Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning of the reaping began with a nightgown soaked with sweat and a blood-curdling scream. You’d had another nightmare, though you weren’t particularly shocked - you’d been having them every night leading up to today. If your ears hadn’t deceived you, your mother was having them as well.

You rose from your mattress, knowing you had limited time to make yourself presentable. The dress draped on the chair across from your bed mocked you with its intricacy - it was hard to forget how hard you and your mother had worked to embroider various patterns along the bodice. She had insisted that this project be a priority, that it be one of your best. You didn’t quite understand why it mattered - this was far from your first reaping, and sadly wouldn’t be your last. Today’s reaping was just like the rest, in your eyes.

After bathing you reentered your bedroom to find your mother already there, dress in hand. It was an old habit she had from her time in the factory - one last check before shipment to ensure perfection.

“It’s perfect, ma. Couldn’t find a more beautiful dress in the whole Capitol.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the praise. 

“Are you ready?” She asked, gesturing to the garment in her hand.

You faltered. Were you? How could anyone truly be ready for a day like this? No matter how many times you had found yourself in the crowd, the fear still gripped your heart every time the Capitol volunteer had reached their polished fingernails into the bowl. In truth, the likelihood of your name being selected was low - you and your mother had never asked for tesserae no matter how much you had struggled - but there was always a split second before the name of the unlucky child was called that you wondered if the odds really were in your favor.

Despite this, you nodded, accepting the help from your mother as you slipped into the product of over two weeks of labor from the two of you. While you fiddled with the buttons now lining your front, your mother pulled your hair into a bun; You both laughed at the stubborn pieces along your face that refused to stay put.

Once she was satisfied she backed away, taking in the completed look. Her eyes went misty, shaky hands coming to rest atop her heart.

“All grown up” Came her watery response. “You look wonderful, sweetpea.” Her eyes scanned the dress a final time, catching on a loose thread along the waistline. She huffed, frantically looking around for something to trim the imperfection. You grabbed her face, a soft “Ma” falling from your lips as you tried to get her attention again. She looked into your eyes, searching for something you couldn’t name.

“I mean it. It’s perfect. We did a good job.” Then, after thinking for a moment, you tucked the thread back into the skirt of the dress with a wink. “No one will know except you and I.”

She pushed a flyaway behind your ear, hand lingering on your face. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, searching for something to say. There was a look on her face that shook you, one that you hadn’t seen since your first reaping; fear.

Your throat closed, lower lip trembling. You were the first to pull away, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles in your dress. She grabbed your hand, giving it a tight squeeze before leading you out the front door without a word.

The walk to the square was a short one, but it allowed for enough time for doubt to creep in. What if this reaping truly was different?

Everything from the moment you arrived at the square was a blur. Your heart was pounding in your ears, your head filled with the image of your mother’s frightened look before you left. Before you could spiral further, microphone feedback startled you out of your stupor.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the reaping for the 67th annual Hunger Games!” They smiled, pausing for applause that they had never once received in all their years of hosting the reaping. “I’ll waste no time - I’m sure you all are eager to know who will be the two lucky tributes to represent the lovely District 8. First, as always, the ladies!”

Blood rushed in your ears. The collective breath the crowd was holding threatened to suffocate you.

They selected the white slip. Broke open the seal with a deafening ‘pop’. Unfolded it delicately.

Your heart dropped, and before they even spoke a word into the microphone you knew.

To your right you heard your mother’s wail, heard her frail knees hit the soil beneath her.

Just like this morning with your sweat-soaked nightgown, your name was the one bouncing off of every surface and body in the square, all eyes turning to you. Except this time, there would be no waking up.

You weren’t really sure how you made it to the stage; your legs were trembling and your eyes had welled so full of tears that you could barely see two feet in front of you. You fumbled with the loose thread on your dress.

They had called the male tribute's name, they must have, but you didn’t hear it. You were trying desperately to keep your tears at bay and keep your chin up. Ma would have your head for slouching in front of so many people.

You were losing track of time, moments coming to you in fragments filtered by your fear. Wake up, you thought desperately, just wake up and this all will be over.

The doors opened and you stood. When did you sit down? Where were you?

Your mind went silent when two soft arms pulled you into a warm chest. You took a deep inhale - Ma.

“You go in there and you fight, do you hear me?”

What was she talking about? Go where?

“You fight and you win. I don’t care what it takes. You go into those games and you bring my baby home, do you understand?” she pulled away and grabbed your face, whispering your name softly to get your attention. You looked into her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, ma.” your voice broke, and her composure broke along with it.

“What for, sweetpea?”

You pulled at the loose thread once again, looking down at it.

“Everyone saw. I was pulling at it on stage and everyone saw.”

She laughed at this; A choked, watery noise that drew your attention back to her delicate face.

“That’s alright, I’m not mad at you. I could never stay mad at you sweet girl.” Her smile fell. Then, she wept. “My sweet girl. How could they do this to my sweet girl?”

The doors swung open again, revealing a peacekeeper.

You clung to your mother, voice going hoarse with the intensity of your pleas to “let me stay! Please, God, let me stay!”

Eventually, with great effort, they succeeded in pulling you off of her. Then and only then had the tears begun to fall, and once they started you weren’t sure they would ever stop. Was that the last time you would ever see your mother? You had so much more you wanted to say - so much more you wanted to do. Didn’t they know? You hadn’t even finished your chores from this week, you had to go back and finish them.

It seemed that they either didn’t know or didn’t care, for regardless of your weeping and pleading you found yourself on a bullet train with a one way ticket to the Capitol - and likewise, your death.

Chapter Text

The Capitol was just as lavish and imposing as you had thought it would be.

The first night, you had been sick to your stomach with despair. You were inconsolable - silent to all and weeping freely. Your mentor Cecelia had taken pity on you, giving excuses to the citizens as you passed by.

“Oh, she's just so honored to be here!” 

“She can’t believe her luck.”

