her hair into a low ponytail and turned to face Finnick. His hair was still damp from his shower and it was falling over his face. "I just need to know what Haymitch Abernathy is really like."

"Unstable, moody and temperamental—oh and did I mention a drunk?" Finnick listed off and patted his head with a borrowed towel from Sera. "Everyone knows what he's like. It's not a big secret that he's got a few screws loose. You know the usual."

Though it was a mystery why Sera was suddenly so interested in the recluse sole victor of Twelve. There was nothing of interest in Twelve or Haymitch. Yet he'd noticed that she had been paying extra attention to both more often than late.

Finnick glanced at Sera from the corner of his eye but her face gave nothing away. He should've expected it. If anyone was good at masking their thoughts and emotions it would be her.

"That's not what I meant." She needed to know if there was an easy way to gain his trust—not fear or concern.

She didn't want Haymitch or the Twelve team to see her as a threat even though she was practically Snow's left arm and informant.

Being feared was never a good way to control someone, gaining someone's trust was the better and long-term method. It had worked in her favor for so long and she knew it worked better over all.

Snow wouldn't know much about it. He was wrong to think fear was the better form of control—it wasn't. It was temporary and fleeting.

"What I meant was—what's he really like? You know underneath that tough-guy act he's got. I'm sure you know more about it than I do."

Finnick hummed in response, pretending he was busy drying his hair. Water was soaking his short-sleeved white cotton shirt and she could see through it now. His muscles could be seen as he slowly took off the towel and grinned at her.

She grinned back before playfully pressing the towel into his face. "Your shirt's wet by the way."

"Oh so you noticed." He was doing it on purpose to take her mind off. It always worked with everyone else but when he looked at her, she seemed more conflicted. A little conflicted and a little something more.

"Like what you see."

"You are going to catch a cold."

She looked away. Her cheeks heated up as a light dusting of pink coated her cheeks from the tip of her ears. She grabbed the two plates of rice and mushroom stew, taking it over to her small dining room.

"And here I thought I was pretty warm."

"You're beautiful, I know."

"Thank you." He grinned and unbuttoned his shirt, grabbing another from a pile he'd left on a chair.

"That was a statement not a compliment." She pointed out, setting the table and not meeting his gaze.

Admittedly, he was a good distraction but she needed to focus on the task. "And back to Haymitch. You didn't answer my question."

He pretended to pout and turned away to button up his new shirt. "There's not much to say. He's quiet most of the time, which is saying something. I heard he used to have quite the mouth back in the day."

"I've seen his interview post and pre-games."

"Hasn't everyone?" Finnick smiled sadly and took a seat across Sera, watching her as she prepared her medicine and lavender tea on the side. "There isn't anyone out there who didn't study him or his games."

"It was a Quarter Quell."

"The second one to be exact." He added and almost laughed at her struggling to open a jar of sugar.

"Right. The Quarter Quells are like two Hunger Games into one." Her right hands grip slackened, she put more force into it but for some reason, it didn't even move the lid of the jar.

"Uh-huh. Wonder what they got cooking up for next year. Nothing good, I bet."

Sera laughed. "It's the Hunger Games—none of them are ever good, maybe only for the socialites and the avid fans. Though the number of them have gone down over the years."

"Can you blame them? Food prices in the Capitol have gone up."

"I can't imagine what it's like in the districts. I know Five recently began storing an emergency supply for grain and fuel."

He narrowed his eyes and shook his with a sad smile. "Not suspicious at all." He mumbled, poking at his rice and looking up at Sera again.

Without a word, he took the jar from her, opening it with ease before returning it to her. "You can ask for help, you know? It's just a jar."

"Tha—" The cup of boiling hot tea tipped over her right hand mid-speech, burning her hand in an instant. Hot water ate away at the surface of pale gold skin marking it with red.

Finnick jumped out of his seat and grabbed a towel, covering her hand with it before hurriedly dragging her over to the cold running water.

