The Heiress {Finnick Odair}

Dead Man Walking

Finnick was so glad that Mags refrained from commenting when he walked back into their apartment less than an hour after he left. He was also glad that she chose not to say anything for the remainder of the week.

They spent most of their time discussing how fast they thought their tributes would realize they messed up by refusing to ask for help. For the most part, it was a jest to deal with the fact they knew they would both die, but there were a few times that Finnick wanted to yank out his own hair.

The day they announced the scores was one of those days.

"I don't need sponsors," Finnick overheard Devin brag. "This thing is so stupid."

"Right?" Vixen asked. "Sponsors are for people who can't pull their weight. Can you imagine?"

"I can, actually," Finnick interrupted. They both turned to look at him, brows raised. "I was gifted the trident by a very wealthy sponsor, and it helped me win my games."

Vixen smirked as she looked at him. "I guess you just didn't have what it takes."

Finnick scoffed and shook his head.

"This is a game to them," he finally snapped. "If you want to win, you need to play. Sponsors are how you know the Capitol likes you. When you're out there freezing or dying of thirst, you're going to need help. No victor since the 9th games has won without outside help."

"Then I guess it's time to make history," she smirked.

Finnick wanted to scream. He wanted to kill them both in his frustration. It was Mags who gently put a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down," she said. "Caesar is about to start."

"You know what?" he scoffed. "I don't care. I don't care that they will lose in that arena. If they want to die so badly, I'm going to let them. I don't care what that score is. As far as I'm concerned, they're already dead."

Finnick stormed out of the apartment, leaving a stunned room in his wake just as Caesar Flickerman's charming smile appeared on the screen.

He was down in the lobby and out on the street before he even registered what he said. He just told his tributes he expected them to die in the arena and that he didn't care. The worst part? He wasn't even sorry because he knew he was right.

"Are you okay?" He heard a voice ask. He turned to see Cashmere leaning against the wall.

"Shouldn't you be with your tributes?" he asked. She shrugged.

"They'll score well. District Two always does."

"You don't seem to care very much," he said, and she shrugged.

"I know I should, but I haven't found a way to muster enough crap to tell them that it's all going to be okay. No one wins the games."

"You just survive it," he agreed. "My tributes don't want anything to do with me. They ignore everything I say and seem to think that just because they're older than me that they know more about the games than I ever will."

"Their pride will kill them," she said, and Finnick nodded in agreement, walking over to wear she was leaning and sliding down the wall. She sat down next to him.

"I told them that," he groaned. "I told them that as far as I was concerned, they were already dead."

Cashmere snorted. "Way to inspire confidence."

"The worst part is that I meant it."

Cashmere was silent for a moment.

"They probably needed to hear it. The worst thing you can do is go into that arena thinking losing isn't an option. Fear is what keeps you alive."

"How do you do it?" Finnick asked. "As much as I can't stand them, I also don't want to watch them die."

Cashmere turned toward him slightly, her brow pinched together.

"It won't get easier. When your tribute dies, a part of you goes with them. You pour so much into them and it was all for nothing. You want to help as many kids survive as possible, but it isn't that simple. I'm told it breaks you over time."

Finnick thought about the older victors, the ones who had been doing this for a long time.

"Is that why Haymitch drinks so much?" he asked, and she nodded.

"It numbs the pain. He won 16 years ago, and every single tribute he's sent in since then has died. Do you know what that does to a man? Besides, he's...lost a lot."

Finnick was curious about the wording of that sentence, but he didn't press it. He knew the stories. Haymitch wasn't fond of the Capitol, and made that clear early on. Now, every person he has ever loved is dead. It seemed none of the victors thought that was a coincidence.

"Look," Cashmere continued. "The worst thing you can do is try and survive the Capitol on your own. You can lean on us. Make friends. This is your life now so you might as well get used to it."

**

Finnick was dragged out of bed later that night by a quiet knock on his door. He groaned and turned on his light, dragging himself out of bed.

He opened the door to see Devin standing there.

"Uh...hey," he said. Devin glanced over his shoulder like he was looking for Vixen. Finnick opened the door slightly, and Devin slipped in.

"Did you mean what you said earlier?" Devin asked quietly. "That we were practically already dead?"

Finnick nodded.

"Your pride will be the death of you," he said. Devin nodded and reached into his pocket to hold out a letter.

"I think we're better than you give us credit for," he said, "but just in case, can you make sure this gets to my family? I want to make sure my sister knows I love her."

Finnick nodded and took the letter. There was an awkward moment of silence.

"I know Vixen doesn't care about it, but only one person comes out of that arena. Use tomorrow as an opportunity to win over the Capitol. They need to fall in love with you so you can get sponsors. Only then do you have a shot at surviving."

Devin snorted. "It's about winning the games, not just surviving."

Finnick shook his head. "No, it isn't. You can prepare as much as you want, but as soon as you enter that arena, all you care about is survival. No one wins the games."

Devin nodded slowly.

"Is it bad to admit I'm a little scared?" he asked, and Finnick shook his head.

"Fear will keep you alive. You are about to fight to the death. If you go in thinking winning is a sure thing, you will get sloppy, and it will kill you."

"So how do I survive?" Devin asked, fidgeting slightly.

"Win over the hearts of the Capitol," Finnick said. "And never forget who you're fighting for."