“She’s so happy she’s crying. It’s her time to shine, after all!”

When you were finally able to realize that no amount of crying could save you from your impending doom, you had spent the next three days getting your footing; training until your muscles ached, learning the nature of the other tributes, observing the higher-ups. You knew as well as anyone that this wasn’t just a game of strength - this was a game of wit - and you were determined to play it well. You would not be the reason your mother had to bury her only child. 

Cecelia had mentioned a sponsor’s ball, where tributes would wine and dine donors to convince them to sponsor them in the games. You knew this was incredibly important for your success - no - survival . You asked if you would be allowed to wear your dress from home for luck. 

“Oh, sweet face, you can’t. I’m sorry, but it’s against the rules.” came her reply, full of pity. 

“Rules? What rule could there possibly be against me wearing a dress my Ma and I made? How is it any different from a dress I would get here in the Capitol? Either way, I had a hand in making it.” 

Cecelia smiled at this, amused by your fire and open defiance. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. But I can’t let you do that. I would if I could.” 

“But-”

“I said no. Don’t make me say it again.” She said, losing her amusement. 

You quieted. Ma would be furious if she heard the way you were talking back. You nodded your head and retreated to your room where a purple silk dress waited for you. You scoffed. They couldn’t even pretend to give you a choice. You let your fingers dance along the fabric, imagining being back home in the factory and putting it together. A silhouette like this wouldn’t be too difficult, you thought, looks harder than it is, really. You picked the dress up and let it hang to examine it further. It was beautiful, if a bit revealing. You thought that it wasn’t truly appropriate for a girl your age, but you couldn’t help but feel a small rush of excitement at this - Ma had never let you wear anything like this back in 8. After washing the evidence from your intense training session off of your body your stylist helped you slip into the garment and fix your hair, tugging at the stubborn ones surrounding your face. 

As you stared into the rim of the glass you had been given upon entering the party, you noticed with a frown that even after pulling at them for upwards of 15 minutes, your stylist was seemingly unable to tame the flyaways now gently framing your face. You smiled - clearly some things never changed no matter how hard the Capitol tried. 

“Excuse me, you must be the tribute from District 8.” 

You startled, pulling your focus away from your reflection and shifting it towards the voice that had beckoned you. No one had spoken to you since you had gotten here, and you had grown accustomed to the silence in your corner where you stood. The voice belonged to a man who couldn’t have been younger than 50. He leered at you, eyes tracing a pattern from the loose strands of hair framing your face all the way down to the pinchy ornate heels you were dying to take off. You shrunk into yourself. Were you supposed to say something? 

“Yes, that’s me. And you are?” You replied, plastering a fake smile on your overly-glossed lips and extending a hand for him to shake. 

“Aren’t you a pretty thing…” Came his abrupt reply. Well, that wasn’t what I asked, you thought. His hand grasped yours, pulling you closer to him involuntarily. Up close like this, you could smell the liquor coating his tongue. “Do you have a name?”

You offered it to him, trying with all of your might to remove your hand from his clutches without offending him. Cecilia had briefed you on the etiquette you needed to show tonight and had made it a point to emphasize the importance of not being rude; you felt as though it would be seen as disrespectful should you reject his advances so blatantly. 

“How beautiful. You look like you’re on the younger side. How old? Thirteen? Fourteen?” The man finally released his hold on your hand, only to move it to your face and push the fallen tresses behind your ear. 

“Fifteen, sir. I turn sixteen in a week.” You elected not to think about how it would fall in the middle of the games this year. Hopefully you would make it until then - you had been dreaming of your sixteenth birthday for years now. 

“Sixteen, hm?” He grinned. “It’s really too bad you’ll be spending it in that arena. Why don’t you celebrate out here? Could be fun.” Foggy brown eyes settled on your lips. “What do you say?”

“I…” You blanched. Cecilia’s words bounced around in your head tauntingly. 

Don’t be rude.

“It’s a sweet offer, truly.”

He took a step closer, the hand not gripping a glass settling on your waist. 

Don’t be rude.

“But I think…”

Don’t be rude. 

You smelled the liquor on his breath as his face swarmed your vision. Brandy , you thought inwardly, he smells like brandy . 

Don’t be rude.

“I…um-”

“Oh, there you are!” 

The man quickly pulled back, turning his sour expression towards the interruption.

Your savior came in the form of a boy who appeared to be your age. His tanned skin seemed to shimmer under the expensive lights, hidden in part by a flowy linen shirt only somewhat buttoned and expensive-looking navy blue slacks. Clever, sea-green eyes caught yours. Your breath caught in your throat. 

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s almost time for our dance.” His lips pulled into a crooked smile. For the first time in this encounter, he removed his focus from you and instead looked at the man standing across from you. “You wouldn’t mind, would you, Torrac?” 

The man - Torrac , you told yourself - said nothing, simply nodding and storming off with a huff from his mouth and a clicking coming from his glass. You watched his retreat, completely bewildered by the practiced ease with which this boy had told him off. 

“Ahem.” 

Not for the first time tonight, you startled and shifted your attention to the boy in front of you. He had his hand extended in your direction, his eyes looking down at it pointedly before looking at you once more. Oh , you thought, right . You grabbed his hand and shook it gently, giving him your name.

“Thank you for that, I was…how did you even…” You stopped, collecting your thoughts. “What’s your name?”

He looked genuinely surprised at this question which struck you as odd. Didn’t you shake hands with someone to introduce yourself? 

“Finnick Odair. Pleasure.” The look of surprise was replaced by a kind smile. “So…a tribute, hm? What district?”

You flushed. “Is it that obvious?” 

He laughed at this, a light and airy sound akin to a sea breeze. “Well, for starters, most Capitol residents don’t need saving at this kind of thing.” For a moment it looked like he was debating something in his mind, as if he wasn’t sure he should divulge a piece of information to you or not. Then, making up his mind, “They’re also easy to recognize when you’ve been in their exact same spot two years prior.” 