Her throat tightened, not in pain but in fear. Blood rushed to her head and a sharp ringing noise deafened her. She could see Finnick's lips moving, chastising her for her carelessness but she couldn't hear him or her own heartbeat. Her gaze focused on hot angry red marks left behind by the scorching lavender tea.

Finnick's desperate jerky movements, his hands over her shaking hand, holding it under the cold to quell the burn. Yet there was nothing. No sharp stinging pain that made her yelp or gasp. She couldn't even feel the shaking but only saw it.

Her hand was numb.

"Damn it! I know you're not the type to cry or complain but your hand—it was almost…" He trailed off, realizing how harsh he might've sounded but when he spared a glance at her, his face paled.

It was like her mask had crumbled. Her eyes trembled with brows knitted in silent fear. She didn't even try to pretend she was okay but instead she focused on her burnt right hand. She moved her fingers in an odd manner like she was checking if she could actually move them.

"Sera…" He caressed her right hand but she didn't react the way she usually did. "What is it? What's wrong?" He grabbed her face with his other hand, still wet from the cold water. She flinched at the coldness but that did nothing to erase the sudden fear that had overtaken her. "Sera? Please, tell me what's wrong? Please…"

'Don't lie to me.'

Those words didn't need to be spoken by Finnick. She just knew that was what he meant. His desperate and pleading gaze. His trembling hand holding her face and the other holding her burnt hand, he was afraid and so was she.

With her trembling fearful gaze, she looked up at him like she was going to collapse, her face pale and lips dry. "I-I can't…" The lump in her throat made it hard for her to speak.

"You can't what? Sera?"

"I-I can't…I can't…" She kept trying to get the words out but her throat tightened around her like an invisible noose had been placed around her neck, slowly tightening.

Oh.

She anticipated the side effects from the start when she started testing those poisons but…knowing and experiencing were different. Her hand was numb and so was her arm.

At least if she felt some pain, it would've been better. But she couldn't even feel anything. Not pain, warmth or the cold or even Finnick's touch. She let out a quiet sob and Finnick embraced her without a single word.

"I…can't feel it." Her voice was muffled by his shirt, her head on his chest. "My hand…" She pulled back to look at him with reddened teary eyes. "I can't feel it. It's—it's numb. I can't feel it." She kept repeating like a broken record.

"Maybe it's just cold." He tried, rubbing her hand with both of his to return warmth to her.

But she couldn't feel any of it.

"It's just cold." He repeated. "You'll be fine."

Her throat dried and her vision darkened.

No. No. No. No. No. Not now. No.

She couldn't handle him right now.

A grotesque silhouette of a boy grew until it eclipsed half of the room, casting shadow over Finnick's face. Eugene gave a toothy grin, exposing his front jagged teeth that had eroded with time yet looked as sharp as the blades she carried in the arena.

More skin and flesh had been ripped from his face and neck while his clothes were tattered caked in blood. Half of his head was exposed with his rotten brain showing.

The putrid stench of sweat, blood and death filled her apartment. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she felt the urge to heave out the contents of her empty stomach.

With a boney frostbitten finger, he pointed at her, not accusingly but in glee. His thinned cracked and bleeding lips stretched ear to ear.

"Soon."

The moments those words left his lips, his broken form scattered into ice and snow, sending shivers down her spine.

She collapsed onto Finnick, her heart hammering against her chest like she'd just ran for her life. She wasn't afraid of death—that was what she told herself. No, she wasn't. Death had loomed over her for so long that it was almost like a constant friend that she knew she could always look forward to but what she was afraid of more was losing him.

"It's the cold…from the rain." The lies slipped out of her out of habit and she was already up, running them under warm water even though her hand was numb. "Just the cold."

Running water was all she could hear. Finnick stared at her in silence. His eyes trembled in silent rage as he balled up his fists, letting out a deep breath before he relaxed his fists and ran his fingers through his hair, almost pulling them out of sheer frustration.

