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District Twelve's sixteen-year-old Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta are huddled up in their cave, her head resting on his chest and his arm wrapped around her waist. His tears smeared across both their cheeks. Even now, asleep, they exude a sense of love and pain and so much raw fear of losing one another that it's hard to look at.
Up in Mentor Central, Johanna Mason can't decide if she wants to shudder at the sight or puke.
That old anger is trying to well up again at the sight - about how nobody would ever have started a petition for a rule change to save her, about how there hadn't been a volunteer the year her name was drawn. Of course there hadn't been and she'd had to save her own ass. Play the scared hysterical girl and then the crazy bitch when every other victor of Four got to be a hero, revered by the district and the Capitol both. She hadn't been a volunteer, just meat, and her name hadn't been carved into the Monument of Sacrifice. She hadn't been supposed to survive.
But the familiar shape of her mentoring partner is sliding into the seat next to her at the console, a new beer bottle in hand, and it's hard to feel cheated if you've got a whole crowd of victors to hide in, all of them letting her know they don't care either way, she'll always be one of them. The day she'd moved into her house, there'd been a soft knock at her door and old Peeta had brought her a cake, for fuck's sake. He'd brought her a cake to welcome her on the Rock, although she'd injured his tribute in her Games. Who does that?
Haymitch looks at the screen once he's gotten comfortable, at District Twelve's star-crossed lovers, sound asleep and starkly alive. "Looks like that petition's taking shape," he remarks. "Rumor has it they'll declare the change in the morning."
Johanna crooks her head, looking the two children over professionally. The male has good arms on him, she supposes - he seems like one of these insufferable kids who're just good at everything, and handsome to boot obviously - but the female always just looks faintly scared, and should rightfully die. Mags says their feelings are real. They actually have been together for years, sharing their first kiss in kindergarden. It's bizarrely cute, completely out of place at the crime scene of a Games.
She's got a suspicion that that rule change is only going to stay in effect until just before the end. Wondering if anybody else is thinking the same or if it's just her being jaded again, she sneers about herself. Apparently, she's going soft, because she isn't gonna bring that up.
Instead, she nods towards the Twelve console. Both of their tributes are out - they're in a great position to gossip. "You think they're gonna let her get away with it?"
Haymitch follows her eyes, glancing over but of course, old Mags is asleep at her console. She falls asleep easily these days, and Johanna realizes what a stupid question that was. Old Mags is about to die; she's older than most in her district already. She doesn't have to care. So she changes directions. "Would you risk it?" she asks him before he can settle on a reply. "Just to get one home?"
Haymitch is silent for a moment while he mulls that over. When he won his Games at sixteen, he was one big suspicious brat, Peeta told her; these days, he still hesitates at everything that could bare his soul, even if it's just another district victor who will see. Reclined in his chair, he swirls the bottle of beer in his hand, then takes a sip. "Nah," he says eventually. "Too much to lose."
And everyone on Victors' Rock knows that Haymitch secretly just is this big bad teddy bear inside, but Johanna still finds herself nodding along. She doesn't have any of her parents and siblings left - President Snow made sure of that. But she still has that other family, and victors like Peeta are old and redundant enough to die in unfortunate swimming accidents if she doesn't behave herself. Snow made sure she knows that, too.
She glances at Mags again, head fallen to the side and drooling in her sleep. The old lady's gotta be living alone in whatever Twelve has for a Victors' Rock. Johanna is sure her district loves her, because it's impossible to not love Mags. But she's still gonna be dead soon enough, and no other victor will be there to guard her grave. Except - possibly - those two children on the screen, cuddling for warmth and for comfort.
Which is why she glances at Haymitch's drink and says, "You know you shouldn't be drinking that crap." She promised Peeta she would keep an eye on that. He worries easily.
Taking a deep resigned breath, Haymitch nods and puts the bottle down.
Star-crossed lovers, my ass, she thinks.
She wonders if it's better or worse than her own ploy of playing crazy bitch, but it's hard to decide.