“Oh… oh !” Your eyes glittered with recognition, finally piecing it together. “Yes, of course! I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. Although,” you took a moment to take in his appearance, observing him with a playfully inquisitive look crossing your features. “You do look a little different in person.” 

A lone eyebrow cocked up on his face, amusement and intrigue flashing on his face. “Oh, really? How is that?” 

You smiled, the first genuine one since you’d arrived in the Capitol. “You look a lot kinder up close.” His eyebrows shot up, face flushing scarlet. You cleared your throat, trying to make light of the situation after unintentionally embarrassing him. “Maybe it’s because you saved me; my hero!” You feigned a fainting spell, touching your hand to your forehead and sighing dramatically. 

Finnick’s head tipped down to the ground as he smiled to himself, laughing at your display of theatrics. He was quiet for a moment. “Were you telling the truth? About your birthday?” 

Your breath hitched, smile slipping suddenly. In that moment, the skin surrounding your nails became your main focus, picking at the sensitive area to distract yourself from the cruel fate that was having a birthday during the Games. “Yes. Tough luck, right?” A watery chuckle escaped your lips. 

“How about that dance, then?” He prodded, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Consider it my birthday gift to you.” 

Another genuine smile pulled at your lips. How was it that this boy you had just met showed you kindness so freely? “I would love that.” and then, remembering, “Thank you, Finnick.”

“It’s just a dance-”

“No, no, not just the dance. I mean for everything. I think this is the first time I haven’t felt impending doom since I’ve been here.”

“You know… I’d have to agree with you.” 

The two of you shared a look - smiles pulling at your lips and warmth pooling in your cheeks - and took to the floor. And even though you were surrounded by your future assailants and victims, you felt happy. It might not have been the sixteenth birthday you’d been dreaming of, but dancing with Finnick in the center of a grand Capitol ballroom, it felt like everything was as it was meant to be. 

Chapter Text

Running.

You had been running since the countdown was done. 

Your eyes flitted around the arena anxiously, taking in the abandoned city-scape that seemed to stretch on for miles. Tall, desolate buildings fenced you in on all sides.

“There’s no way of knowing what the arena will be, but it’s always a safe bet to assume it will be something outdoors.” Cecelia said casually, nursing a glass of some type of liquor. “Your first priority should be to find water. Then, work on shelter. The rest should come pretty easily.”

You considered this for a moment, sparing a glance at the male tribute from your district - Cecil, you remembered - who very much looked like he would be sick right then and there. 

“‘The rest’ being…what? Killing people?” You blinked in surprise, not expecting Cecil’s fiery response.

“What did you expect, sweetheart? This is the way it is.” She paused, then after some thought, “If I could stop it, I would. But since I can’t, the best thing I can offer is advice.”

There was a moment of silence. 

“Okay.” You said, readjusting in your chair as you leveled with your mentor. “Outdoor arena, water, shelter; what else?”

She took a long sip from her glass.

“Play the game.”

Shaking your head as if that would dispel the memory any faster, you willed your legs to run faster. Natural water source is unlikely, you thought, considering your surroundings. Shelter it is, then.  

When you found a far-enough building that appeared unassuming and off of the path, you entered it without a second thought. Your legs were aching for rest, your heart in your throat from the excessive activity and all-encumbering fear. Finally taking a moment to pause, you realized with horror that you had nothing - no weapons, no supplies, no allies, no sponsors ; you were well and truly on your own. You selfishly thought back to Finnick with his kind eyes and soft hands. Sure, Torrac was disgusting and brash, but he was also wealthy. You wondered if he was your only option of sponsorship and your little stunt with Finnick had ruined your chances. Perhaps rejecting Torrac’s advances would be the reason your face would light the arena with the sound of a cannon to accompany it. Your eyes welled with tears as your legs finally collapsed under you.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like this, flinching at every cannon - six so far, if you counted correctly. 

The sound of gravel giving way under someone’s feet made your head snap up in alarm. 

You desperately tried to slow your breathing and decipher the best course of action. Maybe they were just passing? 

The sound came again, louder and closer this time, you realized with horror. Your eyes darted around the room for anything you could use and landed on what appeared to be an old utility closet. As slowly and as quietly as you could, you rose on trembling legs and entered your makeshift hiding place.

“... saw footsteps coming this way.”

“Why do you care? Let’s just keep going.”

“The more tributes we kill, the faster this will be over.”

Okay, you blanched, not passing. 

“Fine. Let’s make this quick.”

Footsteps came thundering up the stairs leading to the room you had found solace in only moments ago. Your heart was beating so loud you were sure your assailants could hear it. You looked around as quietly as possible for something you could use to defend yourself. 

“There’s no one here, Nero. This is a waste of time.” 

Nero. District 1’s male tribute. Career. 

Your vision went blurry with unshed tears as you covered your mouth with your hand. A career was after you. Not only that, but he wasn’t alone. The search for something to arm yourself with became frantic, the hand not ensuring your silence skimming over everything it could find. By a pure stroke of luck, you stumbled upon a wrench heavy enough to become a weapon. An involuntary sob of relief left your mouth, alerting the two tributes of your presence. Your eyes widened. 

“No one here, huh?” Came Nero’s cocky response, confident footsteps making a beeline for the door that was shielding you from the two tributes. “They better ready that damn cannon.”  

“Don’t play fair in the arena; that’s not the time to be noble. You need to fight dirty and be ruthless if you have any chance of survival.” Cecelia leaned her forearms onto her knees. “The element of surprise is your best friend.”

“Element of surprise? What if you’re cornered; What if they already see you?”

“Then surprise them by attacking first.”

When the door swung open, you didn’t have time to think about what you were about to do. There was a sickening crunch as dense metal met a skull and a scream akin to that of a cornered animal bounced off of the tattered walls. Your knuckles were white as you clutched the now-bloody wrench in your hands, the other tribute in the room looking at you with shock as Nero’s body crumpled to the ground. 

For a moment, everything was silent.