There it was. Another lie. Another break and crack in their relationship. Like a broken clock, the two always stopped working part-way. He didn't say another word, grabbing his damp white shirt and heading for the door.

"Finnick?" She looked up from her hand, eyes wide in surprise. "Where are you going?"

"Leaving." He said blankly before stopping and turning around. "We can't keep doing this."

"Doing what?"

"You lying all the time even when I begged you not to."

"I—"

"And don't—don't say everything's fine. We both know it's not. It's not normal for your hand to go numb all of a sudden."

"It's the cold from the rain—"

He let out a chilling laugh, turning his face away from her as if he didn't want to see her. "The cold?" He echoed back. His voice sent shivers down her spine. "Sera, your hand was scalded by the tea. I know you couldn't feel it but you could see it, unless…unless…"

He stepped a little closer until he was right in front of her. The rage in his face was washed away quickly and replaced with concern as he traced his fingers over her cheeks.

"You're…you're…not losing your sight, are you?" His voice trembled as he asked, his hands shaking.

Sera couldn't answer him. The temporary foggy vision and the flashes of Eugene. She didn't think she was losing her sight but she wished she did sometimes. "...No." She breathed out.

"No?" He echoed back. "You…don't seem so sure."

Because she wasn't.

She hadn't been focusing on herself at all. It was a waste of time for her. She had better things to do. After all, she was so close to finishing setting up the board. She had Capitol's attention and influence over them. President trusted her to an extent and she was weak enough to not be sold for parts. She had everything in place. She didn't need to think about herself.

Yet, she was sure she wasn't losing her sight.

Blindness was not one of bellora's side effects. Hallucinations and blurred visions were and so was numbness.

"I know I'm not going blind."

He let go of her and nodded. "So you know what's happening to you then?"

"I—"

"If you don't want to tell me, I'm leaving." He cut her off before she could think of another lie. "For good this time."

"Finnick."

"I mean it."

"I can't…I can't tell you…" She couldn't make him pity her or worse, she didn't want him to blame himself. It was just like him to blame himself for things he couldn't control.

Nobody but Zephyr and Plutarch knew what she was doing. Dr Jadewell had her suspicions but she was smart enough not to pry.

"Can't or won't."

"Finnick."

"So this is it." Finnick's voice tinged with a heavy disappointment. His face was a mixture of pain, frustration, and anger, but there was also an undeniable longing.

A sense of betrayal hung heavily in the air. His words were like a knife twisting in her gut, and Sera could feel herself teetering on the edge of a precipice she couldn't afford to fall from.

She watched as he turned away from her, ready to walk out the door and out of her life. The room seemed to close in on her, and panic began to claw its way up from her chest.

"No, please, don't go," She whispered, her voice cracking with desperation. Her hand clinging onto his shirt while she buried her head into his back.

Finnick stopped, his hand resting on the doorknob but he didn't turn back to face her. His silence was deafening and the room felt much smaller than before like it was shrinking in on itself with each passing moment. She hated the silence and she hated arguing with him.

Finally, he turned back to her, his eyes filled with pain and confusion. "Then tell me, Sera. Tell me what's going on and don't keep me in the dark…at least not when it's about you."

She took a deep breath, her shoulders shaking. Her secret was like a heavy weight pressing down on her, and she knew she couldn't keep it any longer. "The numbness…it's me." He tilted his head to the side in confusion while motioning her to carry on. "I…" She let out a deep pained breath. "I…I've been testing…poisons."

"Wh-what does it have to do with—oh." His paled and his mouth hung open, eye trembling in fear and horror. "No. You didn't."

"I…had to."

"You had to?" He echoed. "I told you—no, I begged you to let me help, wasn't that enough?!"

She didn't answer him for the longest time, letting the clock in the kitchen tick by as their lunch cooled and was forgotten. She licked her drying lips, turning away from her. "It's…complicated but I wasn't trying to die." She said softly, almost like she was trying to convince herself not him.

"Then what?"

"It's hard…to explain."

