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He'd been careful. He'd been really careful, because the last thing he wanted to do was go back into the arena.

But maybe he'd gotten complacent since the last door that had been special had been weeks ago, resulting in him being a girl for a couple of days. But since then, there'd been nothing. So maybe he hadn't been as diligent about watching where he was going, and maybe he'd been more than a little tired because Tristan hadn't slept well the night before and Finnick had been up with him for most of the night, trying to calm his son back down.

When Finnick did look up and found himself looking out into the jungle instead of into his room at the Nexus, he took a step back, his heart stuttering in his chest. Reflexively, he looked down: He was wearing the wetsuit he'd arrived at the hotel in.

He was back in the 75th Games.

"No, no," Finnick said out loud before he could stop himself. He turned around, desperately looking for the door that had led him in. He had to get back out. He couldn't be here. He couldn't be back here.

His brain suddenly snagged on a horrific thought: What if this wasn't a door at all? What if he had been sent back. It was something he couldn't even begin to fathom. It meant losing Annie and Tristan, and that was something he couldn't contend with.

The arena provided suitable distraction though: the sound of a cannon booming in the distance jolted Finnick back to the present. Door or home, he needed to stay alive. Weapon and water, Finnick thought, years of training fall back into place. The cornucopia was still in the middle of the arena, looking strangely deserted. He ran hastily across the beach and headed out into the water. He swam as fast as he could, reaching the cornucopia where a trident still sat, gleaming. He wrapped his hands around it -- just as he heard footsteps behind him. He turned, brandishing the trident in front of him.

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It seemed as though she stepped from carpet to earth without noticing, the door not just shutting, but slamming behind her with a finality she failed to realize until it was a half second too late. She spun, taking in the world around her which seemed almost eerily deserted. Around her were abandoned weapons and backpacks, as though an entire makeshift army had simply thrown down all that would slow them and ran for higher ground. It was enough to unsettle her, but her confusion held her upright and vulnerable until the sound of the canon in the distance sparked something in her survival instincts that was too finely honed to ignore.

She became aware then of the world around her in a truer sense, looked at it in the way she should’ve right off the bat in an attempt to discover potential dangers. The sound of someone furiously swimming drew her attention to the almost unnatural shape of the body of water that surrounded the bit of land she stood on, and while she initially dropped to be out of view, the apparent swimmer that emerged dripping and golden was startlingly familiar. It had been quite a while on her end, but the strangeness of his name held true in her mind and she found herself moving toward him, letting the unique and decidedly unforgettable syllables form on her lips before she could stop herself or even consider that he may not be as friendly or helpful as he had been the last time they spoke.

“Finnick?”

Finnick blinked through the water that was still dripping into his face. The trident was steady in his hands although he didn't relinquish it just yet. It took him an additional moment to realize who was standing in front of him. Shock coursed through his system once again.

"Natasha," he echoed in return. If she was here though, that meant he hadn't been sent back. It was a door. It was only a door. He couldn't help the immense amount relief he felt. Which was absolutely ridiculous considering the fact that he was still in the arena and could still be seriously hurt here, but it didn't matter because all he had to do was get out of here and then he would be back with Annie and Tristan.

But that meant deciding whether or not he was going to trust someone else. It had been the hardest thing about going back into the Games. In that respect, his first Games had been much easier. Everyone had been a relative stranger, and they had been working at betraying each other. It was just that he had done it first. The second time meant being with people you couldn't entirely trust and didn't want to kill.

But this wasn't the same. She wasn't a tribute.

"Come on," Finnick said, moving his trident aside and holding a hand out to her. "We need to get to the beach." They'd be less exposed then. He didn't want to have to go into the jungle unless they absolutely had to though.

Natasha knew that the obvious relief on his face had very little to do with her, and likely far more to do with the situation surrounding them. He seemed to know what was going on, if the decisive way he offered his hand to her was anything to go by, and she struggled to remember what he had told her of where he came from. Beaches, that much she could remember, though picturing him lazily swimming through some warm-hued place in turquoise water seemed far and away removed from the way he looked then, gripping a weapon that she’d only seen in paintings and, admittedly, Disney movies.

