Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often that a volunteer choked at a Reaping. 

But Mags had been doing this a long time. She’d seen hundreds of kids walk up to the stage, and let hundreds slip right through her fingers. She’d brought a handful home - more than most districts could say - and all of those had been borne from the Academy that she’d built up off the ground. 

After the sixteenth Hunger Games and rumours about what One and Two were doing with their children to prepare them, Mags had funded District Four’s own training academy, disguised as a boarding school. The Capitol turned a blind eye, anyway. They all knew what the Career districts were doing, and they didn’t care - it made for a better show, at the end of the day. 

Mags just wanted to bring her children home. She wanted them to go into the arena with at least a fighting chance and, yes, it didn’t work every year. But, if her system meant that a strong and willing volunteer could take the place of a puny, terrified baby, then so be it. 

It had been at least ten years since the last time someone chickened out, though. Mags - along with the trainers, and some of Four’s Victors - chose one boy and girl from the top class of the academy every year. By the time the kids reached sixteen, the trainers grouped them into pairs so that, if their time came, they’d go into the arena with someone who they knew like the back of their hand. 

A group of possible volunteers were narrowed down ahead of the Reaping, and prepped on a personal level. They were the best of the best, the cream of the crop, the strongest in their class. Mags and Kai - the 40th Games’ Victor, and her fellow mentor - had worked with Luke and Nixie, tightening their strengths and bettering their weaknesses. 

And yet, it had all been for nothing. 

The name was picked from the bowl by Cassiopeia, District Four’s escort. It was a boy who couldn’t have been more than twelve but he didn’t look upset whatsoever because he knew that someone would take his place. If anything, it was a few minutes of fame before the actual tribute stepped forward. Any minute now, Luke would call out, “I volunteer!” 

Any minute now. Cassiopeia asked the boy’s name, and the crowd cheered. Mags scanned the eighteens at the front, looking for Luke. People’s heads were beginning to turn as they did the same. A quiet murmuring could be heard from the adults at the back of the square. Any minute now. 

“Before we get to the ladies, have we got any volunteers?” Cassiopeia said into the microphone. She’d been Four’s escort for around three years and, every year, someone had stepped forward to volunteer. Any minute now. Mags felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. The boy’s mother was beginning to panic. Any minute now. 

Silence had never felt quite so loud. And then, just as the boy looked like he was going to throw up on national television and Cassiopeia was clearly about to move on, a clear voice shouted, “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” 

Mags could see Luke in the eighteens, head bowed. It wasn’t him. But, still, it was a volunteer, and a ripple of relief fluttered through the crowd. It instantly turned to mumbles of dissent, though, and Mags didn’t understand why until the volunteer came into view. 

Because it wasn’t a strong, academy-trained tribute at the age of sixteen or above. It wasn’t the person that Mags and Kai had worked one-on-one with, though they’d known that already. The volunteer currently taking the boy’s place on stage was none of these things - he was barely older than the kid originally selected. He was small, with bronzed skin, and golden blonde hair. He was—-he was—-

“Finnick Odair,” he said into the mic, flashing a pearly-white grin at the crowds, who had got over their shock to whoop in surprise for him. 

If Mags hadn’t been very much aware of the cameras on her right now, she would’ve let her eyes fall shut heavily in despair at the name; at the current situation in front of her. 

Everyone knew the Odairs, you see. They were a big family in Four - people often joked that they spawned like gnomes. Odair cousins were constantly running underfoot at the markets, and harbours. A lot of them were relatively loud, and well-liked amongst those in the district, and Jasper Odair was Head Fisherman, meaning that respect ran deep for the family as a whole. 

But Finnick….Finnick was just a baby. Mags had seen him briefly at the academy, but he wasn’t in any of the top classes due to his age. It was only a slight comfort that Finnick was somewhat trained because, no matter how much he might’ve technically been a Career volunteer, he didn’t stand a chance against the sixteen to eighteen year olds that One and Two would put forward. 

Mags took a deep breath, inhaling the salty July air, and tried to focus on the scene at hand. Cassiopeia had just selected the female tribute - a girl with strawberry blonde hair who couldn’t have been much older than Finnick - but, no sooner than she was approaching the stage, Nixie Cresta’s voice was calling out. Like she was supposed to. 

“At least someone knows what’s expected of them,” Kai murmured to her, a bite to his tone. She should’ve known that he’d take Luke’s lack of action personally - he had been destined to be his mentor, after all, and now he’d be in charge of the less experienced Finnick. 

But Mags didn’t blame Luke. How could she? Yes, it wasn’t ideal to shy away from volunteering when you’d been selected, especially when it was a twelve year old standing on the stage. However, at the end of the day, all he was doing was saving his own neck and the Games weren’t for everyone. Luke might’ve thought they were for him, only to realise the severity of his situation at the last minute. 

And that was okay. 

If only it hadn’t been Finnick Odair who had volunteered in his stead. If only it had been anyone but him….

Chapter Text

Mags could hear raised voices, and it didn’t take any guesses to figure out who’s room they were coming from. 

Nixie and Finnick were currently saying goodbye to their families. In Nixie’s case, this would be something that the Crestas had been expecting because they’d known for a few months that their daughter would be going into the arena. Obviously, that didn’t make it any less upsetting but the Career system meant that Nixie, at the very least, stood a fighting chance at making it back home. 

In Finnick’s case, though, this must’ve come as an extreme shock to his parents and siblings - of which there were plenty. Mags herself had been taken aback, and had been dealt with a severe slap of whiplash, and she hadn’t even met Finnick before. But she knew him. Oh, how she knew him. And how she wished that she didn’t.

Because it would only make his inevitable death even harder. 

Fifty four years ago, Mags had been in Finnick and Nixie’s exact place. She’d been in a room with a few minutes to say goodbye to her family, and friends, before being carted off to the arena like a pig to slaughter. The Hunger Games had been different back then. Mags had been the first Victor to be treated like she’d actually won something, as opposed to just being forgotten about like the first ten Victors. 

Mags couldn’t quite believe it had been fifty four years since Violet Odair looked into her eyes, teary and determined, and insisted that she do whatever it took to come home to her. But it had. And Violet had been lost to her for a long time before she’d been buried. 

Mags had gone into that arena as a young girl, and had come out a murderer. All of a sudden, Violet hadn’t been that eager to see her home. Mags had fought tooth and nail to make it back to her girlfriend, only to be treated differently once she returned. Once you had blood on your hands, you see, it was hard for people to look at you in the same way. 

Mags had been naive enough to believe that, with Violet, it would be different. 

They’d broken up not long after Mags’ Victory Tour, where she was the first Victor to act like she loved the Capitol, and everything it stood for. Obviously, this had soured the taste in a lot of people’s mouths back home, especially when they had to watch Mags walk into her massive house in the Victors’ Village, too. 

Violet and Mags had remained strenuous friends but their past had been too hard to ignore, creaking intensely between them like an abandoned shipwreck. During Violet’s wedding to Finnick’s grandfather, Mags had bitten through her tongue so harshly that it bled, and they hadn’t spoken for years after that. 

Mags had watched from afar as Violet and Alfie started to bring little Odairs into the world. She’d disappeared to the Capitol for months on end, and had almost always come home to Violet sporting another bump; pushing another pram around the town centre. And she’d told herself she didn’t care, whilst she cradled the broken shards of her heart in her cupped palms. 

Everything had changed when Alfie had died. The shipwreck of who Violet and Mags had once been, and could become again, had creaked and whined too loudly to ignore. It had been a rainy night in March, two years on from her husband’s death, when Violet had arrived on Mags’ doorstep, and dropped her anchor into the roaring, tumultuous ocean of Mags’ life. 

“You don’t want me. You don’t want this,” Mags had gasped, pulling away from the kiss. 

Violet’s eyes had been just as sure, just as green as they’d always been. It was like no time had passed, even though she had four children and an urn of ashes on her mantelpiece to prove that they’d aged, and grown up, without each other. “I do,” she’d panted. “I’ve always wanted you. I was just …scared. But I’m not scared anymore.”

The next decade had been the happiest of Mags’ life. Violet had moved into her house in the Victors’ Village, where Mags finally had neighbours in the form of children she’d brought home. Mags had become a second mother to Violet’s young kids, who barely even remembered their dad. She’d taken Marina to the beach, collecting shells to thread into jewellery, and watched Isaac in his races at school. She’d helped Gilbert with his homework, and read bedtime stories to Lucy at night. 

They’d been a family; the family that Mags had always wanted with Violet. 

And then Violet had died from a heart attack, and Mags had been alone. She’d been forty three, with four kids looking to her as a mother when all she wanted to do was scream at the sky, and beg for the stars to give her Violet back. 

Mags had tried. She’d really, really tried to look after the Odair children for Violet; for herself. But the Capitol summoned, year after year, and Mags feared for their names every Reaping. Grief had choked her like a hand around her throat and, eventually, she’d lost the children in the same way that she’d lost Violet. 

She hadn’t adopted them, you see. Her relationship with Violet had always been enough to ensure her custody but, with Violet gone, Mags had no claim over the children that she loved as her own. Gilbert had been old enough to move out on his own, but the other three had gone into care, and Mags would never forget the way Lucy kicked out and screamed when the Peacekeepers took them away. 

And, now, she could hear Lucy yelling once more. 

At her son. Finnick, whom Mags had never met but had seen from afar. Finnick, who had volunteered out of courage, or a thirst for glory, or both. Finnick, who had training under his belt but was still too young to win. No fourteen year old had ever come out of the arena, and Mags didn’t know how she was supposed to be okay with losing another Odair. 

Hadn’t she given enough? Hadn’t she lost enough already?

“That better not be the last time I see my youngest son.”

This time, Mags wasn’t on national television. She let her eyes shut heavily in despair, as the grief churned through her like a storm ravaging the sails of a boat. Lucy Odair was standing in front of her for the first time in twenty-seven years, tear-tracks glimmering in the light like they had the day that she was ten. 

“I can’t promise anything,” Mags croaked out. She’d never felt older than she did in this moment, staring at the woman who she’d thought she would raise to adulthood. Lucy had toughened since - she had several children of her own, Mags knew, with Jasper Odair, and she had crow’s feet by the eyes she’d inherited from Violet. 

Just as sure, just as green. 

“No, you can,” Lucy was suddenly stepping into her space, finger poking into Mags’ chest. She was one to be reckoned with, that was for sure, and anger blazed from every crevice of her face. “You can, Mags. For me. For Marina, Isaac, and Gilbert. For Finnick. For my mother.” 

Heartache teared at Mags’ insides when Lucy mentioned Violet. She had her mother’s blonde hair, and Mags knew that Finnick did, too. “I’ll try my best, Lucy,” she said, the promise sounding empty in the air. “But you’d be surprised at how much control I don’t have over my tributes.”

“You wouldn’t think so,” Lucy’s voice was cold in a way that Mags never remembered. She wondered distantly whether the children had ever been adopted, or whether Lucy had been in care for eight years. “You have the academy. You’ve controlled the Reapings for forever, and you’re telling me you don’t have any swing over my son’s fate?”

“It’s not my fault that Luke didn’t volunteer when he was supposed to,” Mags told her softly because it wasn’t, and Lucy clearly thought it was. Or she just wanted someone to blame. “And it’s not my fault that Finnick volunteered, either.”

