It's been four months since I returned from the 70th Hunger Games.

         And admittedly, I've been doing better.

        Healing isn't linear, and I wouldn't go so far to say that I've healed from the trauma. The nightmares are still a regular occurrence, and realistically I have more bad days than good. But when the days are good, they're really good. And I'm determined to not miss out on those few hours of peace. 

         "Finnick!"

         I brandish an arm over my forehead to shield my eyes from the sun, skin heating up as I head up the stone pathway to his front door. I find a balance between the two baskets I'm carrying, one weighing down my elbow and the other swinging in my left hand. "Finnick!" I yell again, louder, and only a few more seconds pass before the door finally opens. The older boy stumbles barefoot onto his porch, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes against the sun.

       "What?" he asks, panic tinged in his voice, but then he takes in my appearance and the lack of injuries and his shoulders sag with relief. "You know you could've just knocked like a normal person, right?"

        I smile cheekily then, lowering my arm. I set both baskets down on the cobblestone path, each filled with homemade pastries and baked goods. "We're hardly normal." I point out to him, straightening up and wringing my wrists.

        Finnick rolls his eyes, but the amusement is there as he takes a few steps closer. "You're right— you're just borderline psychotic." He says this with a smile, his eyes clear underneath the bright sun. The jab is entirely meaningless and representative of our easy banter, so it's not a surprise to him when I pay it no mind.

        "Come into town with me," I say at a whine, and he stares at me like I've grown a second head. I can't be sure whether the wonder stems from my tone of voice or the request in general. "Please? I'm going to visit the orphanage near Salacia Square."

         Finnick raises his eyebrows then, gaze landing on the handwoven baskets sitting on the ground. "To give them food?"

         I smile sheepishly. "Yeah. And play with some of the kids. They're so cute, Finn, I promise. I go every Thursday now— it's something to do."

         I know what runs through his mind at that second, or I can at least imagine it. Our past conversation about searching for a purpose when there was nothing else to work towards; avoiding the path of self-medicating to get through the pain. "Better than booze and morphling, yeah?" He says after a moment, and I nod my head immediately.

        "Oh, yeah. Way better. Please come with?" I say again, and he only hesitates for a second longer before he nods.

         "Let me get dressed," he says, turning back and disappearing into his house. I smile triumphantly as I sit down on the grass, basking in the sun's pleasant rays as I wait. Finnick doesn't take too long, getting changed fairly quickly before reappearing and locking up. Without saying a word, he lifts both baskets up by their handles and beckons me along with him. I fall into step with his easy strides quickly.

        The walk into town with Finnick is characterized by laughter, something that I find myself appreciating greatly. I haven't laughed in a long time. I wouldn't admit it, but his presence is an escape from my mostly muddled thoughts. He teases me along the way about my white summer dress, something out of character for me I suppose, but after a moment he concedes and tells me that I look pretty. I smile the entire walk into town.

       Before we reach the street Springwood Orphanage is located on, I sharply make a left down a paved road that has Finnick stopping in confusion. "You're going the wrong way," he says smartly. I turn my head only slightly to address him as I continue walking.

       "Detour. Roll with it, would you?" I say, and he rolls his eyes but follows after me anyways. Two girls walking up the street in our direction try to be discreet as they point at Finnick, whispering rapidly behind their hands. They smile sheepishly, the one on the left brushing her long blonde hair behind her back as she tries to make eye contact. He flashes them both a rehearsed grin, head turning idly to follow as they pass. I roll my eyes at him in amusement. "District 4's pride and joy," I comment. Finnick makes a face, earning a laugh from me.

        "It's definitely humbling," Finnick deadpans, and I hide my smile in my hands. "Everywhere I turn people are trying to get me to say hi to their teenage daughters or whatever. One time I took Mags out for lunch and the owner offered to cover the tab if I would talk to his granddaughter for three minutes." Finnick beams when I burst out in laughter, unable to contain it for long.

         "Three minutes exactly? Did you talk to her?" I ask quickly, and Finnick smiles in that overconfident way that strangely makes me feel weak.