"You've been testing them on yourself, haven't you?" His head was spinning. He felt dizzy and he almost fell but steading himself, grabbing a wall.

"I've been testing poisons," She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "On myself."

It all made sense. Sera randomly wincing in pain with any contact on her right arm, not to mention she kept the scars on her right arm covered all the time lately for the past few years he'd kept her distance. It was only that arm.

Her pale sickly pallor, the scars and the pain, the constant pain she never explained; he thought it was her sickness that caused her pain, not poison. It all made sense.

"Did Snow make you do this?" He asked in a hushed tone, his anger palpable.

"No…"

"You're lying."

"No." She answered, looking up at him. Her eyes were teary but so cold that it made him flinch. "If Snow knew my family would be dead by now." She said without a hint of emotion as she wiped away her tears, gathering herself before she fell apart in front of him.

"It's your choice."

"It's my choice. Mine. No one else's."

"Not Plutarch's?" He guessed, desperately hoping that was the case. One look at Sera's cold gaze told him enough. She folded and unfolded her numbed hand, pinching herself, digging her nails in while ignoring his desperate gaze. "It wasn't Plutarch's idea or anything. Maybe you're covering for him."

"You told me to tell you the truth. I'm telling you the truth or maybe," A jolt of pain made her gasp. She felt it, her nails digging into the flesh of right hand. "Maybe, you want me to lie." She felt that stinging pain. The numbness was fading.

Finnick's eyes widened in horror, his fingers trembling as they brushed against his lips, his disbelief palpable. "No. No. I don't—I don't want that. I—" His voice filled with shock and concern. "Why in the world would you do something like that, Sera?"

Sera couldn't meet his gaze as she whispered, "No one made me do it, Finnick. I chose to do it on my own."

He was angry now, not at her but at the situation. "Is this why you're dying?"

"I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me. I know. I can tell that you were—are distancing yourself from everything like you might just drop dead at any moment."

Sera hesitated, unable to meet his gaze, and simply said, "I don't know." She tried. "I don't know for certain if I'm dying…yet. I know I don't have much time but I swear I wasn't trying to keep this from you."

"No, I was supposed to find out with everyone else when you dropped dead."

"No—"

"Or maybe you wanted to be another casualty of whatever war you and Plutarch were cooking up. No one would know."

"No, you're…wrong. I wasn't just testing them…" She couldn't tell the real reason outloud in fear that if Snow had captured him, she'd be exposed. She loved him and trusted him more than anyone else but she couldn't risk his life.

Desperation and frustration welled up within Finnick, and he grabbed her by the shoulders, his voice trembling with emotion. "Sera, you have to tell me—why? Why would you do something like this?"

There were two reasons why. One was something she could never tell anyone apart from Plutarch. Their failsafe in case the rebellion failed. The second was much simpler. The second she could tell him. But she didn't want to. But she didn't want to lose him either.

She swallowed painfully, shutting her eyes to not see the images of Scarus' and that night. "I had to…I had to be weak…I had to be sick…I had to…" She kept repeating to herself.

The weight of guilt and shame was heavy to bear. She felt like crumbling to the floor and huddling down to the floor like she'd done the morning after in the shower where Emilia had found her curled up, staring numbly at wrists.

She had never wanted to reveal this part of herself, the part that was vulnerable and broken.

It took him a second before he engulfed her into his embrace. A lump in his throat and tears threatened to spill down his face as she buried her head into his chest, sobbing silently. He'd never really thought she'd already be in the same place as him.

"I had no choice," She whispered, her voice breaking. "I had no choice, Finnick."

"It's okay…" He murmured into her hair. "It's not your fault. It's not our fault. We—" He let out a pained breath, struggling to speak before he and Sera both collapsed to the floor, holding onto each other. "It's not our fault."

"I had to…I had to…stay weak…I had to…" She kept repeating like a broken record. She'd never felt so hollow. Her insides felt ugly and broken, she couldn't even picture how Cashmere or Finnick felt going through what she did for one night but their nightmare was daily and nightly.

