Inhale

Within five short minutes, Peeta has eclipsed us all. The build-up had been spectacular, and I had to imagine choreographed by Haymitch. He'd had the brains to get me to fight Seneca, convince him of the drama trying to team up the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve would bring. Haymitch knew how to play.

Peeta went from complimenting Caesar's outfit, to admitting to a marriage between himself and Katniss to revealing her apparent pregnancy.

I don't buy a word of it but the audience eat it up. Now they're sending a pregnant woman in to die. This is what it took to get a reaction. They care about this imaginary unborn child, but not the hundreds of real ones that have been slaughtered. There's chaos for a few moments, Caesar has lost control of the audience, and doesn't announce the anthem as he should. It's our cue to wave to the audience again, pretending this isn't one of our final nights alive and leave the stage as the band plays.

The anthem starts and the cameras zoom in front of us on their tracks. There's a moment when I'm not quite sure what to do. That stops suddenly when Beetee grabs my hand. My instinct is to pull away but I glance at Finnick who looks bemused. Down the line, I can see everyone is holding hands, although Brutus looks like someone's just insulted him. Finnick offers me his palm and I take it with no qualm. I understand now, this is something that has never been done. All the tributes, representing every District are united, taking a stand. The cameras quickly shut down and the lights black out.

It's manic again, Beetee drops me and scurries off, but Finnick's hold tightens. They're trying to rush the audience out, and the stage is still black making my heels even more of a danger. Finnick tugs me back the way we had come, towards the elevators but the Peacekeepers block us from going through. I catch a glimpse of Katniss and Peeta as they zoom up and vanish from view. Johanna appears on my other side, looking positively gleeful, in the weak light the thing I can see easiest are her teeth. I feel myself shrink a little further into Finnick.

“I hope Mags is okay getting up.” He mumbles against my head, fidgeting again as we wait for our chance to leave. Brutus and Enobaria saunter past, Brutus letting his shoulder barge into Berg from District Ten. Whatever little show of unity we had just done meant nothing.

“Here.” Johanna barks, pointing at the next upcoming elevator and grasping my free hand. I'm a rag doll between the two of them, weaving around the peacekeepers and into the small space. “We're good for tomorrow still, right?”

I feel my tongue dart over my lip, glance at Finnick from the corner of my eye. He nods, “Yup.” The word pops and Johanna nods again, only realising now she is holding my hand and gives it a quick squeeze that may well be supposed to be comforting before she lets go. “See you tomorrow.” She says finally, as the elevator stops on our floor. Finnick does to move instantly and she leans against the glass, looking so much older for a split second. “Stay safe.” The words leave me before I can really consider how stupid they seem. This perks her up, she rolls her eyes and chuckles at me. “You too princess.”

The doors slide shut before any more can be said, and I try to shake her off. The apartment is utterly empty when we step through, not even the avox to greet us. The clock does though, the games start at ten am sharp so we leave the apartment at seven, and it's now close to eleven in the evening. We have eight hours until we're separated.

Finnick is somewhere else, a rigidity in his stance I'm not used to. When I go to free my hand he doesn't move, a statue around my fingers. I say his name a few times, leave our hands clasped but slip in front of him. This breaks him out of it somewhat, “Penny for your thoughts?” I chime, keeping my voice light and practically cheery.

His own eyes linger on the clock before they come back to me. “Must be bad down there if Naloh couldn't get him and Mags out to meet us,” I assure him they'll be back soon. The peacekeepers would keep the situation under control. “In the same way they did at the Victory Tour?” He asks without a hint of amusement.

“Not against their own people.”

“No,” He breathes, stretches his neck and softens again, “probably not.” The grip around my fingers lessen and I tug my arm away, just as swiftly going to play with his necklace again. I feel I must have some form of contact. “We should try and go to bed,” I whisper, both desperate for and dreading it. If by any chance we get any sleep it will only bring tomorrow around sooner and I want the night to last forever.