Lucy’s jaw clenched, “But it’s your academy that he went to. Your system, that was meant to save kids of his age from ever being in the arena. If it wasn’t for the training centre, Finnick never would’ve got into his head that he’s good enough to come home a Victor.” 

Mags sighed. “Alas, no. But I’m not the one who put him into the academy in the first place, Lucy,” she reminded her gently. 

A tear slipped down Lucy’s cheek, and she wiped it away furiously. Mags couldn’t even imagine the amount of guilt that she must be harbouring, and she would’ve felt badly about her dig if it wasn’t for the fact that Lucy was trying to blame her.  

“We were struggling, Mags,” her voice shook - though from anger or upset, Mags wasn’t sure. Lucy glared at her, “Money wasn’t coming in, nor was food. Though I know such hardships must be difficult for you to imagine,” she spat. 

Mags wondered whether the eight years of Lucy’s life that she’d lived in luxury had made her resent her even more. She’d had a taste of what it was to be lucky, and then it had been ripped away. The winter she was referencing had been last year, when storms had made the seas unsafe, and quota hadn’t been reached. All of District Four had suffered the consequences, and Lucy’s solution had evidently been to throw Finnick into the academy, where she received a stipend for his sacrifice. 

“I could never blame you for trying to survive,” Mags said evenly, but pointedly because that was exactly what Lucy was doing now. She wondered glumly whether Lucy was just taking this as an opportunity to lash out at Mags for all the resentment she’d clearly harboured for decades. Because, at the end of the day, Finnick’s death would mean one less mouth to feed. 

Then again, that had been why Lucy had sent him into training in the first place. She already didn’t have to feed Finnick because the academy took care of that, whilst supplying the Odairs with a monthly allowance. But was it possible that Lucy wanted Finnick back for that reason? After all, if her boy was dead, that money would disappear. 

Unless he came back with all the riches and luxuries of a Victor, of course. 

Lucy’s face fell momentarily, message received. But she soon cleared her throat, and gathered herself, “Good. That means you better try your damn hardest to bring Finnick back. I know you’re a professional at abandonment, Mags, but my mother would roll in her grave even more than she already is if she knew you weren’t pulling out all of the stops to help my son survive.”

Mags barely concealed her gasp of pain, and horror. Using Violet against her was a true low. “How dare you—” she started, voice trembling with a mixture of fury and devastation. What had happened to the sweet girl she’d told bedtime stories to?

“No, how dare you,” Lucy was in her face again, and Mags could see Kai at the end of the corridor, probably wondering what was taking her so long. Nixie and Finnick were probably already on the train. Mags had seen the Cresta family walk out of the Justice Building during her argument with Lucy. 

“I lost two mothers that day,” Lucy said, voice low and resentful. Kai was striding towards them now, protective mode on. Mags gestured for him to stay back. She could handle this herself. She deserved it, really. It had just been a long time coming. “And now you’re telling me that you can’t promise anything when it comes to saving my son? He’s just a boy, Mags!”

“I know,” Mags said softly, heart aching. But they were all just children. That was the thing about the Hunger Games - they weren’t fucking fair. Life wasn’t fair. If the world was fair, then Mags’ hands never would’ve been sullied with the blood of others, and Violet Odair would still be knitting jumpers for her beloved children. 

Something had broken in Lucy’s spirit between her cry, and Mags’ gentle reply. Maybe she’d been gunning herself up for another fight. Maybe she hadn’t expected Mags to agree but of course she had. That’s all she ever thought about the Games - some may see the tributes and Victors as ruthless murderers, but she’d always see them as the children that they were. 

Mainly because, when she’d come out of the arena, she’d been viewed through different eyes. And she’d never forget how that had felt. 

It was for that reason that she didn’t remember the way Jonah had beaten a girl to death, but cherished the fact that he stopped by to complete jigsaws with her every now and then. Her own experience made her hold Jade close, and let her cry about the friends she’d lost post-arena. She didn’t recall Kai’s gruesome murder of his remaining competition, but recalled the way he always made sure she was okay during the Games. Celeste wasn’t the promiscuous lover that the Capitol made her out to be - she was still the young girl who’d held tightly onto Mags in the hospital. And Sky could never be the brute that the Capitol saw him as. Because Mags had seen him shattered, and in fragments, on several occasions. 

Lucy may look at her, and see the mother who abandoned her. 

But Mags knew that, for however much she’d let the Odair children down, she’d made up for it in her mothering of her Victors; of the kids she’d brought back. 

“Mags?” Kai was suddenly at her side, a strong hand falling onto her arm as if he sensed that, despite being able to handle Lucy herself, she needed a cop-out. “We need you on the train, please.”

“I’m coming,” Mags sent him a kind smile. He looked at her worriedly, and she gave a gentle nod of her head to make sure that he knew she was alright. 

Kai hummed, and traipsed slowly out of the building as if he was waiting for her to catch him up, whilst simultaneously giving her privacy. She’d raised him well. 

Lucy coughed, looking aggrieved as if she could almost read Mags’ thoughts. She glanced after Kai, probably seeing the stroke of Mags’ influence in his manner. Mags wondered whether she still remembered everything she’d taught her, or whether Lucy had simply chosen to forget it. 

“Bring him home,” her eyes were burning with tears. “Please, Mags, bring him home.” 

Mags met her eyes, so sure, so green. “I’ll try my best.”

That’s all she could do, really. 

Chapter Text

Finnick was a lovely boy. Upon meeting him officially, Mags could establish this, and it hurt like hell because she knew that the Games would take all of that from him, and more. Losing tributes always crushed her, no matter how many years she’d been doing this, but it was slightly easier when she didn’t get attached. 

That wasn’t going to the case this year, she knew. She’d known that when it had been Lucy’s youngest son who’d stepped forward in the place of a twelve year old. She’d known that when she’d got along extremely well with Nixie in their private sessions at the academy, determined to see her as a Victor. 

But now there was Finnick. Mags had promised Lucy that she’d try her best but how could that be possible when she was, in all technicality, Nixie’s mentor? Some years, she and Kai joined forces and mentored both of the tributes together, so they could always do that this time around. 

Then again, Nixie and Finnick would probably be going for different strategies. Nixie was a strong Career volunteer - she’d get into the pack in an instant, and would probably execute the same plan that had worked for Celeste, Sky, and Jade. Finnick was also a Career volunteer, yes, but anyone with a brain would be able to see that he wasn’t the one that the academy had selected. The silence at the Reaping would’ve told the other Career districts that, even if Finnick’s age didn’t. 

“Will the two of you be allies?” Kai asked, over dinner. 

Nixie’s dark curtain of hair nearly hit Finnick in the face as she turned to look at Mags questioningly. The old woman just gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. Being with Finnick would slow Nixie down, but Mags couldn’t deny that she would feel better about Finnick’s chances if he was with Nixie, who excelled in all areas. 

Nixie had two younger siblings - one was a baby, barely a wisp of a child, but Mags was pretty sure that her little sister was around Finnick’s age. She probably harboured some sort of obligation to protect him, and Mags wasn’t going to discourage that. She felt, not for the first time, the deep longing to bring both tributes home this year. 

But, of course, that wasn’t possible. That wasn’t the Hunger Games. 

“I don’t see why not,” Nixie answered Kai. She glanced at Finnick who, although lovely, had been quieter during dinner in comparison to the excitable ball of sunshine he’d been at the station, and in the first few hours of their journey. Reality of what he’d signed himself up for was probably kicking in. 

At least Nixie had had the time to prepare herself for this, mentally as well as physically. Finnick had acted on a whim and, between this conversation and his mother’s lecture, Mags could rightfully assume that he was overthinking his decision now. 

Finnick poked at the food on his plate, earning himself a frown from Cassiopeia who had taken very well to the handsome, charming kid. “Sounds good,” he murmured, looking a little pale. 

Kai sent Mags a look that clearly read, See? He’s a goner. 

Mags only sipped at her red wine in resignation. Kai was smart - he’d probably connected the dots between Lucy’s flyaway hair and the golden locks on Finnick’s head. He didn’t know the full story but he’d lived across the road from Mags when the Odair kids had been running underfoot, and Violet had been alive. 

Finnick perked up a little after dinner when they sat down to see the recap of the Reapings, eager to watch himself on television. Nixie plonked herself down next to him, and started pointing out strengths and weaknesses of the other tributes in a way that they were taught in the academy. She’d clearly made the executive - and possibly suicidal - choice to take the boy under her wing. 

Finnick wasn’t completely inexperienced, of course. He was fourteen, after all, and Kai mentioned to Mags in a murmur that he, apparently, had been top of his age group at the very least. Once the recap had finished, and they were sitting around, Mags leant forward and drew Finnick’s attention away from where he’d been laughing with Nixie. 

“What would you say your strengths are, Finnick?” she asked softly. 

She already knew that Nixie was skilled with spears, and adept at knives. Nixie was a good runner, climber, and strategist. Her hand-to-hand combat was excellent, and her weakness mainly lay within the realms of survival skills. Mags had already instructed her to focus on those during training but, as a girl from Four who helped out at the harbours occasionally, Nixie wasn’t completely shit at those elements. 

Hence why she’d been the strongest candidate in her age group - the sixteen to eighteen category - and had been selected to volunteer. She was Four’s best chance. But Mags had promised Lucy (and Violet’s ghost, in a way) that she’d try her best, and she’d already let Lucy down once before. She wasn’t going to do it again. 

Finnick cleared his throat nervously, “Long-distance combat, probably.”

Kai also leant forward, taking a sip from his brandy, “So, spears? Knives? Tridents?”

Finnick nodded, “Anything I can throw, really.”

“Are you strong, then, boy?” Kai questioned. 

“Of course he is,” Cassiopeia beamed. “Look at those muscles,” she reached out a hand to claw at Finnick’s upper arm. The fourteen year old shifted slightly, a brief flush of embarrassment or discomfort crawling up his neck. Mags hated it, but she or Kai would have to tell him to just get used to those kinds of things. Capitolites had a weird obligation of possession towards tributes and, especially, Victors. 

“I’d say so, yes, sir,” Finnick told Kai politely. 

A smirk of amusement flickered over Kai’s face, and Mags knew him well enough to know that he was already warming to the boy. “No need to be so formal, Finnick,” Kai clapped the kid on the shoulder. “I’m gonna be keeping you alive, so I think we’re past that stage.”

Finnick gulped, gaze flickering to Mags for a brief second before saying, “Is that…how it works, then? There’s a gender split?”

Nixie jumped in before either Mags or Kai could, “Yeah. I’ve worked with Mags on a personal level so she’ll be mentoring me, officially. Kai worked with Luke in the same way but we all know how that ended up so…” her face scrunched up a little at the mention of her partner who hadn’t kept up his part of the deal. 

Nixie had been incredibly mature about the matter, to be fair. Others probably would’ve stomped and sulked but she’d taken the situation in her stride, adapting to Finnick as her partner instead of dismissing him due to his age. Mags was proud of her, though she knew that Nixie had to be mourning the loss of a partner who she’d worked with in tandem for years. 

“Right,” Finnick nodded but Mags couldn’t help but notice that there was something a little reserved about his expression. 