         "I paid the tab still and talked to her, yes." Finnick reveals. "She told me she had posters of me all over her bedroom walls and gave me her number and address, but I might have ended up losing the pants I put it in." Finnick grins over at me, trying to gauge my reaction. It's a cross between bewilderment and delight.

        "That's horrible," I say.

        "The posters or never talking to her again?" Finnick asks curiously. "Or losing the pants? They were nice pants," Finnick says cheekily.

         "The first two," I answer sharply, earning a breathy chuckle from him. "She was your biggest fan until then, I bet."

         Finnick shakes his head, readjusting his grip on the baskets. "Surprisingly, no." He doesn't let me ask about other fan encounters, quickly changing the subject before I can open my mouth. "Anyways... Mind telling me where we're going?"

         "If I tell you, you might back out." I respond cryptically, causing Finnick to scoff loudly.

         "That answer in itself is making me want to back out," he retorts, and I find a dizzy smile tugging at my lips, the kind only Finnick can pull out of me.

         "Your curiosity would never let you," I point out, and he grins, nodding his head in agreement.

         We walk in a companionable silence, appreciating the warm weather and the happy energy that dances in the air. While District 4 is mostly wealthy— at least, wealthier than most of the other districts— there's always been a sort of rush; the flurrying around to work, wondering if we'd meet the Capitol quota for exports in time, and questions of how much would be left over to pass around. Though nobody really goes hungry here, not in the way those in the upper districts do, the gifts and prizes the Capitol showers over the winning district is always greatly appreciated. I can tell that people are at ease and happier now, just in the way they stroll leisurely. I'd returned home and brought with me all of the glory they'd missed for five years.

        We turn into a small neighbourhood, rows of cute eggshell-white homes differing in the personal ornaments (or lack thereof) decorating the front yards. My eyes scale the numbers as we walk along the street, and Finnick keeps silent as if he must suddenly understand our purpose here. When a golden plaque detailing 451 catches my eye, I touch his arm and bring him to a halt. "This is it."

         "Is this his house?" Finnick asks, quiet. We don't have to say his name. I nod my head.

         "His mom isn't well," I explain, looking up to meet his eyes. "Mr. Grayson said she suffers from delusions, and losing Xander has been really hard on them. They don't have time to cook, really... they're still in mourning, you know? I try to bring something over whenever I can." Finnick watches me with an emotion I can't quite place flickering across his face, his lips twitching with words he doesn't formulate. After a moment, he finally nods his head firmly.

         "It's nice of you," he says, but I can tell that he wants to say more. I don't need him to.

         Xander's mother is happy to see me again, but she points at Finnick and tells her husband that the man from inside the TV must have escaped again. Mr. Grayson smiles gratefully as Finnick passes him one of the prepared baskets, setting it down on the dining table. The two engage in pleasant conversation on the other side of the room while I sit with Mrs. Grayson.

        "You look beautiful today," her pale hand strays from her lap to rest against my cheek. I smile softly.

         "Thank you," I say quietly. "So do you." Mrs. Grayson's frail hand starts to tremble, so I reach up to clasp my own fingers over her aged ones. "How are you feeling?"

         "A bit tired," she answers me. "I'm waiting for Xander to come home from the docks before I nap. You should stay for dinner when he returns." Her smile is so gentle, so hopeful. It sends a pang of guilt straight through my chest, and my head feels heavy with the weight of it. I try not to think about what life would be like if things were different— if Xander really was coming back from work soon; if we were staying for dinner. I nod, smiling for her. Mr. Grayson said I shouldn't entertain her delusions, but I don't have the heart to remind her of Xander's fate. Some days are better than others for her, but I guess today she just couldn't handle reality.

          "I would love to stay for longer, but Finnick and I are going to Springwood." I say gently, letting my words fall from my tongue easily. "You should rest up, alright?"

         Mrs. Grayson nods slowly, accepting my suggestion. "I suppose you're right."

         "You'll keep an eye on Mr. Grayson, yes?" I tell her, knowing that it's the other way around, but still relishing in the spark that shines in her eyes at the suggestion. "They're so helpless without us, aren't they?"