Still, she continued toward him, lifting her hand to slip it inside his decidedly larger and still damp one, her gaze flicking around at all that still lay around them. She had a knife in her boot and her stingers beneath her jacket, but she reached for neither just yet. As little as she knew him, she trusted him at least that much.

“What the hell is this place?” She said, though she kept up with him easily enough when they began to move. She would ask her questions, but she didn’t want to slow them down, either. “What’s at the beach?”

He didn't care if she spoke as long as she kept moving. She seemed able to keep up with him as he navigated the strip of rocky land that connected them back to the beach. He was tense the entire way. He hated how open this landscape was, and he guessed that sensation wasn't going to go away any time soon. The best they could do was get their backs against the jungle and count on the fact that they would hear anyone coming from behind them.

Distracted as he was, he tried to frame the entire situation in the context of someone who had never heard of the Hunger Games before, but, admittedly, he struggled. He'd been brought up on this. Everyone in the districts had always known what the Games were and Finnick had been a Career: trained specifically to be in the Games. His childhood had pivoted around that almost more than anything else.

"The Quarter Quell arena," Finnick answered even though he knew those words would mean little to her. "Everything in here will try to kill you."

He figured that adequately summed up the situation. He waited until they reached the sands of the beach before explaining more. They had a clear view of the mouth of the cornucopia from their new vantage point. If anyone was going to retrieve anything, they would see them first.

"We're on the beach because we can see the rest of the exposed areas," Finnick said, gesturing at the circle of water in front of them. "If the others go for weapons or supplies, we'll be able to spot them easily. And we can't go into the jungle, because there are things in there that will attack us." It was a poor explanation for the stories he'd heard about what had been encountered during the Quarter Quell, but it was the best he could do at the moment. His fingers were anxious around the trident, and it was hard for him to stay still here; his first instinct certainly would have been to go into the jungle. He supposed that would have been the instinct of most of the tributes: find high ground, find a hiding space, find fresh water. But that pushed them right into danger.

Edited 2014-09-13 17:10 (UTC)

Natasha did not repeat the name of her location out loud, knowing instinctively that it would stick in her head in much the same way Finnick’s name had lodged itself there, though with far less passing fondness. She had seen enough of the universe to know there were worlds far beyond her own and this no doubt fell in line with that, as primal and brutal as it seemed. She came to a stop with him, turning to look toward the jungle in which he spoke, then back to the beach. She did not know who these ‘others’ were, but if she and Finnick could see them, it stood to reason they would be just as vulnerable. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, mortal danger was something that lost nothing in translation, and she bent to pull her knife from her boot and hold it loosely in one hand.

“You’ve been here before?” She asked Finnick, figuring the details as to what actually happened to be in the jungle mattered little, unless those things had guns and arrows and could fire on she and Finnick without their actually having gotten close. They needed a plan, perhaps one past standing in the middle of the beach and slaughtering people when/if they came at them, but perhaps not. “What do we need?”

"This is my home world," Finnick answered lightly, smile in place as he turned to look at her. It was easier to pretend it was all a joke, even though he could simultaneously feel Johanna's, Katniss', and Annie's disdain for his fake smiles.

"I was about to come into this arena when I arrived at the hotel," Finnick explained, figuring there was no point in hiding any of this. He didn't usually like readily admitting it to people at the hotel, if only because there was never really a great way to bring up winning a government-condoned child-killing contest at the age of 14.

"But I've been in another arena like this," Finnick continued. "The Capitol makes a new one each year."

He couldn't help but actually laugh when she asked him what they needed.

"We need to get back to the hotel," he responded.

All this time, she'd been so careful.

That was the thought which Annie would carry with her later, the one which would refuse to be dislodged even after the trauma of the experience had faded to a familiar ache. The one moment she'd let down her guard was the moment she could have prevented something horrible.

She'd only been stepping out of the bathroom. She hadn't been thinking of anything but Tristan's next feeding and what to have for lunch.