The sound of a cannon broke the spell the room was under, sending the unknown tribute careening towards you with a knife in his hands and fury in his eyes. 

His body collided with your own, sending you to the ground with a thud. Your vision swam, wrench dropping from your hands from the impact. Above you, a boy that couldn’t be older than 17 straddled your waist, intent on plunging his knife into you without mercy. His free hand laid claim on your throat, grip tight enough to restrict oxygen but not enough for you to pass out or asphyxiate. You realized sickeningly that he wanted you to suffer through this - this would be personal . Your hands clawed at anything they could find.

“Stall for time. It could be the difference between life and death.”

“And how do we do that?” It seemed that Cecil’s interest was piqued, eyebrows furrowing as he asked the victor in front of the both of you. 

“Cry, scream, beg for your life; whatever works, honestly. As long as it keeps that cannon from going off and your face out of the sky come nightfall.” 

“‘Beg for your life’?” Cecil questioned.

“You’d be surprised how many tributes don’t have it in them to kill someone. If you beg - and I’m talking really beg - they might falter. That split second is your opening.”

“ Wait ! Wait, please, don’t hurt me!” you wheezed, trying to speak as clearly as possible with your windpipe being crushed. Tears flooded your eyes as desperation clawed at your heart. “Please, please, I’ll do anything!”

He pressed the blade of the knife just above your hip, slowly sinking it into the flesh that sat there. He chuckled wildly at the raspy scream that tore from your throat. 

You struggled underneath him, vision going spotty from the lack of oxygen and the pain radiating from your hip. The tribute stilled you as he began to drag the blade downwards, carving into your left leg with little struggle.

Desperate sobs began to wrack your body, and though you knew she couldn’t help you, you began to scream for the person you wished you could see one last time. “ Ma ! Please, Ma, I don’t want to die!”

The boy above you hesitated, brows furrowing. One hand loosened from around your throat while the other stopped its path down your leg. There . 

In a moment of pure adrenaline, you surged your head up to collide painfully with his, effectively knocking him off of you. You scrambled away from where he now laid on the floor groaning, searching for your wrench in the mess of blood that now covered the floor. When you had located it, the tribute on the floor had finally realized what was going on and began to hobble in your direction.

What happened next was a blur, really.

Survival instincts and anxiety had taken over your body, causing you to bludgeon the boy until he was nearly unrecognizable. Your hands were caked with blood, throat raw from the yelling and sobbing as well as the brief brush with asphyxiation. 

As if suddenly realizing what you had done, your eyes widened as you took in the scene before you. Two boys, not much older than you, dead by your hand. The wrench slipped from your hand, clattering to the ground loudly. 

You began to wail.

It was a messy ordeal. Your chest heaved, unable to catch your breath as tears drew tracks through the dust and blood on your face. The thick smell of blood was nauseating, enough to make you spill the contents of your stomach out onto the floor. You stumbled out of the building, clutching your injured leg and wiping the bile off of your mouth. You didn’t even know his name.  

Darkness had taken over the entire arena. Your mind was scattered, reeling from the violence you had just enacted and the pain from your free-bleeding injury. Shelter , came a thought miraculously, I need to find shelter again. 

You limped through the rubble of the city, trying to keep yourself upright and away from danger. Another building presented itself to you, hidden away and seemingly empty. You begged anyone that would listen for it to be truly vacant - you knew you wouldn’t survive another attack, physically or mentally. 

Upon entering it was clear that this building was, in fact, free of tributes. After closing the door and securing the area, your leg finally buckled. H ow much blood had you lost? Aren’t you supposed to clean a wound? 

The sound of the Capitol fanfare shook you from your haze. You turned your head towards a window that gave you a clear view of the night sky. You tried your best to keep track of the faces that passed. 

The boy from 1 - Nero. The girl from 3. The girl from 4. The boy from 5 - the other boy from earlier. Both tributes from 7. The girl from 9. The girl from 10. The boy from 11. Both tributes from 12. 

11 gone. 

It would be 12 soon if you didn’t find a way to dress your wound. That can wait, you thought to yourself, though you knew better than to believe that to be true. 

There was a rhythmic beeping that suddenly came from the door, but it didn’t strike you as a threat. Even if it did, there was little you could do about it. You crawled over to the source of the noise and slowly opened the door, peering through the crack. You gasped, eyes widening as you pulled it into the building and shut the door. 

It was a gift . A sponsor gift . 

You let out a watery laugh, half-amused and half-relieved. Upon opening the sleek silver cartridge, you noticed a needle and medical thread along with some bandages, no doubt for the deep gash lining your leg. Underneath that, however, was a note. Curious, you picked it up to inspect it.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

STAY SAFE

F.O.

You smiled, realizing now that yes , it was midnight which meant it was your birthday. “Thank you.” you whispered, stuffing the note into your pocket for safe keeping. 

And as you stitched yourself back together, covered in blood both yours and otherwise, you celebrated the fact that you made it to your sixteenth birthday and promised yourself that it wouldn’t be your last.

Chapter Text

The rest of the Games passed in a haze.

A simulated earthquake took out five tributes (The boy from 3, the boy from 4, the girl from 5, the boy from 9, and the girl from 11). For once, you were thankful for the cautionary drills you endured throughout your childhood in 8 as they had saved your skin during the chaos. 

What was left of the career pack claimed three tribute’s lives (The boy from 10 and both tributes from 6). You’d been unlucky enough to be close by during the slaughter - you had heard the desperate screams of the children as they realized their demise was imminent. The sound rattled in your head when you closed your eyes. 

You found Cecil four days into the Games. If you thought hard enough, you could recall the relief you felt when spotting his hiding place in the rubble.

“Cecil?” you croaked, steps faltering with caution. You had been wandering for quite some time, trying to find shelter that hadn’t crumbled after the Capitol’s earthquake. 

Cecil’s head shot up, face caked in dust and debris from the fallout. His eyes were wild. 