“Probably.” He's watching me, dips his head so I can slip the necklace off and see it better.
“Is this from home?” I question, watching the sea glass change colours in the fluorescent lighting. “Marck made it.” I let him take it from me and he slides it over my head, flicking out hair that catches. “Much better.”

“Oh yeah, this really goes.” I jaunt, glad for the little smile it raises. The silence settles again, Finnick is flickering between me and the clock. Adrenaline is still thick in my limbs and I feel restless, “What do we do now?” I expect some witty response but can see we're beyond that. Finnick is panicking, holding it down and burying it deep. This is as much as he will show, the same as the morning of the Quell or the day of the announcement. Finnick does not do breakdowns, not like I do.

This means I need to step up and keep myself in control.

I steer him to the closest loveseat, clamber down into the thick cushions and tuck my legs beneath me. He needs a little coaxing but sits, and I shuffle until his upper body is against my legs. It takes him a couple of minutes for the majority of the tension to flow away, and I let my fingers trail through his hair in the familiar way he does mine. I don't know if this approach works, or if enough time passes but after a while, he sits upright, patterns of fabric marring one cheek. “I'm fine.” He speaks to the clock, still taunting as the hands move around. It's closer to midnight now. Mag is still not back.

“I know,” I respond, put as much sincerity in the words as I can. “We should go to bed.” He nods but makes no movement other than to look at the elevator across the room. I stretch, move my legs in front of me and take off my shoes.

There's a ping and we're both upright as if lightning has struck. It's Mags, finally, looking disgruntled but no worse for wear. She's not alone either, Haymitch with a face like thunder has a hold on her arm.

“What took so long?” Finnick is first on the scene, Mags assures him she's fine and lets Haymitch take her to the now unoccupied seat. I head to grab her a drink, unable to summon an avox I have to use the hatch and wait impatiently, aware I am missing whatever Haymitch is hissing to Finnick under his breath. As soon as the glass appears I trot back over, Mags thanks me and gestures that I should sit beside her.

I clear my throat as I do, shoot a glance at the two men still trying to keep their conversation under wraps. Haymitch looks pointedly between us. “Elle....knows,” Finnick mutters as if it's a curse word. Haymitch controls his face, although the lines on his forehead deepen, “Some of it anyway.” I allow, not giving either of them time to complain, “How is our alliance looking?” Haymitch reaches into the pocket of his coat, steps between Finnick and myself and pulls out golden bands.

He untangles them and passes one to each of us. It's got a good weight, so is likely solid gold. It's a bangle, shaped to look like flames. “Effie thought they looked cute.” Am I completely out of it or is there a light in his eyes when he mentions his District's escort? “Thought this would be a better use.” Wordlessly, Finnick tries his, realises it's too small and swaps it with my own. I test it, it's a little loose but isn't likely to fall off my hand.

There's a moment when I'm a bit sad I won't be taking my own favour in, I'd planned on keeping my little shell necklace on. But this has far more meaning. “Do they actually want us?” I slip, fiddling with the bangle.

Haymitch sighs loudly, and as I glance up he shrugs, “He does, she just wants him.” He opens his mouth, clearly realising we are not in a safe space to speak and closes it, “Good luck.” He ends instead, leaning to offer Finnick his hand. He looks more awkward with me, but Mag's pinches my side so I stand up and enter his hug, he does smell slightly like alcohol now and the embrace is short and awkward. I see Finnick bite his lip to stop himself from laughing as Haymitch releases me and goes to make his exit.

“I'll give you the same advice I did her.” He's stopped a couple of metres from the elevator, “Remember who the real enemy is.” He nods once more and vanishes from view. The silence settles over us again, and my eyelids suddenly feel heavy.

“You two need to try and sleep.” I let Mags use my shoulder to help herself up. I agree, going in with no sleep is setting us up to make stupid mistakes. “And drink.” She adds on, another piece of advice she had been given for however many years now. I couldn't remember an arena where water hadn't been a challenge.

