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He's seen the dog around often enough that it doesn't startle Finnick as much as the first time, though he can't help but tense up slightly as it sniffs at the bag of fish he holds in his hand, freshly captured from the sea and ready to be gutted and fried for dinner. Glancing around he spots Harley in the distance, closes the space between them with long strides and tries not to think of muttations as the creature follows. Lifting the bag up, he raises and eyebrow.

"I don't know if dogs are allowed to have fish," he says. There's enough there that if it's fine, he'll happily let him, but he's not about to let himself end another innocent life out of anything but necessity. Even that of a dog. Prim's taught him to be softer when it comes to animals, after all. That not everything is genetically modified to want to kill him.

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"He can if it's cooked," I say with a shrug, lifting a hand in greeting. Finnick's an alright guy. As neighbors go, he and the Everdeens are about the best I could ask for. They don't come around bothering me, but when we run into each other, I don't mind it either. "With the bones out."

I tried to feed raw fish to one of the dogs when I was little, hanging around my mom as she cooked. That it's dangerous is one of those things my dad made sure I remembered. He may not have been much nicer to the dogs than to us, but he didn't want me killing them either.

"Good day out there?"

It'll have to wait then, Finnick decides, slinging the bag up so it's over his shoulder, out of Elvis' reach. He'll head over after, when the meat isn't raw and has been deboned. It's still a luxury, sometimes, being able to both catch and cook his own fish. Usually it's one or the other. The Capitol never let him go fishing, and fire was a hazard in the arena. He'd grown accustomed to the taste and texture of raw fish. In the Capitol, it had been a delicacy, finely chopped and wrapped in sheets of seaweed. "Decent," he says, watching the dog. "Got out of there just before the beach filled up with families."

I nod, understanding. When I get the chance, I like to take Elvis down there, and I've gotten a head for when it'll be clear. I prefer avoiding all the people. It feels safer, letting him run free without worrying some kid's gonna pull on his tail. "Good timing," I say. "I like it out there when there's no one around."

It feels peaceful in a way I don't know how to explain. Because it's not peaceful, maybe. Things seem so still, but the sea's always shifting, always waiting, crashing and hungry.

"You and me both," Finnick says, because he's had more than enough crowds for a lifetime. He can still hear them, sometimes, shrieking his name as he emerged onto the Capitol stage. First a tribute, then a victor. A mentor. Against all odds, he'd found himself a tribute again. What he likes now is the quiet. Choosing his company. He's happy to limit that to Katniss, Peeta and Prim. "It's better up out here, too. I don't know how they stand those apartment buildings." Too Capitol.

Finnick had meant to move into his. He really had. But Katniss and Prim's house soon became as much of a home to him as he'd ever had, and the thought of moving into he city filled him with dread. They hadn't brought it up, after that. It had sort of just gone without saying. So many things did, in his life.

I shake my head emphatically. "I tried it for a while," I tell him. I had to save for several months before I had enough to cover the rent and deposit for a new place out here. It's the biggest purchase I ever made, and I don't regret it for a moment. I might have saved money living in that place but I feel I would have lost something of what's left of my soul. "I'd never do it again. Not that — I mean, it wasn't —"

Nothing bad happened. It's just a place, and I was closer to the girls there. I think Kate would like it better if I still were, but I know she understands that I need this. I know Carla Jean gets why. "It's too much."

"Suffocating," Finnick fills in, though he can't be sure Harley feels the same way. It's too much like the places he's left, like the Capitol and then 13, all of them living on top of one another. Though he can't leave this place (though he's not sure if he'd want to), living in the country gives him the closest thing to freedom he can hope for.

And maybe it's hypocritical, letting Katniss look after him when he refuses to let the city, but at least he knows his benefactor this way. It's different than it was when he first arrived, anyway, when he was dazed and confused and fearful. Now, they share the burden. Share each other. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I doubt your dog would like it there, either," he says, nodding at Elvis.

"Nah, he fuckin' hated it," I say with a shake of my head. Elvis still has trouble with the concept of being allowed indoors at times. Living in an apartment made him a nervous wreck. Finnick's right about it being suffocating. The apartment was bigger than the house at home, but I always felt like all the air had gone out of it.

"I'm just not used to being packed in like that. Back home, we were out in the middle of nowhere."

"Yeah, I grew up more spread out, too," Finnick exhales. He tries not to think about his childhood too often, but it seeps in sometimes, as much a part of him as the saltwater and sea air. Even as a career district, things weren't perfect, but he'd be lying if he said there weren't parts of growing up he liked. Before the Games. "But for the past few years I've been shut in."

Locked up, really. While he was allowed back to Four in between each Games, he was relegated to the Victor's Village and nothing was ever quite the same with the threat of Snow's call always looming over him.

"Same place Katniss is from, yeah?" I don't really know anything about it. It's not like Katniss and I ever done much in the way of talking. Even now when I see her around, we don't talk so much as exist in each other's general vicinity. I like that about her. Still, I don't know much about her world, but I know he lives with her and Prim, and I know she's not the kind of girl to let just anyone do that.

"Yeah, kind of," Finnick nods, because while it's true they both come from Panem, prior to the Quarter Quell they both lived very different lives. Her in Twelve and him alternating between Four and the Capitol. Her making all kinds of assumptions based on his Capitol reputation, him not even having her on his radar until she stood up and volunteered. "We were in the same place before I arrived. She's – she came from later, even if she turned up before me."

I nod like I get that, even though I've never experienced it myself really. I mean, with Carla Jean, I guess, but we don't really talk about what happened on Halloween. "Weird shit," I say by way of summary. "She's cool, though." A good fuck, though I know better than to say it, but I appreciate her attitude and her silence, too. There aren't a lot of girls like that.

Cool's not the first descriptor Finnick would use for Katniss, but he figures that comes with the fact he's known her since she stood up to sacrifice herself in place of her sister. Since she held out a handful of berries that would change the future forever. "Yeah," he says, though. "She is."

Elvis whines at the bag of fish again and I huff out a laugh, reaching for his collar. "I better get him inside and feed him," I tell Finnick. "I think he's about to lose his shit."

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