         Mrs. Grayson laughs, a melody that reaches my ears and curves my lips upward. "You especially have to keep your eye on that one," she says, talking about Finnick. "He's too pretty— others will try to snatch him up when you're not looking." I turn to follow her gaze, watching Finnick as he laughs lightly at something Mr. Grayson tells him. I must have stared for a moment too long, because his head turns and he's meeting my eyes for a brief second. He smiles at me, and it's enough to kickstart my heart.

         "I'll do my best," I promise, turning back to Mrs. Grayson. "Rest well,"

        "Thank you for visiting, dear." She says wistfully.

         Finnick and I are quiet as we head down the sidewalk, only one basket swinging between us now. He seems mentally preoccupied, so I don't try to spark up a conversation until we're well out of the neighbourhood and heading back into more populated territory. "I'm sorry," I finally say, and his head snaps up to look at me.

        "Why?" He asks.

        "It was really depressing and you didn't sign up for it." I respond, looking down at my feet as we walk. Finnick blows out a long sigh.

         "If I didn't want to go in, I wouldn't have followed you." Finnick tells me, and the guilt that had been ebbing inside me begins to subside. "I don't normally visit the families of tributes— I guess that's me trying to pretend it never happened... that I didn't fail them. It's nice that you're looking out for his parents."

         "It's the least I can do," I say truthfully. "And I keep my promises."

          Finnick and I continue our walk, this time heading in the right direction of the local orphanage. It only has enough room to house around fifty children at one time, albeit with some cramping. The age ranges from little toddlers to much bigger eleven-year-olds, but all of the toys here seem to be made for the youngest— the older kids play pretend out back or fight over turns on the single swing set and yellow slide. The headmaster, a greying woman in her early forties named Marina, is pleased to see us. She manages to mask her shock when she recognizes Finnick beside me.

         "Are there cupcakes in here, too?" Madame Marina asks as she takes the handwoven basket from Finnick. "The older kids ate it all up last time." Her brown eyes are bright with happiness as she lifts the lid and inspects the contents, finding what she desired fairly quickly.

          "Yeah, we also added some loaves of bread as well," I say easily, clasping my hands together in front of me nervously. "I hope it's enough— I can always bring more in the morning if you need--"

          Marina waves her hand, turning around to set the basket on the table. Another staff member— her name escapes me— picks it up and carries it away, most likely to the kitchen. "You've done more than you realize, Reverie. I don't know how to thank you."

          "Seeing the kids smile is enough," I say truthfully. "How is everyone?" I ask.

         "They're doing okay," Marina says, but there's an uneasiness in her eyes that I recognize immediately. When I press her for the truth, she quickly relents. "We've been keeping up with payments, but the rent keeps rising on the property. It's because of how close it is to Salacia Square, I think. Between affording food, clothes, and bedding for these kids, it's getting a bit tight around here."

         My heart aches for them, and I feel so stupid for not having offered her some money earlier. My mouth parts and I'm ready to make an offer I'm unsure I can afford yet, being a new Victor and all, but Finnick's voice comes first. "I can help. While we're talking, this place could probably use a full renovation anyways. New toys, furniture..." Finnick is looking around, surveying the place with a glint in his eyes that I immediately recognize as excitement.

         "Mr. Odair," Marina exhales, and he turns to look at her with a smile.

         "Finnick," he holds his hand out for her to shake. "You got a financial office somewhere around here? I can sign the papers now and have some contractors down here by tomorrow." He's on a roll now, the gears turning as he pictures all the changes that need to be made. Marina exchanges a look with me, and I'm just as shocked as she is. He could really do that?

        "My office is right down the hall," says Marina, still in a daze. Finnick looks over at me, raising an eyebrow.

         "You'll survive a minute without me, darlin'?" He asks, clearly amused, and I smack his arm lightly.

        "I will," I reply. "I'll be with the kids."

        Finnick and Marina start down the hall to her office then, talking animatedly about their plans to fix this place up for the better, and I have to shake my head a few times before I'm fully functioning again. Finnick was really going to help this place thrive— maybe then, more kids could be looked after as well. I head for one of the larger playrooms that I frequent, brain still running a mile a minute.

        "Revvie!" I hear a squeal, and then a little girl is attaching herself to my leg and squeezing tightly. I look down, the familiar mop of black hair covering her pretty face from my view. Her name is Vienna, and she'll be turning five in three months. A number of other children, around five years old in age, stumble over from where they were sitting in a large circle to attack me with hugs. I shoot an apology over the screams to the two older woman that sit in the room, having been trying to teach them to read.