The tributes don't see anyone but their stylist and Capitol staff the morning of the games. As a mentor, you are no longer allowed any more interaction. Officially, that is supposed to stop at midnight. There's no more chance to plot or offer strategies. I haven't slept well the night before the games in four years, you feel useless. And that's if we're even here, after final touches Seneca liked to spend time together, talk through his excitement and his worries about the upcoming day. I probably wouldn't even be in the building normally.

Finnick presses water into my hand, I hadn't even noticed him leaving and see the pity on Mags face. Brilliant, I've spaced out again. From how I've been the last few days Mags is definitely going to see me as a liability.

She taps my arm again and I sip the water, though it does nothing to quench my thirst and removing the sandpaper that seems to be sticking in my throat. “Bed.” She says more firmly, and Finnick goes to argue but gives in when she shoots him a glare.

I do not want to say goodbye to Mags, have no idea how to even go about it. I just can't view it as an end, if I'm going in optimistic, assured that somehow we will all get the District Thirteen it's less of a farewell. I hug her, unable to even start to explain how thankful I am for everything. Her fingers dig into my shoulder blades and she's the first to let go before I can get too emotional. “We'll see you soon,” I promise. She coughs out a laugh, mumbling something about seeing us first.

“Make sure you keep Haymitch in line.” Finnick counters, going to take my place. I give them a moment, their bond is greater than my own. It feels disrespectful to hover to so I force myself to drain the glass and put it down, intending on going to my room and stripping myself of this mass of fabric. I'm not even down to the hallway when he stops me, asks me to wait for him. I want to assure him it's fine, not to rush and that I'm not leaving for any other reason than to offer them privacy.

But he looks scared, as unwilling to split as I do. I wait, lean lightly against the wall and fiddle with the ring of shells still resting across my sternum.

Any other year we'd tell the tributes to make sure they ate as well, that if they weren't sleeping they had to be eating little and often, as with the water. I'd only had a little during my prep and my stomach gurgles.

Finnick guides Mags past me to her room and I meet them by the door, wishing her a good night. She shares another look with Finnick and retreats, the door clicking loudly behind her. Finnick is breathing a little heavily, stiff again.

It's going to be a long night, and that's just if I can even keep it together. If I fall we both go. No help to anyone and definitely no help to ourselves. “My room or yours?” I suggest eventually, “Mine.” He manages, forcing himself to move although I can see the effort it takes him.

It seems better in here. It could be any day, any situation. He helps me struggle out of the dress, goes to have a shower whilst I sprawl on the bed in one of his shirts. He seems okay when he's back and recalls his own tip about food. We nibble on fruit, bread and deserts. Everything seems too rich and is hard to swallow but I manage a little.

We're just distracting ourselves, once the food is gone we should be aiming to sleep. That's the final step. Finnick suggests it first, lets me kiss him a few times as he arranges the bedding but doesn't take it any further. His grips overly tight when he pulls me to him, my forehead against his collarbone. I feel that familiar tremor start, try and contain it to my hands. He notices, murmurs comforts into my hair, the newest one is perhaps the most poignant. He tells me he loves me, again and again. I'm not the only one shaking but we clutch at each other until it passes.

“Okay, drink.” His voice wakes me out of some half-asleep stupour but I agree, sit up and let him pass me a glass. It's nearly two am now. Five hours until we have to be up. I sink harder into the bedding, lay so I am facing him.

“What's...”

“The plan?” he finishes, reaching out to let his thumb stroke over my chin, my lips, my cheek. I shrug into his hand when it stops moving. “Only get to the cornucopia if you think you've got enough time. You'll be able to tell. Either way, we need to be in and out, get Katniss and Peeta. If it gets bad, you get as far away as you can.”

“She'll probably aim to get there.” I muse, “Peeta might not be quick enough.”

“Exactly.” He tries a smile. My eyes are burning they're so tired. “She'll know what the bangles mean.”

“But,” I bite my lip, he knows where I am going with this but I have to air this fear, “What if she doesn't? What if she decides we're another enemy?” It's a big one, Katniss is the end game here, the aim is to get her out alive. Would either of us be willing to fight her to save ourselves? We'd already agreed to die for the cause, how much are we willing to lose?

