Hi, everyone. This was just something I came up with a while ago.

Disclaimer: I am not Suzanne Collins. If I was, Wiress would have survived and gone home with Beetee. I own nothing.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

The end hadn't hurt at all.

She watched as they struggled, bringing down her killer and his murderous sister, unable to do anything else.

She watched as her body was swept away. She waited as Finnick pulled Beetee ashore, coughing and spluttering. Katniss gave him the wire she'd been cleaning. He ducked his head away, clearly in deep thought – and a lot of pain.

She yearned to reach out and touch him, to comfort him and let him know she was there, no matter what they'd seen just now, she was still with them. But her hands could not touch him, or anyone else, for that matter. They didn't hear her pleading for them to answer her. She shouted, desperate to gain their attention. It was useless.

She followed them through the Arena, longing to be of use, but unable to be so.

She was there when the lightning struck and the bombing began. A shadow in the dark crept up on Beetee as he worked at the force field that separated the remaining Victors from freedom. She never saw who it was – they were too quick; dealing him a violent blow to the skull and rendering his arm useless with a slash across the elbow, before disappearing swiftly into the dense jungle. She knelt by Beetee's side as he lay injured and barely conscious. His eyelids fluttered upwards and she felt as though...as though he knew she was there. His good hand stretched out towards the sand where she whispered words of comfort and encouragement.

"Wiress..." he muttered weakly, scarcely able to speak.

"I'm here..." she replied, "I'll always be here..."

There was no time for any more. Katniss had arrived and Beetee was losing grip on consciousness. Katniss broke the force field, allowing them to escape. She went with them, aboard the hovercraft, shouting for someone – anyone – to save Beetee, not caring if they could hear her or not.

She sat for days as Beetee drifted in and out of his coma, not leaving for a moment to even check where she was. In passing, she heard a doctor mention District Thirteen. As she waited, she discovered she could move things – small, trivial things, like a piece of paper on the surface of a table, or a roll a pen around. But she could do no more than that. People mistook her attempts at communication for a draught from an air vent.

Beetee eventually woke, which delighted her. She went with him when he was moved into a high-ranking position in Weapons Technology. The war had begun.

Everywhere Beetee went during the war, Wiress was with him, even if he didn't know it. When victory was announced, she cheered in triumph with the rest of the rebels.

But she only went home with one of them.

Her house had been put up for sale by the time they returned to District Three. Beetee had emptied her house of personal belongings, packing them into boxes, which she saw he moved into his attic – all apart from a box of photographs. He sat in his living room, delicately framing them. He put them everywhere; on spare shelves, the mantelpiece...

One of them he didn't frame. She noticed that it was a picture of the two of them, arms around each other, laughing. The Wiress and Beetee in the photograph looked happy, not bothered by the Games or the Capitol. There was only the two of them and that was all that was needed. The real Beetee just sat there, just holding it and staring, a solitary tear dripping down his cheek that he either didn't notice or didn't bother to wipe away. When he was done looking at the photo, he tucked it into his inside jacket pocket, patting it to make sure it was secure.

At night, she watched him sleep – or, what was meant to be sleep. Beetee tossed and turned, crying out, screaming sometimes.

"Wiress, no!" he kicked out in his nightmares, "please, don't go!"

She went to comfort him, but she couldn't. He didn't even know she was there.

"I love you...please, don't leave me..."

She hadn't left him. She never would leave him.

She would be there when he woke – every day until he could join her. Then she could tell him how long she'd been waiting, just for him. No matter how long it took, she would stay, because love would always triumph over death.

She prayed that his end wouldn't hurt, either.