"It's not your—our fault." He kept repeating soothingly. He almost laughed at the strangeness of the situation.

He asked softly, his hands threading through her hair in comfort. "Did Consul Redcliff have something to do with this?"

Biting her lips, she turned her head away from him. She couldn't bring herself to answer him but her silence spoke volumes. His arms tightened around her, as if he could shield her from any more harm.

Eventually, he eased his grip, allowing a sliver of space between them, but his eyes never left her face.

With a gentle touch, he lifted her hand and inspected it carefully. Her hand still bore the red marks from the scalding tea. "How's your hand?" He asked, caressing her hand as if it was made of glass.

She couldn't help but crack a small smile that Finnick returned with a sharp look. She watched him with a mixture of relief and trepidation as he examined her hand. "The numbness... it's fading," She answered, moving her hand and wiggling her fingers as proof. "See."

The numbness had faded, leaving behind a dull ache. She could feel the pain a little, and the return of sensation in her hand was like a small victory. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Are you sure it's back to normal?" Finnick asked, concern lacing his words. She nodded but he raised his brow in question. She did lie to him a lot. He pinched her a little and she flinched.

"I told you, it's getting better."

He nodded, his relief evident in his eyes, but he still couldn't shake the concern that had gripped him. Still he didn't relent. "Do you have any antidotes or medicine for poison? Anything that could help if something goes wrong? I mean you said you were testing them so you should have an antidote or something."

Truth was: she didn't.

Bellora didn't have any known cures or antidotes.

"I…uh…have a few ointments but I don't think I'll need…" She didn't finish her sentence when she saw Finnick's face. With a sigh, she pointed towards the small storage room. "You know where the first aid kit is."

Finnick bobbed his head and turned away. He made his way to the storage room, returning with the first aid kit. He laid the big box-like kit in front of her as he crouched down, cracking it open.

With the first aid box laid open, he rummaged through it, taking out a small tube of ointment. He uncapped the tube and squeezed out a small clear dot on the back of his hand before he gently started to smear it on her scalded hand.

His touch was cold yet gentle, sending shivers down her spine. She couldn't help but flinch a little. He smiled in response in relief. At least, her hand wasn't numb anymore.

"There," he said softly, "that should help with the burn."

Sera offered a small, thankful smile. "Thank you, Finnick."

He gave her a reassuring nod before his expression turned serious once more. From the first aid kit, he extracted a few pills that he recognized as being used to treat poisonings.

He held them out to her, his voice filled with urgency. "These might help."

With a thin smile, she stared at the pills without taking them and stared back at Finnick. "Maybe we should finish our lunch before I take these." She offered, motioning towards their forgotten lunch. He blinked innocently. "I'll heat them up."

He stopped her, instead taking her over to the living room. "I'll handle it. Wait for me here."

She blew out a breath and turned her back to him, leaning her back against the couch as Finnick laid a thin blanket on her lap. She curled around the blanket and turned on the television, settling into the comfort of the couch as the cold tension dissipated between the two like nothing had happened.

Another day of Hunger Games was being shown on the screen. Some career was on the screen, laughing sadistically as he and his allies gathered under the tree Katniss had been camping on after being injured by the fire from a day earlier.

It was the fifth or the fourth day of the games. She wasn't quite sure how many days had passed but so far, it was fairly eventful. She didn't really predict Peeta Mellark—the one half of the star-crossed duo to ally himself with the careers, let alone take part in the hunt for his object of affection.

But Sera could tell, his alliance was very flimsy. The subtle glances up at the tree while his allies rested and the concern that couldn't be hidden from his eyes—Peeta didn't want Katniss dead. He was pretending. Maybe he had a plan.

Sera had a slight hunch that Peeta might attempt to do what many victors and tributes before he had done. He was going to attempt to kill his allies when they'd let their guard down or something along those lines. But the boy looked far too soft to kill. He was smart for allying himself with the careers, risky but smart.