“She won't.”

“I...” I drop it, the only thing that can make tonight worse is spending it imagining him gone. Katniss isn't our only enemy though, and who knows how long we're going to be in the arena, how soon could they even rescue us? Finnick must have some idea, but there's no chance of that now, we're far from the safe ten minutes he'd revealed. Cold sweeps over me, what if something did happen to Finnick, would he expect me to keep trying, to stay with Katniss, protect her with my own life if necessary?

Would we play the game without each other?

“What if...one of us...” It's the most I can force out, painful enough. His face furrows and blurs as tears flood my eyes. I refuse to let them fall, and blink hard. He waits until I'm composed, “If something happens to one of us it doesn't change anything.” Finnick shuffles closer to me, his breath dancing over my lips, “We still play to win.”

Don't forget the cameras. He'd said that to me the first time I was in this situation. Play to win, don't forget the cameras. He's waiting for me to agree with them, another promise I have no idea if I can keep. There's no version of winning without him. When he whispers my name I nod, tell him okay and close the gap until I'm against him.

“You're not allowed to die.” I whisper stubbornly, feeling the need to drive that home. His chest rumbles as he chuckles. “I'll do my best.”

Somehow we must both fall asleep, although I'm waking up often, head heavy. In between these moments, I'm back in the arena. This isn't a new arena, it's exactly the same I had entered five years ago. It's the storm, Tyger and I are sat shoulder to shoulder in a small cavern, the rocks sparkle every time lightning strikes. “You actually get storms like this in Four?” He asks, and I feel the confusion flood through me, go to look at him and he's barely present, fading in and out, close enough to touch but somehow not there.

How did I answer this question before? I don't have long to ponder, the answer echoes in the small space but I haven't moved my mouth. Tyger nods, his hair is manic, curly and thick, small pieces of twig are littered in it. Of course, we'd run from the forest fire to get here. The lightning had started before the rain, just thunder and the electricity, blaring and catching trees. It had been so hot the last couple of days, no rain at all since we had entered the arena.

His arms are slathered in blue cream. When I lift mine they're the same. A gift we were sent for the burns. They sting on cue, and I stretch my fingers. We're in the cave, this is the day before Tyger dies, the day before I...

No. Not that. Don't think of that, he'll hear.

When is this? The days all blur no way to keep track. I call back to afterwards, this was day sixteen of the games, it must be. Tyger dies on day seventeen, I break my leg, I get my gift. I win on day twenty one.

My vision flickers as the sky brightens for a moment outside. I shuffle to the edge, did I do this before? Tyger doesn't say anything and when I twist he's gone. The walls are covered with blood instead. My hands feel sticky. I'm coated in it, it's thick and so hot, sinking into my skin and boiling my bones. The rain floods into the small cave, that's blood as well, blocking my vision, spilling into my mouth. There's a snap as the thunder cracks above me.

I wake up drenched in sweat. I have to check over my hands, I'm damp but there's no blood. I can feel the beading on my forehead. I tear the cover away to get some fresh air to my bare legs, getting up and stumbling to the set of buttons on the wall and pressing some until cold starts to flood the room. I take another minute, standing there carefully and counting my breathing until I can finally focus and see straight.

It's only now I realise the snap in my dream had been the bathroom door closing. I can hear the bath running, which explains why I woke up alone. I tiptoe back around the corner. It's nearly six am. An hour and eight minutes.

I won't be getting back to sleep now. Hopefully Finnick got some. I tell myself to get some water, walking myself through tiny steps. The hatch is first, and I order water with lots of ice, shovel it all into a glass and drain it twice. I get lemon juice after this, sip on that slowly as I sit back down on the mattress. My dream keeps coming back to me in snippets.

I can't quite rid myself of it, and the panic digs in deep again. Why worry about the arena five years ago when another is coming up? By the time it hits six Finnick hasn't reappeared, but I can hear him bumping around. There'a curse following a particularly loud thud and I can no longer contain myself to the bedroom. When I knock he opens straight away.