You let out a watery noise of surprise and - against your better judgement - joy at seeing the familiar face tucked within the ruins. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright. I-”

In an instant, Cecil had launched himself at you, stumbling and swinging deliriously. You managed to grab his arms, hands slightly slipping on his feverish skin. He was burning. 

“Cecil, what are you…”

Your eyes caught on the white foam leaking from his mouth and the bite mark on his neck. You brought your gaze up to his, finding tears making a home in his brown eyes. 

“ Help me. ” 

A mercy kill took Cecil. You couldn’t bear to watch him suffer any longer with his affliction. As swiftly and as delicately as you could, you wrapped your hands around his throat and squeezed until you heard the cannon. You grabbed his spear and wept as you left him lying in the rubble.

In the end, you’re unsure how you made it out of the arena with your life. 

You hobbled through the remains of the arena, Cecil’s spear in hand. Your body was growing weak - running on the two sparrows you had managed to catch and the occasional drink from a spring you had stumbled upon earlier in the Games - but if living in 8 had taught you anything, it was that you could survive off of less for a longer period of time. 

In the distance, you heard loud cheering and hollering rapidly approaching you. Gaze darting around manically for a place to hide, you landed on a tall building nearby and ran as fast as you could towards the entrance and up the many flights of stairs. 

“...believe we found her?”

“We’re almost out of here!”

Your hip protested from beneath you as your feet pushed you further up the stairs. The career pack was quickly gaining on you, laughing and jeering as they hastily made their way towards you.

Your mind scrambled for options as you made it past the final flight of stairs and to the roof.

“Nowhere to go, huh, 8?” 

You spun, facing the three assailants with wide eyes. Your grip on Cecil’s spear tightened as you held it out warningly in front of your body, swinging it from side to side to maintain a wide berth between you and the group. “Stay back.” you growled, brows furrowed in determination. 

“Or what?” The girl from District 1 taunted, snickering as she twirled the machete in her hands.

You sneered. “Have you seen Nero lately?” 

The snickering stopped, silence filling the rooftop. The pair from District 2 exchanged a look. 

You shrugged as if the kill didn’t settle underneath your skin and prevent you from sleeping at night. “It’s a real shame. You know, he underestimated me too, and…” you gestured in the vague vicinity. 

You didn’t have time to feel bad for purposefully taunting her. 

 In a fit of rage, all three tributes before you began to charge in your direction. You backed towards the edge of the building as swiftly as you could and shot your weapon forwards. The spear sunk sickeningly within the stomach of the girl from District 2. Still holding on to your end, you swung the girl and the weapon to your left, taking the boy from 2 careening down the side of the building alongside her. Two loud cannons echoed around you as the girl from District 1 got her hands on you. She clawed for purchase on your body as you tried to guard yourself, pushing the two of you more towards the center of the rooftop once more. Her machete reared in a high arc and wedged into your forearm with a ferocity that reflected the fire in her eyes. You let out a hoarse cry as she tore it from its previous home in your arm to make another hit. She would not miss this time, you could see it on her face. You shoved her with all of your force to the ground, knocking the air out of her and giving you a split second to look around as you clutched your arm. 

There, lying in the mess on the roof was a pile of bricks. As you looked at them, you saw your way out of the arena.

You left the 67th Hunger Games with six kills and the title of “Victor”. 

Cecelia and the stylists prepared you for your post-games interview with Caesar as you sat in silent shock. You’re sure your mentor was giving you good advice but your ears were still ringing with the screams of the tributes.

“...remember to smile…”

“...laugh at his jokes…”

“...be grateful…”

‘...don’t freak out…”

You walked onto the stage, trying to disguise a barely-there limp that hadn’t quite finished healing yet. Your eyes flitted around anxiously, still accustomed to constantly assessing the danger of your surroundings. A shaky smile that didn’t reach your eyes crossed your face.

“And here she is, the Victor of the 67th Annual Hunger Games!” 

The bloody brick in your hands clattered to the floor beneath you, chest heaving with exertion and terror. What had you just done? Could that really have been you who massacred the girl beneath you? Bludgeoned the boy from 5? Choked Cecil? Surely not.

A cannon sounded, drawing a sharp gasp from your cracked lips. 

That made 23.

Only 1 left.

You looked around in shock, tears welling in your eyes. Had you really done it? Had you gone and won the whole thing?

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Victor of the 67th Annual Hunger Games from District 8!”

“May I just say, you look absolutely fabulous tonight - doesn’t she folks?” Caesar’s boisterous laugh echoed through the room as you blushed. In truth, you had never felt more revolting. “How does it feel to be back in the Capitol?”

Back in the Capitol? Terrible. You wanted to leave the artificial confines on the city and never look back.

“I’m just tickled pink, Caesar! I missed all of you so much!” You said with a sickeningly sweet smile on your face, gesturing to the audience. 

“‘Tickled pink’?” Your stylist - Rumina - questioned. “What an odd phrase, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. What does it mean?” 

You chuckled, slightly embarrassed at your distinctly District way of speaking. “It means I’m happy, Rumina. You did a beautiful job.” You turned your body this way and that in the mirror, trying to get a good look at the entire gown she had you in for the Tribute Interviews. 

She beamed at your praise, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the skirt of the dress. “Well, thank you dear.” Her eyebrows shot up as an idea popped into her head. “You know, you should say that during your interview - ‘tickled pink’ - they’ll love it! Do you have any others?” 

She looked at you expectantly as you tried to think of other phrases the Capitol might like. Before you could come up with another, she spoke again.

“I’ll tell you what - you just be your adorable self and the rest will fall into place. I’m not allowed to sponsor tributes or anything of the sort but if I could, I would send all my money your way.”

Caesar laughed again at your phrase, exactly as Rumina had predicted a few weeks prior. Could it really have been that recent? The memory felt so far away. 

“We missed you just as much, my dear.” He grabbed your hands, patting them affectionately. “Now, let’s talk about your victory! Would you all like that?” He turned his attention to the audience as they roared in approval. Your stomach sank. 