Later that night, after Kai, Cassiopeia, and Nixie had all gone to bed, Finnick padded back into the lounge. He’d also gone to bed but, as Mags knitted away in an armchair because she could never sleep whilst approaching the Capitol (they tended to arrive by the early hours of the morning), he appeared in the doorway. 

“You okay, sweetie?” Mags looked up from the socks that she’d nearly finished. She knitted clothes for kids at the academy, or gave them away to care homes in Four. It wasn’t like she had any children, or grandchildren, of her own to knit for. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Finnick admitted, still hovering. “I came for a glass of water. I didn’t…think you’d still be up.”

“I can never sleep either,” Mags told him gently. “So I’m not surprised that you can’t. Sit,” she gestured at the sofa opposite her, “Would you like some hot chocolate?”

“What’s that?” Finnick questioned, as he sunk into the sofa. Like this - barefoot in silky pyjamas - he’d never looked younger. 

Mags had been a Victor longer than she’d been a District girl now, so she sometimes forgot that some things weren’t the norm in Four as they were in the Capitol. She’d never had hot chocolate before coming to the Capitol, either, so she didn’t know why she assumed that the Odairs would be able to afford such a luxury. 

“Oh, it’s amazing. You’ll love it,” Mags said, already bustling over to the cupboards in the lounge where all of the beverages were kept. There were also various bottles of alcohol, in addition to the supply in the bar car, and a few snacks. The hot chocolate that she used was a salted caramel flavoured powder, mixed in with warm milk. 

Finnick sniffed it eagerly when she passed it over to him, “It smells great,” he said.

“Tastes even better, too,” Mags winked at him, setting her knitting to one side. He had Violet’s eyes - just as sure, just as green. This one was going to hurt. 

Finnick took a sip but, instead of revelling like she expected him to, winced as it most likely scorched his tongue. “It’s hot,” he mumbled, cheeks reddening slightly. 

Mags laughed quietly, “That’s sort of in the name, my boy,” she teased gently. 

Finnick chuckled, blowing the top of the hot chocolate slightly before trying again. He closed his eyes after the second sip, blissed out, and beamed at her when he opened them again. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he gushed. 

“I told you it was amazing,” Mags grinned. 

“Well, you were right.”

“I often am, my lovely. I often am.” 

A comfortable silence settled between them as Finnick drank his hot chocolate slowly, and Mags picked her knitting back up. Eventually, the clack of a mug being placed down on the coffee table between them alerted Mags, and she brought her head up from the socks to meet Finnick’s eyes. Her heart ached at the sight. 

“What’s wrong, darling?”

Finnick seemed to struggle with the words, pushing them around in his mouth with a poke of his tongue, before he blurted out, “Why can’t you be my mentor?”

Mags was surprised, to say the least. “I am, lovie.”

Finnick frowned, “But you’re focusing on Nixie. Is that because she stands the better chance? Because she’s more experienced, and older?”

Mags sighed, placing her knitting down once more. “I’ve been mentoring Nixie personally since we decided she and Luke would be the ones to volunteer. We only assign tributes a mentor each to increase the focus on them. But I’m still mentoring you alongside Kai, especially because you and Nixie are allies. And it’s got nothing to do with skills, or your chances. We’re all one team here, okay?”

“Okay,” Finnick whispered. “My mom just said—” he cut himself off, as if not sure whether he was supposed to relay that information. 

What had Lucy said now? Mags found herself curious, “Said what?” 

Finnick took a deep breath before continuing, “She said you’d protect me because you owed my family, or something. What did she mean?”

“Ah,” Mags chuckled a little ironically. Of course Lucy had left it up to her to tell Finnick about this. She just had to hope that Finnick wouldn’t rely upon her further after learning of her link to his family because she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she let another Odair kid down. 

“I knew your grandmother,” Mags said eventually. ‘Knew’ was a broad term for what she and Violet had had. “We were together for the last ten years of her life so I knew your mother when she was little. Your auntie and uncles, too.” It felt strange to be talking about this so casually, when she’d loved those kids like her own. 

Mags Flanagan was nothing if she didn’t get attached to what she couldn’t keep, after all. 

Finnick looked shocked, “They never mentioned that,” he told her, and it shouldn’t have hurt but it did. Mags knew that Lucy resented her but she’d hoped that the older ones - Marina and Gilbert - at the very least, would’ve understood. 

“I wouldn’t expect them to,” Mags fiddled with her clunky thumb ring. “We didn’t end up on very good terms after your grandmother passed away. The first time I spoke to your mother since she was little was today, when she begged me to save you.”

“She begged you?” There was a strange expression on Finnick’s face that Mags didn’t quite like the look of. “I didn’t know she cared that much,” he added in a bitter undertone. 

“Well, she does,” Mags replied because, if Finnick was going to die - which he most definitely was - she didn’t want him to think that his mother didn’t love, or care, about him. Although, Mags wasn’t sure she liked the idea of Lucy Odair ever making her son feel like she didn’t love him. 

Then again, he was the youngest of seven. You would’ve thought that, as the youngest herself, Lucy would’ve favoured Finnick. But this clearly hadn’t been the case, and Mags started to think that maybe she’d been right in her assumptions about why exactly Lucy wanted her son to win the Games. 

“I’ll make her proud,” Finnick said suddenly. “I’ll try my best. And I’ll make you proud, too,” he was seemingly filled with a sense of motivation, an urge to please. He was just so young and naive. Mags hated to think about them taking that from them because they would - the Capitol always took advantage of the people that would accidentally make it easy for them in their need to impress.

Mags smiled as if her heart wasn’t aching, “I’m sure you will,” she assured him. 

But, as he shuffled back off to bed, she couldn’t help but think one thing:

They were going to eat him alive in the Capitol. 

Chapter Text

Kai wasn’t too happy about Mags switching tributes, but Nixie surprisingly understood. 

“I’ve learnt all I can from you, Mags,” she said with a warm smile. “He needs you more than I do. Then I won’t be looking after him as much - he’ll be ready.”

“You think?” Mags asked sceptically. Three days were no comparison to the three months she’d had with Nixie, working one-on-one. They were in the Capitol now. Nixie had been preened and plucked to perfection, and her prep team were currently swathing her in scaley material that looked like a mermaid’s tail. A classic. 

“He’s got you,” Nixie said confidently. For someone going into the arena soon, she was amazingly at ease. Mags guessed that she was because this had been what she’d been working towards for years. “You know your shit. If anyone can prepare him at double speed, it’s you, Mags.”

“Bless you, my girl,” Mags was touched by the comment, pressing a kiss to Nixie’s head. She was truly one in a million - humble, compassionate, strong and often right about everything. 

Mags crossed over the corridor to the room where Finnick was being prepped. She let out a hiss between her teeth when she saw that his stylist had dressed him in what could only be described as a skimpy fishing net. Shells were woven into the net to conceal the more private parts of him but Finnick was completely bare chested, with the exception of a thin rope draped around his shoulders. 

“What do you think?” Amelie, District Four’s stylist, showed him off to Mags. 

Finnick looked embarrassed, his body hunched slightly. She wondered what the Capitolites had said to him whilst she’d been out of the room, and regretted not staying with him the whole time. 

“Where are the rest of his clothes?” Mags asked irritably. She could only imagine what Lucy would think, and say, when she saw her youngest child dressed so scantily on national television. 

“He’s just a boy, Mags!” 

Amelie’s smile faded slightly, “This is his entire outfit. Don’t you just love it?”

“No, I don’t,” Mags said, a no-nonsense tone coating her words. Years and years ago, Jonah had been dressed in a similar way, and she’d let it go. But at least he’d been eighteen. Finnick was half the age that Mags’ first Victor had been. “Cover him up a little more, please.”

“Oh, but why?” Amelie sounded like Mags had just killed her firstborn child. As if she’d ever known such devastation. God, how Mags despised Capitolites. 

When she’d first become a Victor, Mags had obviously pandered to them all. It had been what had been expected of her, and it had been that behaviour that had tainted her in the eyes of her district because they weren’t used to the new mould that Victors had to fit. 

After she’d got Violet back, though, Mags had been at the stage where newer and fresher Victors were more interesting. As long as she didn’t cause trouble, Snow never blinked an eye about her acting more like herself. She’d been old news by that point, and she was even older news now, meaning she could speak her mind more. 

If anything, a lot of the sponsors liked her that way. Mags had gained a reputation amongst the other Victors and Games staff as someone who didn’t take any shit. 

“Because he’s fourteen, for God’s sake,” Mags snapped, at the end of her tether. “He’s just a boy,” she ground out, repeating Lucy’s words from yesterday. 

“But he’s a pretty boy,” Amelie pouted. She was the type of person who wasn’t accustomed to not getting her own way, which was a common principle with many Capitolites that Mags dealt with on a daily basis. “I wanna show him off.”

Mags wondered if a pretty boy would be all the Capitol would see in him; if it would be all they’d ever see in him. 

“And I want him to be covered up,” Mags said firmly. “No negotiations, Amelie.”

The stylist huffed but set to work in draping a sparkly waistcoat onto him which shimmered in the same way that Nixie’s mermaid tail dress did. Finnick was looking at her as if she was his saviour, an angel sent down from heaven. She smiled at him tightly, watching with narrowed eyes as Amelie left the buttons undone. 

At least he was more covered up. That was the best she could do, probably. 

“D’you feel more comfortable now?” Mags asked Finnick, as they walked to where the chariots were kept. Kai and Nixie were ahead of them, and other mentors were milling around with their tributes. Chaff waved at her, and Mags smiled back. 

“Yes,” Finnick told her before surprising her with a sudden hug. She embraced him back automatically. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Mags responded, feeling her heart ache even more with each second that he clung onto her like a scared little boy who just needed someone to hide him from the world. 

Because that’s exactly what he was. And that’s all that Mags would ever see him as. 

───────────────

Finnick swanned back from the first day of training with a smug look on his face. 

Both Nixie and Finnick had made a splash at the parade. Cassiopeia had been buzzing about the popularity that they’d already gathered - she’d told Mags that people were already gunning for Four to win this year. Mags only smiled, small and strained, because getting her hopes up was never healthy in the long term. 

“How’d it go?” Kai questioned from where he was lying on the sofa in Four’s quarters of the Training Centre. Any Victor from Four who came to the Capitol in Games season, or otherwise, could use the suites so, when some of the others came next week, they’d be staying there, too. 

“Really well,” Nixie said happily, looking tired but elated. “We’re both in the Career pack,” she informed them. 

Mags dropped her knitting needles, “Really? That’s amazing!”

Kai also looked pleased, “How’d you manage that one, then, champ?” he asked Finnick, clapping him on the shoulder. 

Finnick grinned, “They just told me to prove myself. And I did.”

“That’s excellent, my boy,” Mags praised him, tapping him on the knee. Finnick then went on to gush about how he’d been showing the boy from One how he threw knives, and that the girl from Two had told him he was really good with a spear. 

“I already knew that,” Finnick boasted with a little grin, eyes sparkling. “But it was nice to hear it, anyway.”

Nixie pulled Mags aside after dinner that night. “Is everything alright?” the older woman asked, instantly concerned, because Nixie had asked for a private word in her bedroom. 

“I’m worried about Finnick,” Nixie told her, sitting down on the edge of her bed. 

Mags joined her, “That makes two of us, then. Any specific reason why, though?”

Nixie wrung her hands together slightly before saying, “I had to convince the other Careers to let him into the pack.”

