The joke gets her a dry smile back; they both know which of the two options it is, but Finnick's not going to be the one to say it. But Finnick doesn't judge her. For all he can make a split-second assessment of a room, a situation, a sound, the edginess of a victor and the survivor of a second arena giving him reflexes so sharp they can seem unnatural, he does understand.

He's been there, times when he knows he should be watching the exits, assessing the crowds, being aware of his surroundings and any potential threats but finding himself completely unable to do so.

He shrugs, taking a couple of steps closer.

"If it can give me an edge."

It's the closest he's come yet to admitting the truth that he's still, partly, in training for the Quarter Quell's arena, just in case. Edge or not, he'd still accept, in truth, because he knows the value of this sort of give and take of skills. He'd taken an archery lesson from Katniss before the Quell though he'd had no intention of picking up a bow, because it gave him a chance to learn more about her.

"How's not thinking about it going for you?" he asks, softly. Because that's just as important, if not more so. Because, whatever people in Panem might think, sympathy and compassion are qualities he has, in large amounts, for the people on whom he chooses to bestow them.