The recap of the Games was standard. You tuned out as much as you could. 

Before you knew it, your interview was over and you were free to return to your hotel room. If it were up to you, you would return to District 8 immediately. Unfortunately, it was customary to spend one more night in the Capitol after the interviews. You thought this was quite annoying.

As you entered the elevator that would bring you to your room, you took in the numbers on the buttons - one for each floor and, likewise, one for each district. About two weeks ago each floor housed two tributes. Tonight, all except the 8th floor will be vacant. Your chest constricted and it was suddenly very difficult to breathe. Your vision blurred, trembling hands attempting to press the correct button on the panel in front of you. You suddenly wished you hadn’t sent Cecelia and Rumina up to the room before you. 

The door opened finally, though you weren’t sure when the elevator had started moving in the first place, and you scrambled out. Your legs could support you no longer, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of tears and tulle from the gown you still found yourself zipped into. You yelped from the impact. You cried out for Cecelia in what you knew must have been a pitiful display of weakness, but what choice did you have, really?

“Hello? Who’s there?”

You froze, heartbeat pounding in your ears. That was definitely not Cecelia, nor was it Rumina. In fact, the voice was distinctly male. Thoughts raced a mile a minute through your head. Could it be Nero coming to finish you off? Or perhaps it was Cecil, here to exact revenge for your grand betrayal of his trust? Maybe it was the boy from 5, whose name you still did not know, still so angry and ready to take you down properly this time? Oh God, you couldn’t breathe . The boy from District 5 was squeezing his hands around your neck mercilessly, putting his whole weight on your chest. Cecil’s clammy hands were tearing at your dress. Nero’s cocky voice was booming in your head.

“They better ready that damn cannon.”

“Hey, hey , you’re safe. It’s just me. Look at me.”

Distantly, you recognized that voice. It isn’t one from the arena , you thought, suddenly puzzled at the events that were no longer matching up. You tore your watery gaze away from the floor and were suddenly greeted by a familiar pair of concerned sea-green eyes and tousled sandy-blond hair. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked around. What was Finnick Odair doing on the 8th floor? 

“Just breathe, okay? You’re not there anymore, you’re safe. Just breathe” He said calmly, his knit brows the only real evidence of the worry he was feeling.

Once your breathing had leveled and your weeping had slowed, he caught your gaze once more.

“As much as I enjoyed being scared to death by a Victor crashing onto my floor at 10 PM,” he said good-naturedly, obviously trying to pull a laugh from you, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

You paled, finally getting a better look at the room you currently found yourself in. Oh . Finnick Odair was not on the 8th floor, you were on the 4th floor; His floor. It seemed that in your panic, you had pressed the last button on the first row instead of the second. You flushed in embarrassment, returning your gaze to the floor. 

On their way back to the floor, however, your eyes caught on the state of your dress; it was in tatters, falling in heaps of delicate light blue fabric off of your shoulders and pooling around your waist. You had clawed your way through the dress, leaving you in (thankfully) your undergarments and scraps of the garb here and there. You gasped, clutching at the fallen pieces and using them to cover yourself as best you could.

It appeared that Finnick had not noticed until you had moved to cover yourself - or he had elected to ignore it to spare you some dignity - as that snapped him into action. 

“ Oh , uh, one moment.” He said, now donning a blush that matched the one decorating your cheeks. He rose suddenly, disappearing into a room beyond your view and returning with neatly folded clothes. 

He extended them to you and turned around once you had accepted them from his hands. You quickly removed what was left of the dress from your still-shaking frame and replaced it with the offered clothes - a sweater and loose joggers. You tapped his shoulder when you were finished, though you were tempted to sneak away since he wasn’t facing you. How could you have been so stupid ?

He smiled. “Better?” 

You nodded and gave him your thanks.

“No need. It’s the least I can do. Consider it a ‘Congratulations’ gift.”

“Consider it my birthday gift to you.”

“You give a lot of gifts. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to repay you.” Your voice was shaky but not lacking humor or kindness.

He waved you off, opening his mouth to speak again before you interrupted him. 

“If it wasn’t for your gift in the arena I’d be dead - not to mention the situation with Torrac in the ballroom and now this” you gestured vaguely in the general vicinity, looking around. “How can I make it up to you; how can I thank you? I don’t…” The words ‘I don’t deserve it’ caught in your throat. 

It was quiet for a moment as Finnick considered your words carefully.

“Well, you can start by explaining what happened here if you’re comfortable - though I have a pretty good guess. Then…” He paused, trying to decide if he should say what he was thinking.

“‘Then’?” You probed, curious.

“Consider me a friend.”

This was decidedly the last thing you were expecting him to say. Your eyebrows drew together in confusion. Seeing this, he elaborated.

“Since I’m a newer Victor, the others don’t really trust me yet. Throw in the fact that I’m on the younger side and a favorite among the Capitol citizens and I’m officially at odds with most of the group.” He smiled somewhat sadly. “I haven’t had a friend in a long time, and it looks like you could use one too.” His hand was extended in front of you, poised to shake. “What do you say? Deal?” 

You smiled, truly smiled, and grabbed his hand. “Deal.”

The smile on his face widened, losing its sadness. “Cool.” He started moving toward the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

“What for?”

“According to the deal we made” He paused to check a watch that wasn't there “one minute ago, you’ve got some explaining to do.” His eyes widened as he rushed to add “If you want to, of course.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “You’re right. A deal’s a deal.” And then, after a moment of thought “water would be great, thanks”

The two of you moved in a comfortable silence to the large couch in the center of the room. You took a sip from the water Finnick gave you and sat next to him. Suddenly grateful for the silence, you struggled to find the right words to say. 

“I, uh,” You flinch, startled by the sound of your own voice. Then, trying again, “I don’t think I should have won.”

Finnick looked confused but stayed silent, allowing you to continue.