         "What's up you guys?" I say, crouching down and trying to wrap myself around every child that ambushes me with kisses and hugs. "There's plenty of love to go around, please," I laugh, and they all talk at once in voices so loud that it's impossible to decipher any clear speech from it all. Still, I nod and voice words of agreement, not wanting any of them to feel unheard.

         After some time, I manage to coax them all back into the room at the pleasure of the staff. I know one of them is named Tabytha, but the other's name doesn't come so quickly. She's new. Tabytha shows me the book that she's trying to read to them, one copy for every three kids, and I take over for her as the kids settle back into their spots.

         Vienna sits down next to me, wrapping her brown arms around my right. "I wish I had a pretty dress, too." She says sadly, and I instinctively tickle her in the spot beneath her chin in an attempt to get rid of the frown on her face. It works.

         "Your dress is pretty," I insist. And then, I lean in, as if to tell her a big secret. "You can get one for your birthday, too, if you'd like." Her eyes light up in a way that calms my heart as the sea does, and she grins as she holds the secret close in her possession. I pick up the book, and address the other kids who are still chattering noisily to each other. "Who can sing their ABCs?" I ask, and about every kid throws their hands up in the air proudly. "But who can sing it backwards?" I say mischievously. Some hands fall, and laughter fills the room as the kids consider such a silly request. I ask them to sing it for me that way anyways, and the room erupts in a slightly out of tune rendition of the song in reverse. They laugh and smile, distracted as I flip through the book and decide how to go about teaching them. It brings true joy to my heart.

         We spend time on the book, and after every line I recite, I have another small group attempt to repeat it out loud. The children are happy, and the staff members watch me with something of wonder crossing their face as we power through the material faster than they ever could on their own. I realize, as we near the end, that Finnick had joined the circle when I wasn't paying attention. I chance a smile his way as a little boy slowly works his way through a sentence, and Finnick blinks slowly. Then, his lips curve upwards and he's smiling back at me.

          As the kids finally wander off to get ready for dinner, Finnick stays behind to help me clean up the messy playroom. Vienna presses a big kiss to my cheek before running off to find her friends, and Finnick laughs as she disappears. "They love you," he notes.

        "I love them, too," I say with a smile, gathering the last three books into my hands. "They need someone to love them, you know."

         Finnick eyes me as he tosses a stuffed animal into the box in the corner of the room. "Not many good people are the ones to come out of the Arena," he tells me, and I nod my head in agreement. If good people won, Xander would be standing here instead of me. "Except you, I think."

         My head snaps up at that, and Finnick crosses the short distance to take the books out of my hands. "I'm not a good person," I protest, avoiding his eyes, and he shakes his head with a laugh-- as if I'd said something ridiculous.

         "You're the best person I know." He insists, setting the books down inside the nearby crate. "It's kind of weird. All the Victors I've met, they spend their winnings drinking their life away, trying to forget. And instead, you came to me asking about finding a real purpose..."

        I shrug my shoulders and try to calm my beating heart as he takes my hands into his calloused ones. "Finnick," I say, "you literally paid off the mortgage on this place, plus renovations."

         It's his turn to shrug his shoulders. "I wasn't gonna do much with the money, anyways." He says honestly

        "And now you're building a better future for these little kids," I remind him. I smile teasingly then— "Face it, Finn. You're a great person." He makes a face then, rolling his eyes, but there's pride there now.

        "You think they'll name this place after me?" He says, gaze floating around the room. "Odair Care." I pull my hand from his to punch him in the stomach, but I end up clutching my wrist and wringing it out after connecting with his tough abs. He laughs at me, but takes my hurt hand into his to gently rub my knuckles.

        "Odair-Bloom," I tell him sourly, wincing still. He pretends to think about it.

         "We'll work on names later," he decides. "But for now, we should pick up dinner for your mom and Mags."

         "Fine," I agree. "I'm paying though."

         Finnick rolls his eyes and nudges me towards the door, following close behind. "Knock yourself out, will you?"