Mags raised a singular brow, “I thought he proved himself?”

“He did,” Nixie nibbled on her bottom lip nervously. “They were laughing about him before then, though. I’d already been approached but Beatrix from Two said they didn’t want Finnick. I told them I’d only join if he could come with me, which they didn’t really like. They eventually were convinced, after seeing him throw spears. But now I’m scared that they’re gonna pick him off first.” 

“They probably will plan to,” Mags said carefully, trying to ignore the pang in her own chest at the thought of seeing those sure, green eyes lifeless again. “In that case, if you ever feel unsafe, split off from the pack. Especially when the numbers start to dwindle down.”

“Won’t that make them target us, though?” Nixie worried, ever the smart one. 

“Possibly,” Mags acknowledged with a slight tilt of her head. “But it doesn’t hurt to stay ahead of the game.” She looked at Nixie severely, “Unless, of course, Finnick is holding you back. I want him to stay alive as much as you do but, in the arena, you should never prioritise someone else’s survival over your own.”

“I know,” Nixie said miserably because this was something they were always told at the academy. “He’s just….” she huffed out a sigh. “I know he’s only two years younger than me but he just seems so much younger. I feel responsible for him, in a way.”

“Do you think that that’s a bad thing?” Mags inquired, trying to gain some insight into how Nixie was feeling. Now that she was technically Kai’s focus, Mags hadn’t had much of a chance to speak to her as she would’ve liked. She’d had her hands full with Finnick, who was proving to be very popular. 

“I don’t know,” Nixie shrugged helplessly, and Mags was reminded - as she always was, and as she never forgot - of how young she was, too. “Do you?” 

“Doesn’t matter what I think, sweetie,” Mags always tried to encourage her tributes to think for themselves as much as they could. “Do you see responsibility as a bad thing? Think about that question in the context of the arena.”

“I don’t see responsibility as a bad thing,” Nixie said without even thinking. “I look after Annie and Tobias all the time, when Mom’s busy,” she said, referring to her younger sister and brother back home. “But in the context of the arena?” Nixie frowned in thought. “I guess it could be a risk. I can’t leave him alone, though. They’d eat him alive,” she added. 

Mags smiled humourlessly at her own thoughts being reflected in Nixie’s words. “I’m sadly rather inclined to agree. If you’re determined to take him under your wing, though, then I’m not going to stop you.” 

Because how could she? Sitting here with Nixie like this, Mags wanted nothing more than to bring her home. They’d worked towards her victory for months, after all, and Mags had got to know the sixteen year old on a deeper level than she’d ever get the chance to know Finnick. 

But then, he was Finnick Odair. Violet’s grandson. Lucy’s boy. Mags had a debt to that family, and she didn’t want to dig herself into a deeper hole. She didn’t want to lose Finnick, in the same way that she didn’t want to lose Nixie. It was like this every year, and yet it never got easier. And this year, it felt even harder than it had been in the past.

Because, whether it was Nixie or Finnick who came home - or neither of them - Mags would feel an immense amount of responsibility either way. She always did. She bore the names and memories of the tributes she’d lost like scars on her heart. And, unlike her physical scars which had been erased by the Capitol, her guilt surrounding those kids’ deaths couldn’t just be wiped off the face of the Earth as easily as they had been. 

Mags was seventy years old. Most of her tributes hadn’t made it past eighteen. It had been fifty four years since she’d been crowned. She was responsible for five Victors, and one hundred and three funerals. 

As a result, she disagreed with part of Nixie’s musings. 

In regards to the arena, responsibility was a bad thing. It scarred. And Mags would happily bear those wounds because it was the least she could do, when all those kids hadn’t ever grown up. But she’d feel the weight of their trust in her on her shoulders until the day she died. 

Chapter Text

Nixie and Finnick were fast becoming favourites. With training scores of ten and eight apiece, they soared into the day of the interviews with a fan base underneath them already which was an extreme positive. 

Mags had been working with Finnick on what to say, and how to act, for the entirety of yesterday. Nixie had taken classes for this but Finnick was a little rusty in comparison. You wouldn’t have thought so, though. He took to charisma like a duck to water, easily adapting to the quick pace of a mock interview that Mags threw him into. 

They’d agreed that he would play the innocent but confident act. Mags told him to not be too cocky, as that would only make him a target in the arena, but to seem prepared because that would solidify the audience’s belief in him. Finnick was perfect at following her orders, doing exactly what she told him. 

“I’m proud of you already, no matter how it goes,” she said before he headed to his prep team to get ready for the interview. 

Finnick beamed, giving her a quick but tight hug. Mags watched him walk through the doorway, greeting Amelie brightly, and felt something tug at her heart. He coveted praise from her, that much was clear, but she was worried about how far his people-pleaser persona would get him. Possibly too far, if he wasn’t careful. 

He’s only fourteen, she tried to tell herself. They’ll be gentle with him. 

But she couldn’t get Amelie’s comments about him being a pretty boy out of her head. And, when she checked in with Finnick before his interview, she was dismayed to see that he was donning an open waistcoat again. He had proper trousers on this time, at least, but there was no need for his chest to be on display. 

Mags opened her mouth to protest but Finnick waved her off, “It’s fine, Mags. Really,” he grinned at himself in the mirror, more comfortable than he had been prior to the parade. Mags wondered whether his training score of eight, and all the attention he was getting from Capitolites, was making him arrogant. 

Then she remembered that he was just a boy. A boy with a tendency to go to any lengths for praise which was something clearly born out of not enough attention at home. Of course Finnick was going to love the fact that people loved him for just being a tribute. There was nothing Mags could do about that and, frankly, she wasn’t sure she ought to. Finnick deserved to know how great he was. 

What if he pays the price, though? A voice that sounded suspiciously like Violet’s asked in her head, slithering through her brain like a snake. 

“You don’t understand,” Mags told Finnick with a sigh before turning to Amelie, who was already looking disheartened. “Could you at least button his waistcoat?”

“What don’t I understand? Help me understand,” Finnick insisted, frowning. 

Mags felt a punch of sadness in her gut, “You’re too young, pet,” she said, aware of the hypocrisy and irony in a statement such as that. She saw Finnick as the child he was and, because of that, she didn’t want to tell him why dressing scantily could be a further encouragement for Capitolites. But, at the same time, he wasn’t too young to be sent into a death arena, and could be dead by this time tomorrow. 

Finnick’s waistcoat was still unbuttoned when he stepped onstage. She’d won the battle at the parade but, ultimately, hadn’t won the war. And wasn’t that just the story of her fucking life?

Finnick was amazing onstage. He oozed just enough charm and charisma to have the audience flailing for him, but enough naivety and innocence that their heartstrings were clearly tugged. Caesar Flickerman bantered with him back-and-forth and, at one point, stroked his knee. Mags felt her blood run cold before scolding herself internally. She was just overthinking it, surely. But, when she met Kai’s gaze, the man’s mouth had twisted into a worried grimace. 

He’s just a boy, Mags wanted to scream. 

But how could she expect Capitolites to understand such a thing, when they openly celebrated an annual tradition of throwing twenty four boys and girls into an arena to fight to the death for entertainment? 

She couldn’t. That was the bottom line of it all. She couldn’t even try her best. She just couldn’t. Full stop. 

───────────────

Mags didn’t let herself breathe for the entirety of the bloodbath. 

Her heartbeat thudded to the sound of Finnick’s footsteps, and she didn’t peel her eyes away from her monitor screen until both Nixie and Finnick were still standing, with the area surrounding the Cornucopia cleared. Nixie had killed the girl from Ten during the bloodbath but Finnick had only succeeded in maiming the boy from Nine, and he’d hobbled off. 

Still, they were alive. That was the main thing. Mags exhaled, and ran a hand over her face. 

Behind her in the Mentor’s Lounge, Haymitch from Twelve had already helped himself to the bar because both of his tributes had been slaughtered by District One. Kai grabbed cups of coffee for both of them, and they both kept watch as supplies were divided evenly between all of the now established Career pack. 

“Are you sure your boy’s up to it, Mags?” Cashmere, last year’s Victor, leant over as her girl tribute, Precious, started putting together a plan, clearly thinking herself the leader. 

“Of course he is,” Mags defended Finnick automatically. “Don’t underestimate him, Cashmere.”

Gloss, her brother and fellow mentor, held his hands up, “Noted,” he chuckled as if he didn’t quite believe her. 

Finnick certainly was not one to be underestimated. Even though he’d been the only Career to not kill anyone in the bloodbath, he soon made up for it. The next day, the pack went to hunt down some of the others, and Finnick was the first one to spot the girl from Eleven running towards them. The speed with which his spear had flown through the air had caused an impressed whistle to ripple through the Mentor’s Lounge, and Seeder’s tribute had fallen immediately. 

“I stand corrected,” Cashmere called over, and Kai saluted her in response. 

That night, Mags watched as Finnick stared into the river that the Careers were currently camping at. The arena this year was a tropical jungle of sorts, with saltwater rivers weaving through trees. Fresh water was only available through a bi-daily downpour, where tributes scrambled to collect as much as possible. It wasn’t sunny in the arena but it was clearly humid, with bugs everywhere. 

Finnick was on guard with One’s boy, Gem. They’d all unanimously voted to keep watch in pairs that weren’t their district partners, to avoid any late night betrayal, which was a rather good idea. Gem wasn’t as insufferable as Two’s boy, Marius, who clearly thought himself better than everyone - even his own district partner. 

Gem had taken a shine to Finnick, and tried to chat to him whilst they were keeping guard. But Finnick was quieter than usual and, judging by the way he kept swishing his hands in the water, Mags could only imagine that the guilt was staining his palms. Your first kill was always the worst, especially when you were someone like Finnick. She longed to hug him, and tell him that everything would be okay. 

But, even if she was able to do that, it would be a lie. 

Finnick looked, and seemed, better the next morning, though it could’ve easily been an act. Mags could see that his eyes sparkled less, and his smile seemed a little falser than usual but she appeared to be the only one. The Careers were doing well in cutting down the numbers, and keeping the audience entertained. 

Kai was in charge of sponsors mainly because Mags was too old now to be constantly going to all the events. And he said that both Nixie and Finnick were doing well - now that they had kills under their belt, the audience loved them even more. Apparently, they especially adored the big sister-little brother act that Nixie and Finnick had going on. 

Nixie had proven true to her word in terms of looking after Finnick. On the fourth day, the six of them got into a predicament with some mutts disguised as tropical birds. Beatrix from Two was handy with a bow and arrow, and had tried to shoot some down for food, only to end up getting attacked by them. 

The other five had been able to outrun them, but it had been too late for Beatrix. She’d bled out slowly as her allies ended up on the other side of the arena, with Nixie tugging Finnick along to make sure that she didn’t lose him in the chaos. He’d received a slash to the face, too, and she’d coddled him so much that sponsors had been happy to send Finnick some healing lotion. 

With one down, the Career pack began to become a little shakier. Marius no longer had his partner so he was, in all technicality, the weakest link but he was ruthless with a mace, and spear, so it was evident that no one thought that. Precious started to make snide remarks towards Finnick. He could take it, often warding them off with charming humour, but sometimes it got so much that Nixie had to intervene. 

“I think we should leave,” Nixie whispered to Finnick, a week in. 