Across the threshold, the cozy hotel room she shared with her husband and son fell away, replaced by a sudden onslaught of sunlight and a cacophony of sound. Her feet, now so used to plush carpets, slipped against rock and nearly toppled her, thin arms pinwheeling out so that she could catch her balance, bent forward and staring down at the place where water lapped at stone. Breath caught and a tremor beginning in her still-outstretched hands, she slowly dragged her gaze up, past the gently-rocking water and spire of dark rock, up and up and up, to the jagged edges of the cornucopia glinting sharp and sinister in the sun.

A scream rose to her throat and then strangled there, cut off by the echoing boom of the canon. "No," she whispered, shaking hands instinctively rising to cover her ears, fingers twisting in her dark hair. "No, no, no, no." This couldn't be happening; the war was over. They had won.

A flurry of movement caught her eye, a familiar blonde head on the far side of the cornucopia. She called out– Or tried to, her voice like something out of a nightmare: faint and frail and utterly useless, held hostage by an unaccommodating throat. She bolted Finnick's way without thought, her feet remembering themselves against uneven rock, the faint slap of her footsteps echoing across the water. He turned just as she reached him, something savage and raw in his eyes, and she stumbled half a step back, trident no more than a foot from the erratic hammer of her heart.

He hadn't known who to expect when he'd turned around, but he froze the moment he saw Annie, shocked to see her standing in front of him. He'd had nightmares like this before -- particularly when they had first started being together. (He had never been able to describe them as dating.) But for weeks at first, he'd been plagued by dreams of them being in the arena together, which had resurged when after Snow's announcement for the Quarter Quell.

"Annie," Finnick said aloud, his surprise evident in his voice. He dropped the trident away immediately and closed the small distance in between the two of them so that he could wrap an arm tightly around her.

"You're all right?" he asked intently, looking down at her. He remained close, as if afraid of them being separated now. At the same time, he was all too aware of how exposed they were at the moment. Stranded at the center of the arena, too near the cornucopia, too many blind spots. Still. He needed to make sure that she was okay before they made any move.

She went into his embrace stiff and stunned, eyes still fixed on the lowered trident despite herself. She'd seen him kill with it before, had been unable to keep herself from watching, but there was no screen buffering them here, no disconnect that allowed her to partition off that knowledge in her mind. Everything about this was entirely too tangible.

"I'm fine," she finally said, true enough for the moment–She wasn't injured, and hadn't curled into a sobbing ball. That had to be some kind of progress. Still, her voice was strained, and now that she'd lifted her eyes, she couldn't keep them still, her gaze bouncing rapidly around them, instinctively taking note of distances to weapons, safety, potential threats.

"This can't be real," she continued, straining to spy a door she suspected wasn't there. "The Games are done– they don't–"

In her world, the Games were done. Not in Finnick's. In Finnick's world, the Capitol still ruled, she was still waiting in District 4, and he was still very much alive.

"No," she whispered again, a hand fluttering to her hair and then falling again as she turned to him, her expression almost accusatory. They could get out of here; she understood that. But Tristan–

"Oh no," she exhaled, hand rising to clench over the sudden, sharp ache in her chest. "We have to get back. We- we have to get back!"

There was something about the way that she stood within his hold that was off. That made him feel like he should back off. There was an awkwardness there seemed indescribable to him, different from the difficulties that had plagued them when they had initially stumbled around each other.

He looked down at her on impulse, unable to help himself. Caught the way that her gaze was still fixated on the trident.

They always seemed to partition themselves so well that it was odd when his other lives clashed into theirs. The playboy had been a constant shadow, of course, but the tribute was someone else entirely. Unbidden, the memory of the night of the announcement of the Quell rose to the forefront of his mind, of him begging her to forgive him for whatever he'd have to do, whatever he'd come as.

"Hey, hey," Finnick said voice kept purposefully gentle and light. He reached for her hand with his free one. "We will get back, all right? Just have to find the door, right?" He smiled at her as if it was an easy thing, as if they both didn't know they were surrounded by a jungle that was designed to kill them.

"Stop it!" Annie shouted, wrenching sharply away. "Stop trying to manage me like one of your sponsors!" She could feel it now: the shivering tension building in her chest, threatening to close her throat and curl her limbs, to leave her every bit as helpless as she'd proved herself to be before— As helpless as Finnick obviously believed she was now, speaking to her like she was a horse who might bolt.