He's definitely not slept at all. I want to drag him back to bed, try and force a power nap at least but instead, he tugs me in. I shoot a questioning look, what seems like every possible bottle of bath oil is along the sink, and there's water in shallow pools all over the tiles. “I was trying to do something nice.” He starts to explain.

I step away, dip my hand in the water, it's lukewarm and smells a little salty. It only takes me a second to catch on. He was trying to replicate our own little ocean, a tidal pool. The ocean was such an important place for both of us, the little pool near our houses a hideaway. Our last night in Four had been spent there, why not our last morning in the Capitol? It's such a sweet gesture I feel tears prickling, and my chest swells from something so different to fear. I can't speak, settle for spinning, as he's moved so close behind me to test my reaction, and let my arms wrap tight around his middle.

Finnick isn't great at accepting genuine praise and tries to play the act down. I don't let him, release him and strip off his shirt. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror, I'd forgotten to sort my face out. My mascara is a little smudged but my lipstick is still immaculate. Luine would be happy with herself.

I ensure my makeup is ruined within minutes, Finnick joins me in the bath, messes around trying to make waves which ends up with a good inch of water joining the already set puddles on the floor. The water cools too quickly, and I find my heat from him. It's sloppy, somehow romantic and not romantic at all, his own lips a purple smudge before we're done and I'm wrapped amongst him. “That colour suits you.” I offer, trying to smudge some off. It doesn't move, no doubt I'd need to grab some proper make-up remover. He looks absolutely ridiculous, and I can only imagine I look worse. “You look like...” His head tilts and he pouts, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip in that way. “A blueberry murderer.” I cackle at him, and he pushes me away so I slip a little and half my face goes under the water. I call him rude, and he offers me the most half-assessed apology I've ever heard.

Even the bathroom has a clock, inbuilt with the marble that adorns the walls. I see him take hold of it and follow his eyeline. It's half six. Thirty minutes. I am in no fit state to be heading to the landing area.

“Shower?” I offer, making another tidal wave with my hands to bring him back to the moment. He agrees, a little ungraciously and I reach to tug out the plug. The vacuum gets rid of the water in seconds and I'm straight under the hot spray instead. Pick my favourite programme that always ends up with me smelling of strawberries. I have to clamber over Finnick but give him a moment and take the chance to scrub at my face.

The water feels like blood again and I clamp my eyes shut, air in through my mouth, out through my nose. Arms rest on my shoulders, start to massage shampoo into my scalp. I hum, enjoy his skilled hands and feel the tension drizzle away. Finnick makes us get out when its ten to seven. I don't argue but my legs are made of iron. I use the device to dry my hair and brush it back out of my face. I miss my bangs, they might distract from the bags under my eyes. I look tired, a little puffy. I'm sure Luine will have some cream to brighten me up.

We're sat waiting by five too, shoulder to shoulder and sipping juice. “I'll see you in a couple of hours, okay?” I nod once, “In and out with the cornucopia, and only if you think it's doable. I mean, if there are supplies further out grab them and get somewhere safe. I'll come to you.” I nod twice when he prods me. “We got this.” There's a pause, “swear it,”

“We got this.” I echo, although the words are like a poison I have to swallow down. We've got nothing. A hope and a prayer in a place built to destroy us.

Neither of us moves when the knock on the door appears. Luine's call of 'darlings' seems so misplaced I want to throttle her. Finnick kisses me hard in front of both of them, and Luine shoots Marck a look, gesturing for me first. “See you in a bit.” I manage, throat thick. He just nods, shoots me a smile and Luine drags me out of view.

It's the same old. We go down to the hovercraft bay, everyone enters a different way so there's no chance of us bumping into each other. I walk through a body scanner, accepting two tablets and a mouthful of water. One tablet is a bump of energy to give the viewers an interesting first day, the other is essentially a hormone blocker. It's why no girls ever get their periods in the arena and no boy grows facial hair. Finally, the tracker is inserted in my left forearm, this stings, and I can see the initial flash through my skin.