“Obviously, I’m glad to be here and I’m lucky to be alive and whatnot but…I’m still not even sure I did win. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up in that building with my leg half sewn and a tribute standing over me ready to finish me off. But when I’m not thinking that, I’m thinking about all of the people I…” you hesitated. “All of the people I killed - the children I killed . And my defense? I promised my Ma I would win. But didn’t they have mother’s they promised, too? Didn’t they swear they would make it back? Why should I be the one to go home? Six families will be one person smaller because of me ; Seven if you include the daughter my Ma lost in that arena because the… thing I became in there is nothing like the girl who got reaped. A month ago I startled a fox and felt terrible about it. A few days ago I used a brick to beat a girl senseless.” 

You hadn’t noticed you were crying.

“I guess…I guess that all hit me in the elevator, of all places. I looked at the buttons and I thought…I don’t know. And it freaked me out enough that I couldn’t see what I was doing and I pressed the wrong floor. I didn’t even notice until I heard your voice - only I was so wound up I didn’t recognize it and I convinced myself it was Nero or Cecil or that boy from 5. So… yeah.”

Finnick looked at you as he nodded in understanding. His eyes, though cooler than the sea, held a warmth you weren’t expecting. Then, because Finnick Odair is always surprising you, he replied with “I cried every night for a year after my games.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He nodded. “I had never felt less like myself in my whole life. I kept going back to the arena over the littlest things, too - walked down the beach back in 4 and the sand made a sound that took me right back to my third day there.”

“Does it ever go away?”

He grimaced, eyes clouding with what could have been any number of things - regret, sadness, guilt. “No. But it does get more manageable. You learn to live with it.” 

That , you could accept. ‘More manageable’ was better than nothing, you supposed. You both sat in a comfortable silence once more as you regarded each other with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

A sudden yawn broke the safety net that you both had found yourselves in. You laugh. “It’s late. Cecelia is probably sending a search party after me as we speak. She’s a mother hen, that one.”

“ Really ?”

“I know ! You wouldn’t expect it but she is totally overprotective.”

“I would have guessed she was more like Haymitch.”

“Who?”

“50th Victor. Consider yourself lucky that you haven’t met him yet. He’s…an acquired taste.”

“Hm…guess I should probably be taking notes.”

“Don’t worry, together we’ll be able to crack the Victor code.”

You smiled. “Together, hm? Do we have a deal?” You extended your arm.

He smiled a boyish smile, finally looking his age for once. He grabbed your hand. “Deal.”

Chapter Text

You found out Cecelia was pregnant the day before the final stop on your victory tour.

You were ecstatic for her, naturally - she had all of the makings of the most amazing mother in your opinion, second only to your own. Your heart yanked longingly at the thought of her - oh , how you missed your Ma. You were practically counting down the minutes until you could be in her arms again. 

Cecelia being pregnant did, however, throw a wrench in the natural progression of your mentorship. Typically a new Victor has guidance from their mentor for their first Games on the other side, but with Cecelia pregnant and Woof the shell of his past self you were to be left on your own for your first Games post-victory. You had been worrying about this fact the entire last day, leaving you on the outskirts of a celebration thrown in your honor once again. 

“I’m starting to think parties aren’t really your thing.”

You smirked, maintaining your attention on the current occupants of the dance floor as you artfully dodged his question. “Here to rescue me again, Finnick?” 

A glass filled with a pale blue liquid enters your view and pulls your attention to his presence. “Well, that depends - do you need rescuing?” His tone is teasing and slightly flirtatious in nature, but you hear the real question underneath it; “Are you okay?”

You accept the glass with a quick ‘thank you’ as you give him a more genuine smile. “I’m alright for now, but I’ll be sure to let you know if the need ever comes up.” 

He hums what you believe to be an amused sound as you both turn your attention back to the sea of people occupying the room and settle into a comfortable silence. You don’t remain like this for long, turning to face him with an excited look as you remember the news you received just last night.

“Cecelia’s pregnant.”

Finnick’s eyes widen as he turns to fully face you. “No way .”

“It’s true! She told me yesterday - I told you she was a mother hen.”

He lifts his drink and you follow suit. “Good for her.” You both take a sip from your drinks. “Wait, then who…who’s going to help you with your first set of tributes? I can’t think of another Victor from 8 besides Cecelia.” His brows draw together as he tries to think.

You lose a bit of your excitement. “That’s the problem. There isn’t really another Victor - not one who could guide me, at least. There’s Woof, but he wasn’t even able to mentor Cecelia after she won. He’s a good man, really,  but he’s more of a ghost than a person.” You shrug, swirling the contents of your glass to distract you from the onslaught of nerves. “I’m on my own.”

He shakes his head dismissively. “No you’re not.” You shoot him a puzzled look as he smiles like the answer is obvious. “ I’ll help you out. Friends, remember? We shook on it and everything - you can’t back out.” 

You laugh to conceal your true gratitude. “How could I forget?”

“Not your brightest moment, I must say.”

A faux-look of outrage crosses your features as you shove his shoulder playfully. 

“Rude!”

“ What ? It’s the truth! It’s not my fault you have the memory of a goldfish.”

“A what?”

“A goldfish-”

“Excuse me.”

Both of your eyes snap to the side where a Peacekeeper now stands. He addresses you and plainly states “President Snow has requested an audience with you.” before stalking off in the direction of what you assume is Snow’s office. You attempt to keep the confusion off of your face as you move to follow but you are suddenly halted in your pursuit by Finnick’s hand gripping your wrist so tight you were sure it would bruise. The protest dies on your tongue as your eyes meet. 

There is terror etched into his face, as plain as day. 

“ Wait -”

You hear your name once again from the Peacekeeper ahead of you but you don’t dare remove your gaze from the boy in front of you.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I…” He swallowed thickly, saying your name cautiously, “how old did you say you were, again?”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion. “Sixteen…Finnick, what’s wrong ? What’s going on?” 