"Tristan—" Her voice broke, but she caught hold of it again. "Our son is all alone and there aren't any doors here, Finnick! There is nothing! There is—"

The solution hit her all at once and she stilled, staring back at him.

"We have to get out of the arena," she said. "If this is your version of things, we can get out to Thirteen." There would be doors there, and she'd try every one of them if she had to.

Her words bit at him more than he could say, the accusation lancing through his chest. Finnick didn't try to reach for her as she pulled away, but did quickly try to disguise the hurt that had to be apparent on his face with an old but still well-worn mask. There was no point in responding to the comment, he knew. (Could have said, he thought bitterly, that she would know very well if he ever decided to start treating her like one of his sponsors.) But he knew that wasn't fair, because she was scared, and more than just their lives were at stake.

They'd both been gone from their world for months now, and it was terrible how a few seconds back in it could tear them down once more.

"Annie," Finnick said calmly, and pointedly didn't reach for her again. "There are other people at that hotel. Tristan will be fine." Katniss or Johanna would have to notice they were gone. They would take care of him until he and Annie got back.

But, in truth, he zeroed in more quickly on her plan. It was an easier thing to focus on.

"You know this arena," he reminded her quietly. She might not have experienced, but, despite his pleading, he knew that she would have watched him compete. "Tell me what we need to to get out."

Never in her life would Annie have imagined that her watching the Quarter Quell would turn out to be a good thing. Even now she still had nightmares about it, of events taking an entirely different turn. Finnick trapped, Finnick dead before the rebels could ever reach him.

She faltered, blinking, and then sucked in an abrupt breath and jerked a look at the arena around them.

"It's- It's a clock," she exhaled. "I don't know, I don't remember which section does what, but the tree..." Trailing off, she stepped hastily around him to locate the tree on the horizon and point. "There. We need, um. Wire?"

"A clock," Finnick repeated, looking about the arena as he said it. Circle, he noted, as Annie mentioned the different sections each containing a threat. All right. Well, if they only needed to get one section, the rest shouldn't be a problem, he figured. They would just stay on the path to the tree she indicated.

"Wire?" he asked. "Where do we get wire?"

He hoped it wasn't something they needed Beetee or Wiress, although they had been the others one that Plutarch had stressed it was important to get. At the time, he had thought it was only to earn Katniss' trust, but now he wondered if it was something more.

Peeta hadn't been nearly as careful as Finnick. In fact, he'd been toying with the idea of going through the arena door, figuring out how he could get back to 12 and find Prim for Katniss. He wanted to check on the little girl. However, on this day he hadn't intended to go in the arena. He hadn't been paying attention. He'd intended to slip through one of the forest doors, do a little bit of thinking and end up possibly finding something to bring back to Katniss. Instead, he'd made a fatal error and stepped into the arena door. Dread filled him the moment he realized it, but when he'd turned around there was no door anymore.

Survive

It was the only thought on his mind. He had to survive so he could get back to the door, back to the Nexus and the life that he'd started to build there. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to have to go back to the cornucopia and find a sword. It was almost relief when he saw Finnick there. When the other man turned, Peeta had his hands up.

"It's me, Finnick. It's Peeta. I'm stuck here too and I want to get back to the hotel. I just needed to get a sword," he gestured to one of the swords with one hand. He was cautious, every muscle aware because he had an idea of what was going on in Finnick's mind and none of it would work in Peeta's favor if Peeta surprised him.

Finnick wasn't sure why he was surprised when he saw Peeta. He was in the hotel and he would have been in the Quarter Quell. Along with Jo and Katniss, Peeta was one of the most likely people to have approached him. Yet, after Plutarch's frenzied preparations that Finnick had been a part of before the Quarter Quell and then his appearance in the hotel, it was almost strange to now being stand in the middle of the arena with Peeta Mellark in front of him.

It seemed as if Peeta went on talking for forever, although he knew it was a few simple sentences. Finnick nodded when he was finished, lowering the trident back to his side, although there was still a noticeable tension in his arm, a tightly coiled spring for if anyone else appeared.