The hovercraft journey is quite short, Luine keeps up a steady line of babble I think is supposed to be helpful. I tune her out although I'm thankful for the distraction. Afterwards, we go directly down to the launching area. Everyone has their own individual rooms.

I wonder if this is a reused and refurbished arena? They do that plenty, after enough time has passed, or if one year wasn't that interesting and people didn't clamber for tours. A bunch of other people may have waited in this room.

I sit on the sofa, the table in front of me is covered with food I know I should try and eat, water and milk. Luine perches on the arm, makes me jump when she starts fiddling with my hair. Her eyes are glassy. “Go and shower again so I can set your hair.” She commands, less weight in her words than usual, “Then we can have a look at this outfit.” I do as she says with no comment. Have a quick wash and scrape a towel over myself.

She stops me, passes me some lotion to rub on to my skin and then pushes me back down so she can do my hair. “I'm going to plait it.” She explains, “It will stay up better than a ponytail.” I really don't care but make sure I send her a quick smile. As soon as she's done she goes and grabs the box containing my clothing. The underwear is typical, basic and supportive. There's another vest to slip over myself and then the rest of my outfit is one piece of fabric.

A wetsuit. She lifts it out, it's different shades of grey, cutouts across the shoulder. She pinches it, “This is thin, so, it's likely to be hot. Desert maybe, probably some water.” A flicker of hope ignites and she can't fight the beam that stretches her fat lips. “Water is good.”

They don't normally have much water, I'd said the same to Peeta during training.

It's going to be hot at very least, that's manageable, it gets really hot at home. I step in the suit and she zips me up. It seems stretchy and I can move easily. There's one last thing in the box, a little belt with a pouch. When I squeeze it squishes and then suddenly pops back in to shape. What the hell is this? It doesn't look like it opens.

The last touch is my favour, and Luine tugs the bangle from a hidden pocket. I suppose Mags had given it to her. She slips it over my wrist with a little sigh I don't think I'm supposed to hear. “Half an hour.”

We sit back down, I force a few bits of food down my throat and sip more water. I just want it over with now. The waiting is almost worse, almost. After an eternity it's time, Luine holds my hands tight enough that her own turn white. “You'll be okay.” She tells me several times, with no confidence in the words. I'm back to nodding, accept her hug and stand on the platform, fiddling with the fishtail plait dangling on my right side and the bangle on my left wrist. The glass tubing descends and I can no longer hear her, we wave lamely before I'm moving, away from Luine, away from everything but the arena. I close my eyes, rather see it all at once than piece by piece.

The smell hits me first, caught along in the gentle breeze. It's everything Finnick's bathtub could never emulate and I realise Luine was spot on. Water. Better than water, I wrench my eyes open once I've stopped moving, take the countdown in my stride as I look around.

We're in the middle of a huge pool of salt water. I'm on a small platform, a hundred or so yard to either side are other tributes. I can see Beetee, Johanna and Brutus one way. Ahead, glinting under the immense white sun is the cornucopia, pure gold. I can't see what's on it from here. But I have to get there. How many other people can even swim? And certainly, they'd be no match for me and Finnick. I search for him, thirty seconds left, see nothing.

I'll dive in, there are paths formed on rocks running down to the cornucopia. Away from the centre are thick forests, massive trees ever so often that seem like they want to reach up to the sky.

Swim to the side, run to the cornucopia, grab something and find Finnick. Can Katniss swim? Peeta sure can't so we'll have to come back for him. I wish I could see him!

I lean as far back as I dare, squint down the opposite side. Nothing. There's twenty-four of us and I have eyes on about eight others. None of whom I think will get there when I do. That buys me a few seconds. Finnick could be dead opposite me, maybe that's the layout.

I stretch up, Beetee is nervously fiddling with the belt. That clicks too, a floatation belt, so no-one drowns. That sure sounds like a touch Seneca may have added. Who wants to watch people drown?

We're in the final ten seconds and I poise myself ready to dive as soon as the cannon sounds.

The boom echoes.