There were eleven tributes remaining, with five of them in one alliance. It was dangerous, to say the least, and Mags was glad that Nixie seemed to have come to the same conclusion. Gem’s friendliness towards Finnick wouldn’t stop his district partner from trying to kill him, and Marius had always been a leering, mean risk. 

It was night, and Nixie and Finnick were keeping watch. The rules on who you could keep watch with had changed when Beatrix had died, which was probably the worst idea that they’d had. Then again, if it worked in the favour of Mags’ tributes and not the other two districts, she didn’t mind as much. 

“You think?” Finnick fiddled with his spear. He hadn’t killed anyone else since that first girl. Kai had said that the sponsors were beginning to favour the other Careers more, though Finnick was still a favourite due to his looks and charisma. He was funny, too. Mags had learnt this from the few days that she’d known him but it was relieving to find out that the Capitol still liked him, despite his lack of bloodshed. 

“I don’t trust them,” Nixie shrugged, the moonlight washing over her tanned skin. She was grubby, with dried blood on her, from today when she’d got into a wrestling match with the boy from Three. It had ended in her snapping his neck, after Finnick had thrown a knife at his leg to destabilise him. 

“I never have,” Finnick traced patterns in the sand. 

“Let’s do it, then,” Nixie stood, and Finnick’s alarmed look followed her movement. 

“Now?” he asked, taken aback. 

“No time like the present,” she offered a hand to him, and heaved him to his feet. Mags exchanged a look with Cashmere and Lyme, shrugging apologetically. Lyme only waved her off, clearly understanding that alliances had to break eventually. “When else are we going to get the chance?”

“True,” Finnick brushed his hands off on his shorts. They’d been given waterproof tank tops and shorts as their clothes, which had been what had helped them work out that the downpours were their only supply of fresh water. “Should we….?” he glanced uncertainly at the other sleeping tributes. 

“No way,” Kai muttered, as Brutus at Two’s station let out a low growl. 

Mags bit her lip. Killing tributes whilst they were sleeping was a sneaky move that could possibly turn the tides of a Capitol audience against Nixie and Finnick. It was possible that they would eat it up, enjoying the thrill of a kill in the middle of the night, but it was a risky move that she wouldn’t advise. Not to mention the fact that, if one of them survived, Nixie and Finnick would only be painting a further target on their backs than they already were. 

A conflicted look passed over Nixie’s face, and Mags could tell that she was probably on the same wavelength as her mentor. They were very similar. “Let’s leave it,” she said eventually. “Hopefully they’ll understand that we’ve simply broken the alliance out of necessity, not spite or malice.”

Finnick only nodded, following Nixie as they crept away from the pack. 

But Mags didn’t miss the second look that he threw over his shoulder at the other Careers, nor the weird glint in his eye. 

And, as she’d soon find out, neither had someone else. 

Chapter Text

“Mags? Camila Rojas would like to speak with you.”

“Me?” Mags asked blearily. It had been two days since Nixie and Finnick had left the Careers, and it was the ninth day of the 65th Hunger Games. She’d nipped back to Four’s quarters under Kai’s orders to snatch some sleep, whilst it was quiet and uneventful. Nixie and Finnick had been fishing the last time she saw them. 

“Yeah, an Avox sent for you,” it was Celeste in her doorway. She’d come to the Capitol for the Games season because she had a few clients to see. With Cashmere and Gloss’ back-to-back victories, though, Celeste was luckily starting to become less popular, which Mags was relieved about because she didn’t know how much more the woman could take. She’d already been in hospital for two overdoses, and she was only twenty four. 

“Not Kai?” Mags questioned but she was already swinging her legs out of bed, albeit slowly due to her not being as young as she once was. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes because she’d been so exhausted - it hadn’t just been Kai insisting that she rest after she was dropping off at their station. Beetee had practically carried her back here. 

“No, she asked specifically for you, apparently,” Celeste seemed to think that this was as strange as Mags did. It was common knowledge that Kai handled the sponsors, whilst she kept her arse glued to a seat in the Mentor’s Lounge.

Mags frowned, running a hand through her tousled hair as she stepped out of her suite, “Are the kids alright?”

“Doing just fine,” Sky piped in, from where he was smoking a cigar by the window. Contrary to popular belief, not all Victors were required in the Capitol during Games season - for example, Jonah was never asked back anymore and Jade had been a rather unpopular Victor. However, Sky was here because, as her most recent Victor at twenty, Capitolites hadn’t forgotten about him yet. 

“Tread carefully, Mags,” Celeste reached out to squeeze her hand. “I know the last name Rojas very well,” she said pointedly. 

Mags’ heart sank, and it only continued to do so as she followed an Avox down to one of the many bars in the Training Centre. Haymitch and Chaff were in the corner, probably several drinks in, as their tributes were all gone. They waved at her but Mags couldn’t even manage a smile back as Camila Rojas stood up to greet her. 

“Ms Flanagan, what a pleasure,” Camila beamed. She had an enormous, bright purple hairdo which stretched towards the sky in curls that almost looked like profiteroles. 

Mags bit her lip to conceal a laugh at her own comparison and shook Camila’s offered hand, “Ditto. How may I help? You know, it’s Kai who tends to speak to sponsors nowadays.”

“Oh, I’m not the sponsor!” Camila laughed shrilly, as if such a notion was ludicrous. “My husband does all of that. Would you like a drink?” 

“No, thank you,” Mags denied politely. Did this woman really think she still drank? She was seventy years old, for God’s sake. She had low blood pressure already, and arthritis, and Camila thought that alcohol would aid that?

“Nonsense,” Camila snapped her fingers in the air and, in an instant, an Avox had scurried over to their table. Mags closed her eyes, pinching her temple. “I’ll have a pina colada. Gin and tonic for Ms Flanagan.” 

“How may I help?” Mags repeated, thinking that the sooner she got out of here, the better. 

“Oh, Ms Flanagan,” Camila laughed again, as if Mags had told a truly funny joke. 

The noise was beginning to grate on her nerves. “Can we not just get a drink together, like two friends?” she beamed, a few of her gold teeth shining. She couldn’t have been more than thirty so they were clearly a fashion choice, not a dental requirement. 

But we’re not friends in the slightest, Mags thought coldly but, despite being able to speak her mind more freely nowadays, she wasn’t stupid enough to be cruel to a sponsor’s wife. That would just be essential suicide for Nixie and Finnick. 

Mags forced a laugh, “I just thought you might require my services —thank you,” she added as the Avox deposited their drinks down on the table. 

Camila looked scandalised at her manners, “You know, you’re not supposed to speak to the criminals,” she hissed at Mags, as if someone who’d been coming to the Capitol decades before Camila was even born wouldn’t be well-aware of this fact. Mags just didn’t care. Avoxes were as much victims as district people were. 

“I know,” Mags stirred the fruit in her gin and tonic but didn’t touch it. She could see Haymitch and Chaff glancing over at her. The TV screen in the bar was currently airing a discussion between Caesar and Claudius about this morning, when Gem murdered Five’s remaining tribute. There were only ten of them remaining now. 

Camila nattered about this year’s Games, gushing about Nixie and Finnick’s bond, and Mags wondered when she would get to the reason why she’d brought her here. However, she never found out. Because there was a sudden gasp of anticipation that rippled through the room, and Haymitch was by their table in an instant. 

“Mags,” he wheezed out, ignoring Camila’s scandalised look at his slovenly state. 

“What is it?” Mags was already standing up and, as she turned around, she caught a glimpse of the screen behind her. It was back to live footage now, and Nixie and Finnick were running like the wind through the jungle from what appeared to be the other Careers. They’d come for their revenge. 

Mags didn’t even say goodbye to Camila, and Chaff helped her move as quickly as her bones would allow to the Mentor’s Lounge. Her heart was pounding as fast as Finnick and Nixie’s probably were, and she just prayed that they’d be able to outrun or beat the others in a fight. Nixie might be able to. Finnick, she wasn’t too sure about. 

Still, this was one of the many reasons why being a mentor sucked, and why she didn’t have as much control as people like Lucy - who had never stepped foot in the Capitol or the arena - believed she did. Because, no matter how hastily Mags tried to move towards the lounge, there was nothing she could do in the height of battle. 

She’d be able to send bandages and medicine for any injuries, especially with District Four’s stuffed bank account. But she couldn’t jump in there, and protect her children with everything she had. It was horrible watching, feeling completely powerless, and being able to do nothing but yell at the screen. 

Mags knew that one of them was gone when she hurried, panting, into the room.

There was a deadly silence that had spread all the way through the Mentor’s Lounge. Not everyone was here at this stage in the Games due to their tributes dying but, out of those who remained, everyone was quiet, and turned to look at her as she arrived. 

“Which one?” she demanded, rushing over to Kai’s side. There was a bigger viewing screen that aired the main footage but Mags didn’t have the chance to look, nor was she sure she wanted to see Caesar fucking Flickerman’s reaction to a child dying. Especially not when it would probably be her lovely little Finnick, who’d burnt his tongue on hot chocolate, and had hugged her like he never wanted to let go.  

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight of Nixie Cresta lying with a spear through her stomach as Finnick carded hair out of her blank eyes. 

“Please wake up,” he was begging but anyone could see that Nixie’s chest no longer heaved, and her bloodied fingers had slackened around the weapon in her abdomen. The other Careers were nowhere to be seen - it must’ve been a long-distance hit, or else Mags knew that they would’ve finished Finnick off, too. 

Oh, Nixie. Lovely, brave, selfless Nixie. Out of her two tributes, Mags had been convinced that she stood the better chance. She would’ve been devastated to lose either of them, of course, but at least she’d been expecting it with Finnick. He was good in his own right but there was no denying that having Nixie as an ally had kept him alive until the final ten. Final nine, now. 

How was Finnick supposed to do it on his own? Was Mags going to lose both of them? You would’ve thought that she was used to this feeling by now but it genuinely never got easier. And she’d known that this year would hurt because she’d liked Nixie. Nixie had been kinder than this world allowed, and she’d been smart. 

But clearly, she hadn’t been fast enough. 

Mags found herself numbly rewinding the monitor’s tape to watch Nixie’s death in slow motion. She’d been right - it had been a long-distance hit from Marius, by the looks of things. Nixie had continued running, even with the spear in her stomach, and it had been that decision which had kept them far away from the other Careers.

Finnick had been ahead of her, so he hadn’t even seen the spear whack into Nixie’s body. She hadn’t even shouted in pain, the pure adrenaline clearly keeping her going. So, when Finnick had turned with a relieved grin to say, “I think we lost them,” that had been the first he’d seen of Nixie’s injury, and it hadn’t taken much longer after that for the sixteen year old to drop to her knees. 

Kai didn’t stop her from watching it, his hand in hers. He knew that she had to do this for herself; that she had to witness it with her own eyes in order to accept it, and take responsibility. He’d always said he wished Mags wouldn’t blame herself but the woman didn’t understand how she wasn’t supposed to. 

Mags switched back to the live footage, where Finnick was numbly closing Nixie’s eyes, and taking the spear ever-so-gently out of her body. He shakily stood to his feet, tear tracks on his cheeks, and Mags felt her heart break when she saw how defeated he looked. The last crumb of his innocence, and boyhood, had died with Nixie, and Finnick would probably never be the same again. 