"A sword, right," Finnick echoed, looking at where Peeta was gesturing. He recalled Peeta showing up at the hotel, dragging the sword behind him, Annie's nervousness at having it so near. He tried to recall if Peeta had used a sword in his original games, but all he could remember was the wound he'd sustained from the sword the Career boy had carried. (He also vividly remembered telling Johanna in the corner of some dimly club that Katniss would leave Peeta to die when the time was right. It would be easy. A rare moment when his Capitol-obtained cynicism had been utterly wrong.)

"Do you see anyone else?" Finnick asked, keeping his eyes trained on the arena that stretched out in front of them.

In Peeta's time, Finnick has already proved himself an ally. He's saved Peeta's life and while he knows enough to be wary of him (he is a victor after all) he also trusts him. He trained a little with the sword, mostly for the 75th Games, but he'd done a little training with it during his original games and carried one when he was running with the pack of Careers.

He shook his head at Finnick's question. "Not so far, but we need to stay close to the beach." He'd explain the horrors of this arena to Finnick as it became necessary. He didn't want to overwhelm him with too much information.

"We'll find a way back." To the hotel, to Katniss, to Annie and to Finnick's baby.

"All right," Finnick agreed. It would have been impossible for the two of them to set up base at the cornucopia. This arena was incredibly open and there was no way that he and Peeta together could have covered all the angles. Beach, it was. He'd heard some of the horror stories that had come from this arena and knew that most of them lingered in the jungle. It was a relief to be with someone who knew more about it than he did.

He didn't acknowledge the last part just yet. He had to make his mind think in singular steps. Get to the beach for now. He always had an overall goal, but the motivations for those goals, for each step, would drown him. He couldn't think about Annie, Tristan, about what would happen if they didn't find their way back.

So, instead, he stepped forward again, scanned the surrounding area. He still didn't see anyone. Now seemed as good a time as any to make for the beach.

"Ready?" he tossed over his shoulder at Peeta.

Precisely what Peeta was thinking, what he'd learned from participating in the 75th. He was trying to form a plan, trying to remember where he'd come in at. They could wait on the beach, figure out the clock and then go from there looking for the door back. They'd find a way back. Peeta refused to consider any other option.

All Peeta could think about was Katniss, about getting back to her. He'd drag Finnick with him because he knew that Annie and Tristan needed him.

"Right behind you," Peeta assured him. He stayed a few feet behind Finnick, following along the ledge that ran between the 'pieces' of the clock. He could swim now (Katniss had taught him recently) but he wasn't good enough to keep up with Finnick. He knew that.

Once they got to the beach and established a base of sort, Peeta would explain the clock to him, the horrors that happened in each piece and how the beach was safe, exposed but safe.

As soon as Peeta confirmed that he was ready, Finnick took off, feet finding footholds along the rocky ledge. The water was calming at least. He knew they wouldn't be so generous as to put fresh water in the middle of the arena, but Finnick always felt a little calmer when he knew it was close. (A foolish sentiment, he knew. Annie's arena had been proof of that.)

He kept in tune with everything around them, his hand maintaining a tight grip around the trident.

But they reached the beach without issue. As soon as they were, Finnick turned, taking in the rest of what he could see of the arena. Mostly jungle, little to indicate what was lurking in the trees.

Peeta follows, staying a few feet from Finnick. Once they reach the beach, he has a look around as well. In this case, Finnick isn't wrong about the water being safer than the rest of the arena. Once Finnick has had a chance to look around, Peeta starts to explain what he knows, starting off with:

"It's a clock. I know you can't really see it from up here, but the traps are all divided into sections."

He'll go on to explain what he knows of each section and how the gamemakers can scramble it all.

This is a nightmare that Katniss has lived over and over again no matter what she does and she guesses it was only a matter of time before she actually got caught by one of the doors and thrown into the arena.

She has always been good at fight or flight - and knowing which to use at any given point. It takes her a moment to orient herself but once she does, she sets out to find two things - something to use as a weapon and a place to use as shelter. Since this is the arena from the 75th Games, she knows stakes are high and cover is scarce. At least she already knows how the clock works this time.

(Tick-tock, Katniss)

She startles when she sees someone in front of her and barely has time to regroup before he turns around. It's only the flash of the trident in her face that gives her any relief; Finnick.