"And I'm back." Finnick brought over the two bowls of rice and mushroom stew, setting it down on the coffee table that Sera dragged over to the couch. "Hunger Games? Recap of Day 4." He read as the letters flashed at the bottom of the screen. Oh. Sera had missed that.

"I didn't think I was watching a recap. I can't believe I missed Day 4 already." She said, grabbing her bowl and holding it close to her, absorbing the warmth.

"Think they're on Day 5 or 6 now." He took his seat next to her and grabbed his own bowl. Sera nestled closer to him and focused her attention back on the screen.

The little girl from Eleven appeared—Rue? Was that her name? A strangely tragic name. She was so tiny that Sera had missed her. She felt Finnick tense up beside her, his muscles seized up as he froze watching the little girl trade a smile with Katniss before gesturing towards a nest of insects.

She placed her hand on his and he relaxed a little. "What are those?" Finnick pointed at the nest and she had to lean closer, pinching her fingers to zoom in closer to the image. The insects looked strangely like wasps but they weren't—

"Tracker jackers." She recognized them after a second, remembering them from her aunt's notes years ago. "They're mutts."

"So you know insects too." He commented. "I thought flowers were your thing. Maybe they should call you the 'Fly of Panem' or 'Panem's Wasp'."

"You're terrible at names, remind me to never let you pick names for anything." She rolled her eyes and elbowed his chest playfully, being very careful not to spill her lunch.

"I'm not that bad." He tried to defend himself. "I can name people."

"I can't imagine how horrible those names will be, spare both of us and let me name things."

"Fine." He grumbled out with a playful smile and carried on. "How do you know about those wasps?"

"You mean the tracker jackers?" He nodded. "They were in my aunt's—well, my grandfather's notes anyways. He used to be a gardener, I think."

"You think?" He asked, brows raised.

"I'm not too sure. I never knew him, neither did my sister or brother." I admitted. I'd only heard of him.

Sometimes, I'd remember little things about him. Things like how similar he and I were. How like me, he too worked closely with the Capitolites—that left a strange taste in my month. I didn't work with them because I wanted to.

"But I don't think I'd like him much." I admitted, laying my head down on his chest.

He chuckled. "You don't know him."

"No, I don't." She agreed. "But my aunt said he was a lot like me."

"Sera…"

"I don't agree with that." She cut him off and shoved a shaky spoonful of rice and stew into her mouth as the recap was coming to its end with Katniss cutting the branch with the tracker jacker nest, letting it fall on the careers.

Like ants the careers scattered. Cashmere's tribute got the worst of the attack. The tracker jacker aggressively attacked her while her screams cut through the television, causing Sera to flinch. Finnick scrambled for the remote, lowering the volume before relaxing again. He looked pained and looked away from the screen as the screams kept going.

The girl from Two's face was bloated with stings, violent and bloody as her lips turned blue. She tried to grab one of her allies' attention but they all ignored her, scattering quickly. Her screams gradually became muffled, turning into cries before she fell to the floor and the loud cannon echoed with her fall.

Another cannon was heard and Finnick let out a quiet gasp.

"That's Four out of this year's game."

"A volunteer?"

"One of the top students from the Careers' Academy in Four. One more year and she'd be out of the reaping pool and graduated from the academy." Finnick said with a bitter smile, laying his head down on hers. "She didn't even hesitate to volunteer. Most don't. I know I didn't."

"What an idiot." She commented playfully before adding. "I'm kidding, of course. Don't beat yourself up over it. It wasn't your fault. You told me they'd drill it into your heads that the games were an honorable thing to take part in."

"Yeah, I did tell you that, didn't I?" He sighed. "Thinking about it now, I wish I didn't jump headfirst and waited or better yet, stayed out of the way."

"There's no point thinking about things that have already passed." She intertwined her fingers with his and patted his head before letting as the throbbing pain her formerly numb hand flared up again.

Sucking in a breath, he looked up at her. She was focused on the screen again, distracting herself from the sudden pain in her hand. He could tell the jerky movements of her formerly numbed hand while her other hand was clenched tightly around the spoon like it was trying to embed the metal spoon into her hand to numb the pain.