“I’m sorry, Mags,” Lyme placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, probably feeling somewhat responsible as it had been her tribute’s spear that had ended Nixie’s life. But this was just how the game worked, wasn’t it? Mags knew that the intention was to turn districts against each other but she didn’t blame Lyme anymore than she blamed Marius. 

At the end of the day, you had to kill or be killed. 

The Hunger Games wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Even death wasn’t fair because it always stole those who were too young, and didn’t deserve it. Because how on earth was it fair that Mags was seventy, and yet Nixie Cresta hadn’t even got the chance to turn seventeen? 

That night, Finnick broke down. He’d journeyed on by himself, moving far away from where Nixie had been murdered. He had a slight limp from where he’d clearly twisted his ankle so Mags had the excuse to send him binding, alongside a note that read, “Keep going. I’m proud of you, and I’m sorry.” 

They showed some of Finnick’s crying on the main screen for a little while but soon moved onto the more exciting scene of Seven’s boy being chased by life-sized tarantulas. So, Mags kept vigil at her personal monitor, tears slipping down her own cheeks as Finnick choked on his own sobs. He pressed his knuckles into his mouth to muffle the sound, and bit down so hard that they started to bleed. He’d wrapped his ankle earlier with trembling hands, and slipped the note in the thick strap of his tank top so that it rested slightly over his heart.

He’s just a boy, Lucy Odair’s words came back to haunt her at this moment. 

Mags agreed, of course. She’d always agree. But she knew that whatever boy Finnick had been was lost to the world like Nixie was. He’d always be a boy, but he’d never be the same boy that he’d been prior to today. 

Chapter Text

When you’ve mentored for as many years as Mags has, you become familiar with the terms that the Capitolites like to use to describe the Games. 

There’s one that they call The Turn. It’s where, predictably enough, an arena takes a turn for the better—or worse, sometimes. More likely than not, it’s someone going mad, on a murder spree, or a popular tribute dying a surprising death. The 62nd Hunger Games’ Turn had been what had made Enobaria from Two famous - she’d torn out another tribute’s throat with her teeth, and had simultaneously horrified and fascinated viewers with such a dramatic event. 

The Turn for the 65th Games wasn’t as shocking as someone using their teeth as a weapon, but it was enough to get the sponsors abuzz with excitement. 

It started like this:

Mags was sitting at her monitor on the tenth day of the Games. Kai had just returned from sleeping, mainly because she refused to leave their station. Finnick had cried himself to sleep and, even then, it hadn’t been restful. He’d tossed and turned all night, woken up from a nightmare to cry some more, and then dozed off with twitches and half-asleep cries every now and then. 

He looked so young when he slept. Luckily, Four’s funds were still relatively full from all the sponsors they’d got prior to Nixie’s death. Otherwise, Mags might’ve been worried that Finnick would lose popularity for having the audacity to be upset over his district partner dying. As it was, she had enough money to send some hot chocolate to him in a parachute, for when he woke up. 

Finnick smiled for the first time since Nixie’s death when he unfurled Mags’ note which had read, “I’m just sorry it’s not salted caramel.” The sight had made the money worth it, even though Mags was pretty sure the flask of hot chocolate was cold by the time Finnick drank it. 

He stayed where he’d slept for the rest of the day, alert and on edge now that he didn’t have anyone to look out for him. Mags knew that they weren’t showing him on the main screen because he wasn’t doing anything so she was surprised when Beetee sauntered over to her. 

“An Avox handed me a note that says Ms Rojas requests your presence in the lobby?” Beetee murmured to her, sounding a little confused. 

Kai glanced up, “Rojas? That’s a sponsor. Why don’t they want me?”

Ah. Mags hadn’t had the time to tell him what with Nixie’s death, and Finnick’s breakdown. “She sent for me yesterday, too. She didn’t quite get to her point before the kids were chased, and I came back here,” she explained. 

“Right,” Kai nodded, brow furrowing. “Would you like me to go?” he offered. 

“No, I’d better see what she wants,” Mags dismissed him. “But thank you, sweetie.”

Mags sent one more glance back at the monitor as she rose to her feet with a click in her knees. Kai placed his hand over hers, “I’m not going anywhere, Mags. He’ll be fine. I’ll send for you if I need you, okay? Give you a reason to leave,” he chuckled slightly. 

With that reassurance ringing in her ears, Mags made her way down to the lobby of the Training Centre via the glass elevator. By the time she reached that level, she could see Camila in a fur coat waiting for her, her purple hair loose and around her shoulders today. 

“Ms Flanagan!” Camila beamed, and embraced her like they were the bestest of friends. When she pulled away, there was a look of sorrow on her face. “I was sorry to hear that Nixie got eliminated,” she said. 

Mags blinked to rid her mind from the memory of Nixie’s soft smile. She hated how Capitolites always danced around the fact that these kids were brutally murdered in the Games. It wasn’t just like Nixie had been tapped out, and sent home. The only way that Nixie Cresta would be going back to District Four now would be in a coffin. 

“Me too,” Mags said shortly. 

“Let’s walk,” Camila hooked her arm through Mags’. She clearly didn’t care that Mags’ knees were feeling all of their seventy years today. “There’s a really quaint cafe just around the corner. They do the best vanilla slices, trust me.”

Mags didn’t think she would trust Camila as far as she could throw her. Nevertheless, she humoured the woman, and hobbled all the way to this so-called quaint cafe which really was only a short walk away, so it could’ve been worse. Her back ached by the time she settled in one of the cafe’s plush armchairs, though. 

“So,” Camila leant forward, fingers interlaced, once they’d both ordered pastries and tea. Mags had purposefully not ordered a vanilla slice, just to slight Camila. The Capitolite irritated the fuck out of her but she was glad to see that Camila was clearly getting straight to her point today, after yesterday’s interruption. 

“My husband and I have been thinking,” she started. 

Dangerous, that, Mags thought to herself. “Oh really?” she said, feigning interest. 

“Yes,” Camila smiled demurely. “And we’ve agreed that we’ve both taken such a liking to young Finnick,” she told Mags, who only raised a brow in response. They weren’t the only ones. Liking Finnick didn’t make them special. Join the fucking queue. 

A server - another Avox, Mags was fairly sure - brought their tea and pastries over. Camila didn’t even look at them, but Mags made sure to thank them just because she remembered the woman’s disgust when she’d done the exact same yesterday. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” she answered evenly. “What’s not to like about Finnick?” Mags meant every word of her question, though she was sure that Camila probably liked the boy for completely different reasons to her. 

“Exactly our thoughts! He seems a little dispirited currently, after the whole Nixie debacle,” Camila pouted, and Mags nearly laughed humourlessly. A….little dispirited? Finnick hadn’t stopped crying for hours on end yesterday. Dispirited didn’t even cover the extent of the emotions that Mags was sure he must be feeling right now. 

“So, we thought of the perfect idea to cheer him up,” Camila preened. 

“And what would that be?” Mags took a sip of her tea. 

“Well, we didn’t want to spare any expense,” Camila flicked her hair slightly with the air of someone who had more money that they knew what to do with. “My husband saw that the most expensive gift on the itinerary is a golden trident. Seeing as the arena is tropical this year, we were very surprised that there were no tridents in the Cornucopia, weren’t you? We thought that—-”

Camila continued babbling, but Mags’ brain had stopped functioning after the word ‘trident.’ Weapons were sometimes gifted to tributes but it was rare, and usually happened nearer to the beginning. They were ten days in now. Finnick was well-armed with his knives and the spear he’d taken out of Nixie’s body. He didn’t need a trident. He needed a fucking hug. 

Still, Mags knew that Finnick would know how to wield one. If his previous expertise with spears hadn’t filled her with that confidence, she knew for a fact that he would’ve used one back at the academy. Tridents were very popular weapons in District Four, for obvious reasons. 

Mags thought about how defeated Finnick had seemed. Being delivered a trident this far into the Games would show him that he had people looking out for him; people that wanted him to come home. And a trident would definitely increase his chances at survival….

“So, what do you think?” Camila asked her brightly. “We’d just love for Finnick to come home so, if you’ll allow us, we’d like to get this trident for him.”

The only thing was, with expensive gifts like these, they nearly always required some form of repayment. All Mags could think about was Celeste’s arena, where she’d desperately accepted a sponsor’s offer of bread around this time of the Games, when bread was incredibly pricey. Celeste had been on the brink of starvation - her arena hadn’t had any edible plants or bugs, and she’d lost the bow that she’d been using to shoot birds. 

Mags hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. But, as the night of her Victory Party at the Presidential Palace had come to a close, she’d caught wind of the said sponsor taking Celeste to a private room in Snow’s mansion. These sponsors always wanted something in return; some sort of prize in exchange for their “generosity.”

But…

Finnick was fourteen. 

Surely they’d see that? Surely they’d know that, and not do anything to him? 

Then again, Mags knew that these were foolish hopes. This was a world where fourteen year olds were killed on national television. Why would a place like the Capitol care about Finnick’s age? They didn’t now, whilst they were trying to buy him a trident. And they wouldn’t care if he won. 

If he won. 

Because, with Camila’s offer, Finnick could actually stand a chance at winning. Mags could bring him home to District Four. She wouldn’t have to look Lucy Odair in the eyes, and see Violet’s disappointment reflected back. Finnick could survive. He’d be the youngest Victor ever, breaking the record that Porter Millicent Tripp had set at fifteen. He’d be able to drink endless mugs of hot chocolate, and give Mags as many hugs as he liked. She wouldn’t have to see his lifeless body, or his nailed-up coffin, like she would have to with Nixie’s. And, oh, speaking of Nixie - her protection wouldn’t have been for nothing. If she couldn’t win, then she would’ve wanted Finnick to. Mags was sure of it. 

“Mags?” Camila had clearly moved on from ‘Ms Flanagan’ now. 

Mags blinked, “Sorry, I was just thinking about it all.”

“What is there to think about?” Camila definitely was used to always getting her own way. She clutched at Mags’ hands excitedly, “This would be the most expensive gift ever given in the history of the Hunger Games! Do you know what that would mean?”

A hell lot of fucking payback, Mags thought bitterly. Celeste had known the ‘Rojas’ surname. Was she striking a deal with the devil here? 

“Bring him home. Please, Mags, bring him home.”

“It would certainly be record-breaking,” Mags smiled at Camila, ignoring the churn in her stomach as she took the woman’s hand in hers. “You have yourself a deal.”

Chapter Text

The second that Finnick took that golden trident into his hands, it was a fucking gamechanger. 

All of the other mentors - apart from Kai, who was obviously aware - gaped at Mags. She only bit her tongue, watching a newfound determination gleamed in Finnick’s eyes, not unlike the one that had shone on the night that he and Nixie had abandoned the other Careers. He shot straight up onto his feet, suddenly hungry for something that he’d probably thought was completely out of reach. 

Mags, as it turned out, had been right in thinking that Finnick would know how to use the trident. He threw aside the spear, clearly deeming it useless, and set off on his rampage. Over the next few hours, he weaved several nets out of some vines that he’d found in the jungle. Once they were securely tucked into his backpack, Finnick started to track the other eight tributes down. 

He found the girl from District Six by one of the many rivers. He threw the net from afar, and caught her in it straightaway from where she’d been sitting on the riverbank, sharpening her knives with a rock. She hadn’t even heard him sneaking up on her but the entire jungle probably heard her screams when Finnick loomed over her, and speared her with his trident. 