"Finnick," she whispers, barely above a hiss. "It's me, Finnick. It's Katniss."

"Katniss," Finnick answered, not bothering to mask his surprise at finding her standing near him. Really, he took a moment to be utterly amused, because this was certainly the opposite of everything he had expected when he had been entering the Quarter Quell arena the first time. Sure, he'd had the bangle from Haymitch, but he hadn't been so certain that was going to win over Katniss Everdeen. He'd had to make peace with the fact that there was a solid chance he was going to get an arrow to the throat if he actually ran into the girl.

And here they were now; dare he say it? She almost looked happy to see him. He smiled at her, unable to help himself, and lowered the trident.

"Better grab that bow and arrow," he said, nodding toward where her usual weapon of choice was stashed in the cornucopia.

"Real deal or hotel door?" he asked her an instant later.

"Hotel door," Katniss confirms. She doesn't waste any time sprinting to the Cornucopia and snagging the bow and arrow; she is always better with her weapon of choice and feels naked without it.

"We have the advantage then. We know how the clock works. Want to make it up to the tree and start pushing out of here?"

It's a dangerous thing, she guesses, assuming that the Gamemakers won't change the arena because she has it figured out already but it's a risk that Katniss has to take.

Hotel door. It brought a stupid amount of relief crashing through his veins. He doubted it made the arena any less dangerous. But it meant that at least had a chance of getting back to Annie and Tristan. The words were easy to believe from Katinss somehow -- maybe because she'd never exactly seemed like the optimistic type.

"All my knowledge of this arena is secondary," Finnick reminded her. He'd never made it in. "You'd better take the lead," he added, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arm.

It was a bit unnerving, placing all the power in somebody's hands, but she was practical, smart, and actually did now this arena. It was the only thing to do.

"The Arena is a clock," she explains. "There's a lightning strike against a tree at 12, that's what we need to aim for. If we can get up there, I can shoot an arrow...damn."

They needed Beetee's wiring. It's not something Katniss knows how to do, wire anything, and while she saw him work with it before she doesn't know if she can replicate it. "We need the wire, Beetee was supposed to be here too. I don't know if I can get us out the same way."

Finnick pays attention the entire time she's speaking, aware that the more he understands about the arena, the better both their chances of surviving are. He can see the trees she's talking about, a massive thing easily visible.

Not for the first time, he wishes that Plutarch had been more forthcoming with information. He knows that the man is a brilliant strategist. But there's something that sits unsteadily underneath Finnick's skin, an awareness that Plutarch is still a man of the Capitol: the show is important, and he only keeps things until they're not helpful anymore. When he and Johanna had first arrived in the hotel, it hadn't been hard to imagine that they had both been discarded for the dream of keeping the mockingjay alive. Of course, he also knows it's easier to judge on this side of things. He hadn't had many options going into the arena a second time.

"Do we commit to the wire or look for another way?" Finnick asks. A plan. A plan was enough to keep either of them going.

"Whatever we do, we have to disable the force field," Katniss says. She keeps her voice low in hopes that the microphones can't pick it up and she tries to obscure her mouth with her hand so they can't read her lips; she knows how to play the game on the third time around.

"So if you have an idea how to do it without the wire, I'm all ears."

It is still strange to be turning back to the plan they had concocted weeks ago: Johanna and he had been too volatile to be trusted by Katniss. Haymitch and Plutarch had made that much clear. He'd had Mags and the bangle to win Katniss over, but Johanna had needed to get Beetee and Wiress. It's strange now to know just how much of their plan hinged on them. Not for the first time, Finnick wonders exactly what would have happened to them if they hadn't succeeded. (He doesn't actually need to wonder. He knows. Expendable.)

"You saw Beetee use the wire," Finnick returns. "Do you think we could do it without him?"

"Hard to say. If it's just wire attached to an arrow, I can figure that out, but if he did anything special to the wire, I'm not going to be able to do that. I'm resourceful but I'm not a genius."

Few people were on a level with Beetee and Wiress had figured out the clock; Katniss just doesn't think like that and doesn't think she ever will.

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