It feels like weeks, and it doesn't. She knows what weeks without him feels like, with and without a TV presence. But it feels like forever when it's just been hours and it feels like barely a minute. He's here, though. That's the main thing. That's always the main thing. He's here, and she's got her legs hooked around his hip and her arms around his shoulders.

Who cares about the rifle. Who cares.

Except after she's held Finnick close, close as she can, and rested her head against his just to make sure he's here, he's here, one of her hands does fall to the rifle strap. There's a vague thought about moving it, but that requires too much coordination.

"Finnick." It's a statement more than anything else, an affirmation that he's here. "I couldn't, I couldn't do it, I got yanked here and I could go through, through the room. But you're here? He said you'd come. Probably. And I knew you would."