After the cannon boomed, Finnick let out a shaky breath. For a moment, Mags wondered whether he was going to shatter like he had after his first kill - his only kill thus far, until now. But he just knelt down. At first, Mags thought he was going to shut her eyes but Finnick just raided her backpack for food. One down, seven to go. 

He munched on a protein bar as he trekked through the rest of the jungle. He brushed his palms free of crumbs, trident tucked into his belt, and used more vines and scraps of rope from his backpack to form some elaborate trap. Finnick climbed the nearest tree, his net attached to all of the ropes he’d snaked through the ground, and waited. 

Night fell, and Six’s girl was shown in the sky. Finnick just turned his head away from her glaring face. He didn’t sleep that night, still lying in wait like a predator about to strike. Mags was tempted to send him some sleep syrup but, if he was asleep and missed a tribute, then they could easily attack him. 

The eleventh day dawned, and Finnick’s all-nighter paid off. Because, just as the artificial sun was coming up in the arena, Marius stumbled into the clearing that Finnick was overseeing. He’d been separated from his alliance somehow, not that Mags cared about how. 

A hard look of vengeance crossed over Finnick’s face, and he seemed to fight the temptation of just dropping the net on Marius straightaway. He had to see whether his booby trap would work, first. And it did. Marius tripped over one of the ropes hidden underneath tree roots, and such a trigger brought the net tumbling out of Finnick’s hand, pinning him to the ground instantly. 

Marius lashed around like a live fish caught in a net, gasping for breath. But Finnick only jumped down, an unreadable expression on his face. Marius gasped, “You!” when he saw him, scrambling for his spear but the net kept his wrists tied down. 

“Yeah, me,” Finnick said mockingly. His voice was so cold. Mags shivered. 

Marius cried out for mercy, but Finnick didn’t listen. He plunged his trident into the boy’s body over and over again, even after the cannon had boomed. By the time he was finished, Finnick’s face was coated in blood. He blew out a breath, “That’s for Nixie, you son of a bitch,” he spat before storming away. 

For the rest of the day, Finnick sat by the river where he’d fished with Nixie the last time that Mags had seen them together, alive, onscreen. He washed his hands and face, seemingly not phased. But Mags noticed the tremble in his fingers, and the haunted look in his eyes. Two down, six to go. 

On the twelfth day of the arena, Finnick probably accomplished some sort of record for amount of solo kills within a few days. He ate a breakfast fit for a king that Mags sent him in the morning because Kai had been collecting money like rainwater in a District Four spring. Then, he marched towards the Cornucopia which was miraculously deserted. 

Precious and Gem from One had been camping out there but, after seeing Marius’ face in the sky yesterday, they’d set off on a hunt for whoever had killed him. Finnick snatched up another length of rope, and scurried off to the surrounding bushes to make a new trap. He threaded the rope through the wades of long grass by the Cornucopia, setting up more triggers, and waited in the bushes. 

He’d tied the net, this time, to the length of rope that he’d wrapped around the base of a tree. Mags wasn’t quite sure how it worked but Finnick seemed confident. And, when Precious and Gem came bumbling back into the area, she saw its end result. Precious tripped up on it and, as she stumbled, the net flung through the air like a sailing arrow. It caught her instantly, and Finnick took Gem’s distraction as an opportunity to run, low and fast, towards her. 

Gem saw him a second too late. Finnick threw his trident, and the District One boy barely had a chance to shout or retaliate before it thudded into his chest. He dropped to the ground, still, and Finnick waited for the cannon before taking the trident out of Gem’s body. He wiped the trident on the long grass, and approached Precious with a sweet smile that didn’t match the ice in his eyes. 

“You’re lucky I’m not sadistic enough to drag this out,” Finnick told her as she squirmed in the net that had only further tangled around her the more that she struggled. Precious didn’t have to writhe for much longer, though, because Finnick brought his trident down quickly and efficiently. True to his word, he didn’t drag it out, and he didn’t keep going after the cannon like he had with Marius. 

Four down, four to go. 

How fitting for a boy from District Four. 

Chapter Text

The girl from Seven died at noon of the thirteenth day. It was one of Finnick’s nets, lying in wait, that fell on top of her. But he’d left the trap behind and he was on the other side of the arena, peacefully fishing, when the cannon went for her. The boy from Ten was the one who took on the final blow, having stumbled across her. 

You would’ve thought that seeing another tribute in a net would’ve made him more cautious about other possible traps. But, during the evening of the same day, Finnick was half-asleep in a tree when he heard the crunch of bracken underfoot. Mags watched as his eyes shot open, and he pulled out one of his nets. He hadn’t set up any traps - he had legitimately just been trying to get some well-needed rest. 

Ten’s male tribute quite literally walked straight into his death. 

Finnick dropped the net, jumping down not soon after. The sky was darkening, though it wasn’t bringing nighttime but fresh water, as it did twice a day. Finnick’s container still had plenty of water in it so he didn’t even bother himself with filling it up. The blood of Ten’s boy trickled a crimson river around his boots, and Finnick let the rain wash his trident clean. 

Mags exchanged a look with Kai, hope blossoming in her chest. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel hope during these past few days, where Finnick had been ruthlessly obliterating the rest of the competition. The Capitol were loving it, obviously, calling him a dark horse and saying this was the best Turn in years; that Finnick was going to be the youngest Victor yet. 

But Mags hadn’t let herself hope. Whenever she did that, something always went wrong. This time, however, she had a good feeling. 

Finnick knew that it was down to the last two. Mags could see it in the bouncing of his knee as he tried to eat a banana on the fourteenth day. It had been two weeks since he’d entered the arena, and Mags could see how much it had changed him; how much all the lives he’d taken had to be weighing down on his shoulders. 

The Capitolites were saying he’d acquired a taste for blood. Mags knew differently, though. As did all of the other Victors, most of which dribbled into the Mentor’s Lounge on the last day to watch the finale. All of them could see that the glint in Finnick’s eye wasn’t a hunger to kill, or even to win, but a hunger to survive. 

“Attention, tributes,” came Claudius Templesmith’s voice in the morning. At least, it was morning outside of the arena. Inside, they’d darkened the sky for dramatic effect. Haymitch joked that they were going to make it start raining again because, apparently, images of Finnick’s soaked white shirt after he killed Ten’s boy, leaving little to the imagination, had been plastered over Capitol magazines. 

“Please make your way towards the Cornucopia for the Finale. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

The other tribute was a girl called Hazel from Eight, who’d dug a hole for the first week of the arena and hidden down there. Eventually, around the time of Nixie’s death, the Gamemakers had chased her out with life-sized tarantulas which had killed Seven’s boy. Apparently to her mentor, Cecelia, Hazel had run towards the Cornucopia, secured herself with some supplies, and then hid for yet another week. 

If she won, she wasn’t going to be a very popular Victor. 

If she won. 

Mags didn’t think she’d be able to bear it. Not now that she’d got her hopes up; not now that Finnick was so close to the end that he’d probably be able to taste the salt air of District Four. What if there was another Turn? What if Hazel was secretly amazing at hand-to-hand combat? 

The Finale was supposed to be entertaining. Finnick knew that and he weaved a net between his hands as he walked. “What a multitasker,” Cashmere commented. 

“Well, he is from Four,” Sky, at Kai’s shoulder, said proudly. 

Cecelia, over at Eight’s monitor, was sitting forward in suspense much like Mags and Kai were. She had to know, though, that Hazel didn’t stand a chance. Not against Finnick’s tridents, and traps. He may not have been the intended Career volunteer but he was still a Career, through and through. 

And Mags could barely believe that he might actually be coming home; that there was a high chance she wouldn’t have broken a second promise to Lucy. 

The main screen split into two, following both Finnick and Hazel on either side of the arena, so there was no point in Mags watching the monitor anymore. Tense music built up and, as Finnick stepped towards the Cornucopia, rain began to fall down from the heavens. Haymitch and Chaff started chuckling at the back of the room, clinking their bottles together. 

“Told ya,” Haymitch gloated to the room at large but Seeder shushed him. 

At the same time that Finnick got soaked to the bone, Hazel’s own journey to the Cornucopia had sped up by the arrival of several toucans. They chased her, squawking loudly, and Hazel slipped on the long, wet grass as she stumbled into the clearing surrounding the Cornucopia. 

Finnick stared at her for a long moment. Hazel was seventeen but she didn’t have half the strength, or skills, that he did. He let her stagger to her feet, clothes soaked, as toucans circled around overhead. The second that Hazel drew the sword she’d acquired from her one trip to the Cornucopia, though, Finnick jumped into action. 

Hazel ducked from his incoming trident, and it landed in the grass behind her. Finnick ran for it, rain still pouring down at a rapid speed now. The toucans disappeared into the air, clearly not required anymore, and Hazel took Finnick’s distraction as an opportunity to lunge at him. 

She was clumsy and inexperienced with a sword, made evident by the way she held it, and so Hazel decided to knock Finnick to the ground instead. She had a few inches on him, and she used her height and weight to an advantage, flattening him into the grass like how he’d trapped so many tributes. Mags felt the breath catch in her chest as Hazel’s hands closed around Finnick’s throat. 

He brought his knee up swiftly, though, and swiped at her shin with his foot. The kick drew a yelp out of Hazel and Finnick flipped them over, the rain aiding him in slipping away from her. He grabbed his trident and turned back towards her but Hazel was nothing if not determined. 

“Wow, she’s really shit with that,” Enobaria sniggered, as Hazel nearly dropped her sword whilst gearing up for hand-to-hand combat with Finnick. 

“There’s no way she’s gonna win against Mr Career Boy,” Chaff said. 

Mags clutched Kai’s hand so tightly that she probably was hurting him but he didn’t complain. They all watched as Finnick threw one of the nets he’d kept slung over his shoulder but, due to the high velocity of wind that they’d added in amongst the downpour, the net only flew right back at him, hitting him in the face before being whipped away into the air. 

Brutus snorted. When Sky glared at him, he held his hands up in surrender, “Sorry. S’funny, though, you gotta admit it.” 

Hazel seemed to share his amusement, through the screen. “That’s called karma,” she taunted, her voice hardly audible over the wind. Mags couldn’t help but notice that the Gamemakers instantly, but discreetly, toned the violence of the gusts down a little in favour of some fight talk. 

“Oh, did you not like my little traps?” Finnick dove for her with his trident but Hazel side-stepped it, swinging forward with a sword that she really didn’t know how to use. 

“This is hurting me,” Kai mumbled to Mags, in an evident bid to make her laugh. He’d been well known for his skill in sword-fighting - it had been how he’d won his own Games, in a famous duel that had dragged on for ages. 

“Funnily enough, no, fisherboy,” Hazel slashed the sword through the air, but Finnick lazily blocked her hit with a whack of his trident. The two metal weapons clashing made a loud, clanging noise, and Mags was surprised the weight of Finnick’s trident didn’t knock Hazel’s sword right out of her hand. 

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” Finnick’s trident caught Hazel’s arm as she spun away from a direct hit. It began to ooze blood, the rain causing it to pour in little rivulets down Hazel’s white top. 

“I’m sure I could come up with better, but I frankly can’t be bothered,” Hazel was clearly trying to act as nonchalant and confident as Finnick but there was no denying that, despite being older, she was the weaker one here. 

