➴ ❝...a cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray...❞

You don’t forget the face of the person who was your last hope.

---

And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don't want him to die. And it's not about the sponsors. And it's not about what will happen when we get home. And it's not just that I don't want to be alone. It's him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.

"You could live a thousand lifetimes and still not deserve him, you know," Haymitch says.
"Yeah, yeah," I say brusquely. "No question he's the superior one in this trio."

---

I expect to see a smug or sarcastic expression on his face, but his look is strangely quizzical. He glances between Peeta and me as if he's trying to figure something out.

---

So Peeta's giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn't ever have doubts about it. Everything. That's what Peeta wants me to take from him.

---

"No one really needs me," he says, and there's no self pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.

---

So that's who Finnick loves. Not his string of fancy lovers in the Capitol. But a poor, mad girl back home.

---

"Poor Finnick Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?"
"It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?"
"Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it."
"Not if I keep looking at you."

It's something to see Finnick's transformation since his marriage. His earlier incarnations - the decadent Capitol heartthrob I met before the Quell, the enigmatic ally in the arena, the broken young man who tried to help me hold it together - these have been replaced by someone who radiates life. Finnick's real charms of self-effacing humour and an easy-going nature are on display for the first time. He never lets go of Annie's hand. Not when they walk, not when they eat. I doubt he ever plans to. She's lost in some daze of happiness. There are still moments when you can tell something slips in her brain and another world blinds her to us. But a few words from Finnick call her back.

---

“Remember? This is where you kissed me.”

So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn’t enough to erase that from his consciousness. “I didn’t think you’d remember that,” I say.”

“Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then,” he tells me. “Maybe I’ll be like that man in ‘The Hanging Tree.’ Still waiting for an answer.” Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It’s a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. “I knew you’d kiss me.”

“How?” I say. Because I didn’t know myself.

“Because I’m in pain,” he says. “That’s the only way I get your attention.” He picks up the box. “Don’t worry Katniss. It’ll pass.”

---

'Cut,' I hear Cressida say quietly.
'What's wrong with her?' Plutarch says under his breath.
'She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta,' says Finnick.
Several sets of arms would embrace me. But in the end, the only person I truly want to comfort me is Haymitch, because he loves Peeta, too. I reach out for him and say something like his name and he's there, holding me and patting m back. "it's okay. It'll be okay, sweetheart." He sits me on a length of broken marble pillar and keeps an arm around me while I sob.

---

It's as if I'm Finnick, watching the images of my life pass by. The mast of a boat, a silver parachute, Mags laughing, a pink sky, Beetee's trident, Annie in her wedding dress, waves breaking over the rocks. And then it's over.

---

But more words tumble out. "You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces."

Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

---

What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again.

---

"You're still trying to protect me. Real or not real," he whispers.

"Real," I answer. It seems to require more explanation.

"Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other."