"That doesn't stop you from overthinking." He remarked and tried to pry the spoon off her hand. She held on absentmindedly, eyes still glued to the screen.

"I don't really overthink. It just all comes to me."

"I'm sure it does." The spoon fell and he caught it. She didn't even notice but her little motions of pain made it clear she felt it. "What would you do if you went back?"

It was that question that broke her focus. She paused the television and stared down at her hands, her eyes scanning herself before she let out a deep sigh. was done.

Again that tension that they'd left behind in the kitchen after that outburst returned, weaving itself in the spaces between the two. The temperature seemed to drop as the air grew thick and cold.

He regretted asking that question but the damage. It took her a second to answer but that second felt like the longest second to him.

In a way, he already knew her answer in the back of his mind. He just didn't want to hear it.

"I wouldn't try so hard." She answered with a thin smile and unfocused look on her face. "I'd probably just give up when the bloodbath began."

"But there wasn't a real bloodbath in your year." He reminded her, a little relieved there wasn't.

Everyone that year was far too tired and cold to fight. Most spent the entire time hiding like Sera while others gathered into little pockets of groups and set off into the different ends of the arena, trying desperately to survive.

Sera tilted her head to the side and looked off to the side, staring at the dark fog of Eugene's ghost. There wasn't a bloodbath? She thought to herself. Eugene's specter stared back dumbly, no words to be said then.

"...I guess there wasn't." She said slowly. "Then," She gnawed at the bottom of her lips while searching her memories for anything else. "I guess I'd take the arrow meant for Jenny or I don't know, just lay down in the snow and let the cold take me whichever would be an easier way to die."

"Sera…" He didn't know what to say. "Jenny's death wasn't your fault."

"No, it wasn't. That's what they say but…" She trailed off, again unsure of her own memories. "I could've sworn I did something."

"You tried to save her?"

She laughed coldly. "No, I didn't. I don't do that. I don't save people. I never do. I—" Accidentally, she hit the remote and the screen started playing again.

Katniss was running and Sera's eyes were back on the screen, she collided with someone and almost fell but the other tribute helped her up, yelling at her to run. It took Sera to realize who it was.

Peeta Mellark.

"So he was pretending to be allies with those careers." Sera mused, a little interested, forgetting what she was talking about.

For a second, Finnick was concerned about her sudden bout of absentmindedness. It wasn't like her at all yet he didn't call her out on it, playing along. "Not a good plan." Finnick said. "Those careers will easily kill him or leave him for dead before going after her."

"You sound like you'd have a better plan if the girl you loved was in the arena with you."

"I would actually." He grinned and she rolled her eyes. "For one, if you were in the arena with me, I'd make sure we were allies. Maybe I'd rope more tributes into an alliance—you know as human shields…"

"How sweet of you."

"Thank you." She shook her head in disapproval but the smile gave her away her real thoughts despite that she wouldn't want him or anyone to ally with her unless she absolutely had to. "Like I was saying, I wouldn't keep you in the dark or ally with people who wanted you dead."

"Then what would you do if it was just you and me?"

"I don't know, nothing I guess." He answered, not really wanting to think about it. "Let the gamemakers get bored of me until they decide to kill me with a mutt or a fire. They can't drown me obviously."

"Obviously." Sera echoed with a giggle. "You're a fish, that's why."

"Says the flower."

"Aren't you cute." He grinned in response. "And that's exactly why they won't try to kill you. You're too pretty to die."

"Why thank you. You're pretty too. I don't know anyone with silver eyes as haunting as yours."

"That's…" She bit her lips, turning away from him while trying to stifle her laughter. He carried on and she playfully elbowed his ribs. "Enough. Okay. I give up."

He laughed and placed a soft kiss on her temple before taking away her finished bowl, placing it on the coffee table. The games on the screen were forgotten and another day of the game played on the screen.