“Well, if you can’t be arsed, then I guess I can’t, either,” Finnick shrugged. 

“What?” Hazel was thrown, her clumsy sword movements halting for a brief second. And it was in that brief second that Finnick lunged forward, thrusting his trident right through her stomach. Everyone in the Mentor’s Lounge held their breath as Hazel’s bloodied sword fell to the ground alongside her, waiting for Finnick to finish her off. 

But Hazel’s sword was bloodied for a reason, and that reason became pretty clear when Finnick collapsed to his knees, too. Mags gasped as she saw him clutch at his side, where Hazel had swung out with her sword before falling. His face contorted in pain as he tried, in panic, to stem the bleeding. 

“No fucking way,” Gloss hissed, on the edge of his seat. 

Hazel was doing the same from where Finnick’s trident was lodged in her stomach. She wasn’t stupid enough to take the trident out, clearly knowing that such an act would kill her off even quicker. “She has about ten seconds before that wound kills her, surely,” Celeste said from behind Mags. 

Mags couldn’t breathe. She didn’t think she’d ever been so tense during a Finale, not even when Jade had been smacked in the face with a hot, iron fire poker in the Hell-themed arena. 

“No, it’s an abdomen wound,” Kai said, stressed. He was clutching Mags’ hand just as tightly now. “You can live up to twenty-four hours with an abdomen wound.”

“Unless the weapon is yanked out,” Beetee reminded them, from nearby. 

Hazel walked slowly towards Finnick. The trident inside of her was clearly causing pain, her fingers slackening on the handle of her sword. He looked up at her, a mixture of rain and tears pouring down his face, and tried to struggle up onto his feet. 

“Finnick, yank the weapon out, goddamnit!” Cashmere whispered furiously, evidently biassed. 

“He’s bleeding too much,” Mags was panicking now. This couldn’t be happening. Not when he’d been so close. Not when she’d got her hopes up. Not when she’d promised Lucy she’d try her best, and she had, and she’d been so fucking close. 

Time seemed to slow in the second that Hazel raised the sword, clearly about to try and slice Finnick’s head off or something (“Good luck doing that, sweetheart,” Haymitch grumbled). Finnick’s eyes were on his trident lodged in Hazel’s stomach and, in the same split-second that Hazel swiped the sword through the air at Finnick’s neck level, his blood-soaked hands pulled the trident right out of her. 

Cecelia buried her face in her hands as Hazel screamed in agony, and toppled face-forward into the almost flooded grass. Finnick clearly wasn’t taking any chances, though, and Mags watched with bated breath as the trident nearly slipped in his bloodied and wet fingers. His stomach wound was openly weeping, and his face was pale with pain and determination. 

Finnick brought the trident down, piercing Hazel in the back. He pulled it out, and brought it back down again. And again. And again. And again. Until the cannon sounded, and Hazel’s blood was mixed in with the puddles from the rainfall. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” came Claudius Templesmith’s voice. “May I present to you the 65th, and youngest ever, Victor of the Hunger Games - Finnick Odair!” 

Mags exhaled the breath that she’d been holding, as the applause and cheers from the studio audience rang in, and the rain instantly stopped. She watched, tears running down her cheeks, as Finnick dropped to his knees. He was still bleeding profusely, but not enough that he’d die before the hovercraft picked him up. They’d never allow that, would they?

He was laughing. Hands over his face, and laughing. 

Finnick had just won the Hunger Games. He was coming home. Mags hadn’t broken her promise. He was the youngest ever Victor. He’d won. He’d survived, more like. 

And he couldn’t stop laughing like a madman. Mags knew it was a laugh of relief, but also one of grief, and horror at what he’d done to get there. It was a laugh of joy, sure, but also one of delirious pain. 

Soon, Finnick was laughing so much that he was crying, bloodied hands still covering his face, and Mags cried along with him. 

Chapter Text

Finnick looked so innocent, and young, as he slept. 

You wouldn’t have thought that the boy sleeping fitfully for the first time in a fortnight - thanks to drugs in his system, mind - with freshly-washed golden curls in his face had murdered seven people. 

His hands bore no visible bloodstains, but Mags knew all too well that the ghosts of his victims would haunt him forever. The Capitol had erased all scarring from his body, and his side had been all stitched up with the blood he’d lost being pumped right back into his system. But, contrary to what Capitolites believed, healing wasn’t just physical. 

Mags was worried, to say the least. Finnick was only fourteen. He was a baby. The Capitol may have been revelling over the record he’d broken, but all Mags could think about was the toll that this was going to take on his mental health. She’d brought five of her children out of the arena, and she knew how hard it was to see them suffer. 

On top of that, he was Finnick Odair. 

He’d crept into Mags’ heart, and she’d cradled his well being in her palms for two whole weeks. She’d promised his mother a lifetime ago that she’d try her best to bring him home, and she’d done just that. But now she wondered whether she’d done Finnick a favour, or a discredit, by helping him survive; by allowing that trident as a sponsor gift. 

Anyone who was a Victor knew that the true winners of the Hunger Games were the ones that were killed, not the ones who walked out. 

Because the Capitol ate people alive. And Mags had known, at the very start of all of this, that Finnick’s people-pleaser persona could be dangerous but she hadn’t let herself worry about it due to not believing he’d become a Victor. Now, she let herself worry. Oh, how she was so fucking worried. 

He was just a boy. Lying here like that, all Mags could see was a child who probably thought he’d seen the worst of the world. Finnick was probably under the naive impression that the arena was the hardest part of all of this; the toughest thing he’d go through in his life. Which was partly true, yes. No matter how bad the Capitol was, it wasn’t as mentally taxing as being forced to kill your peers. 

But it wasn’t easy, either. And Finnick was popular. He was popular in the way that Cashmere and Gloss were, except it was worse (and more) because he was younger; because he was alone. There were a million Camilas out there, just waiting to get their hands on their shiny, new toy, and all Mags could think about was that he was a kid. 

When you walked out of that arena, though, people stopped seeing a child. 

They saw a Victor. And they expected you to act as such, to step into the mould you had to fill, and to do exactly as they pleased because you owed them somehow. 

“You’re the lucky one,” they would say, whilst putting their hands all over you because they felt like they’d earned a right to your body through a donation during the Games that you’d won. 

“You wouldn’t be here without me,” they’d beam, without realising that you actually wished you weren’t; that you’d been slain back in that arena. 

“You’ve changed,” they would frown, tears in their eyes, not knowing that you’d only changed so that you could make it back home; that you were still the same girl underneath. 

Mags knew the drill. She knew how it all went down because she’d been through it herself, and watched generations of Victors go through it, too. Did that make her selfish, for bringing Finnick out? She’d brought him home out of an obligation to her first and only love, and the family she’d let down, but would it have been better if she’d just let him die?

Finnick’s eyes flickered open, so sure, so green, and Mags instantly hated herself for thinking that he’d be better off in a coffin. How could she think that, when the eyes he’d inherited from Violet were filled with tears at the sight of her? How could she truly believe that, when he was just a boy, and he’d proven everyone who’d ever doubted him wrong? Including herself. 

“Hello, my darling,” Mags felt herself choking up, reaching forward to place her hand atop Finnick’s duvet. When her first boy, Jonah, had come out of the arena, she’d made the mistake of grabbing his hand straightaway. He’d flinched so hard that her heart had bruised along with the knuckles he’d whacked in his haste to get her away from him. 

But everyone reacted differently when they came out. Celeste hadn’t wanted Mags to let her go, whereas Kai couldn’t bear to be touched for at least a week. Jade had clung onto Mags but shied away from Jonah because he was a man, and a boy had nearly killed her. Sky had stared at Mags’ offered hand, and turned his head, but Finnick snatched it up like it was a lifeline. 

“You’re real,” he breathed out, sitting up in bed. His eyes darted around, clearly still in fight-or-flight mode. “This is real? It’s not just happening inside my head?”

“It’s real, my boy,” Mags reassured him gently, brought to tears when she felt how warm Finnick’s hand was in hers, squeezing tightly like he thought that, if he let go, she’d disappear. “I’m real. You’re real. This is all real. You did it. You survived.”

In a few days, Caesar Flickerman would say, “You won, Finnick,” but Mags didn’t see an emergence of a Victor as a win. Because how could it be a celebration, when your crown was made up of twenty three deaths? How could people congratulate you, and shake the hand that was stained with blood?

Finnick clearly thought the same way because he ran his fingers over Mags’ veiny knuckles and whispered, “I survived, I survived, I survived,” to himself. “I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive,” was the next one, over and over again, and Mags just let him mumble on and on. Because she knew that the acceptance of your survival in the face of so many deaths was a truly hard pill to swallow. 

Mags just held onto him. That was all Finnick seemed to want her to do, as he muttered, “I did it, I did it, I did it,” to himself. She wanted to say that she was proud of him because she knew how much he craved approval but, then again, she knew that there was no way Finnick was proud of what he’d done to get here. 

No Victor ever was, no matter how much it seemed as if they were. Every single one of them was haunted by their actions, and the kids who didn’t make it. That was the one thing they could all agree on, at the very least. 

Mags wondered what Lucy was thinking right now. Would she be like her grandmother at first, so unnerved by what it took for one to walk out a Victor? Would she be bothered by the crowds that Finnick would have to pander to, like Violet had been? Would she be focused on the relief that her youngest son was home, or the relief that neither her or Jasper would ever have to work a day in their lives again? 

“Bring him home,” she’d begged. 

And Mags had. For Lucy, yes, but also for Violet. For Finnick himself, of course, but also for Nixie. For herself, sure, but also for the one hundred and three kids that she’d brought home in coffins. 

Now, her five Victors were up to six. Finnick was like the son she might’ve known, if God had granted her a son, in the same way that Celeste and Jade were her daughters and Jonah, Kai, and Sky were sons in everything but blood. Because they’d all seen enough blood for a lifetime, but they hadn’t felt enough love. 

“Mags?”

“Yes, my boy?” she responded immediately. 

“When we go back home, will you stay with me?” 

Mags thought about how Lucy Odair had shoved her youngest son into the training system for money; about how Finnick had been surprised to hear that she cared about him; about how his eyes shone suspiciously brightly when she called him “my boy” as if he’d never been anyone’s boy before; as if he’d never felt that loved before. 

Yeah, he’d fit right in with Four’s band of misfits; with her jumbled, messed-up little family of survivors. 

The Capitol was going to eat Finnick Odair alive, no matter how young he was. But Mags would be damned if she ever made him feel like he wasn’t loved, or cared for; if he ever felt the way that she had for seventeen years after her arena. Because, if there was one thing about Victors (especially the ones she’d raised), it was that they understood each other on a level that no one else could, and that they fucking looked after one another when the time came. 

Because the Capitol would look at Finnick and see gleaming Victor, and a pretty boy. But all Mags would see - and all she would ever see - was a scared little kid who needed her to hide him from the world; who scorched his tongue on hot chocolate; who clung onto her hand like a lifeline. 

A survivor, not a Victor, who was just a boy. Her boy. Always her boy. 

“Of course, I will, my darling. I’ll never leave you. I’ll stay with you until the day I die,” Mags promised. 

And, this time, gazing into an Odair’s sure green eyes, it was a promise she’d keep.