The remaining color on his tanned face drains in an instant. Before you could ask again, the Peacekeeper grabbed your bicep and began to pull you towards President Snow’s imposing office. 

Your mind raced as it searched for answers. Why had Finnick looked so spooked? Why did he ask your age? What could Snow want from you? You doubted it was a good thing if the blood draining from Finnick’s face had anything to do with it - which you knew it most definitely did. 

The large doors in front of you are suddenly opened and you are ushered into a seat in front of the President’s opulent desk. 

You only remember bits and pieces of the conversation. The only real evidence that it happened at all was the wrinkles in your dress from where you had gripped it and the tear tracks cutting through the makeup that had been artfully done before the party. Your wide, almost shell-shocked eyes shot about the ballroom as you tried to piece together what had just happened.

“There is a business here in the Capitol, put in place to reward the loyal citizens.” 

“There is quite the demand for Victors, you see.”

“Since you are of age, there is a high interest in you as a product, my dear.” 

“I would hate to have to be rid of your lovely mother, should you decline.”

You shook your head, ears ringing and eyes welling with a fresh round of tears as you raced to exit the party. ‘Of age’ he had said. Suddenly, Finnick’s panicked face made sense.

“How old did you say you were, again?” 

Oh , you thought to yourself, I’m going to be sick. 

The walls of the ballroom raced past you as you ran, clutching a hand to your mouth to contain the contents of your stomach that threatened to resurface. You shouldn’t leave - that much was made clear by the thinly-veiled threats thrown at you in Snow’s room just moments ago - but you needed air . Needed to think . Needed to understand . Needed…

Anger suddenly reared its ugly head from within your chest. Finnick understood, his wide eyes and pale face had told you as much. He had known . Was he in the same position you were in? Had Snow had the same conversation with him when he had turned sixteen? Had he felt the same feelings you were feeling, alone and scared and confused? Or maybe…maybe he had found a way to escape it - maybe he could help you escape it; Escape this waking nightmare worse than the ones that had plagued you since your time in the arena. 

You had to speak with him, had to get answers.

Your haste to leave the party had taken you to the Tribute’s housing complex within the Capitol. Without giving it another thought, you pressed the button with a little ‘4’ and rode the elevator to the sound of your heaving breaths.

The doors opened to reveal a disheveled Finnick, who appeared to have been pacing for quite some time now. His shoulders tensed at the sound of the elevator, but he did not turn to face you. The expanse of his visible skin rippled with goosebumps as your footsteps echoed throughout the apartment.

You didn’t bother to give him a greeting, as he had obviously been waiting for you to meet him here. “How did you get out of it?” Though phrased as a question, you damn near demanded it from him, voice hard and anxious. You were trembling with a thousand emotions as they all fought for control.

Still not turning to look at you, his shoulders slumped as if he lost his will to fight. He whispered your name with a broken edge.

“So…what? You won’t tell me? I- I know you know what I’m talking about, so you also know that this is serious.” There was silence, and his back remained turned to you. “I need you to tell me, I…I need to know how to get out of this because I can’t think of a way that doesn’t put my Ma at risk and you’re all I have. How did you get out of it ?”

The silence was deafening.

“I’m so sorry .” His voice caught on his words, choking him as if they clawed at his throat on the way out of his mouth.

You shook your head rapidly. “No. no, no. This isn’t funny , Finnick, just tell me how you got out of this - tell me there’s a way out.”

The silence seemed to swallow the entire room whole. 

“ Please , Finnick.” 

At this, he finally turned to face you. Your eyes immediately flooded with tears at the sight of him. Clever green eyes dull and defeated, tears steadily making a path down his bronzed face, eyebrows drawn tight, full pink lips downturned in distress. This didn’t look like someone who had escaped. This was the look of someone who was trapped . 

You shook your head again as you stumbled backwards. The sick feeling from earlier was returning in full force, no longer subdued by adrenaline and hope. Hope , god, how could you have been so stupid ? Even the Victors had to lose. 

Gentle hands grasped your shoulders and brought you into a warm chest. The words “I’m sorry” rumbled from under your head over and over, his voice watery like the sea by which he was raised. You trembled like a leaf as waves of nausea and hopelessness took you by storm.

“ Please let me wake up. Let me wake up from this. Let me wake up. I’ll never ask for anything else, just let me wake up . I’d have died in that arena if I had known. And you… oh god he asked you too. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Why can’t it all just stop ? Why can’t we go back to when our biggest problem was Torrac?” You wailed, clutching for purchase on his linen shirt. 

On and on you babbled, driving yourself mad with questions that would never have an answer. Eventually you had cried so hard for so long that you made yourself sick, pushing off Finnick and rushing to the bathroom as you rid yourself of what little you had eaten at the party. He met you where you were on the floor with a glass of water and a small piece of bread. For the first time since before you had talked with Snow, he said something different than repeated apologies.

“He - Snow - asked me right after my Games. He said the… arrangement wouldn’t go into effect until I was of age, but that he still wanted to make me aware of it beforehand since I was such a hot commodity in the Capitol. That’s why I…” He trailed off, then cleared his throat. “I spent those next two years trying to find a way out. I didn’t care about anything else - I couldn’t care about anything else. For two years I sent tributes into that arena with no training or help because I was so worried about my fate that I ended up sealing theirs.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “When I tried to get out of meeting with one of Snow’s clients I came back home to find my father dead on the floor with a white rose in his hand. I haven’t tried getting out of it since. I wish I could tell you there’s a way out or…or a light at the end of the tunnel - I really wish I could - but there isn’t, not when Snow has as much power as he does. What I can tell you is that I’m here and I will listen and help you in any way I can. And…that I’m sorry - so sorry that you have to go through this, too.” 

Your heart ached with the knowledge that Finnick was just as trapped as you were - maybe moreso. The two of you remained like this well into the early hours of the morning - the morning you returned to your home in District 8. Eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and returned to your room with a small slip of paper and a promise to “test the phone” once situated in your new home in Victor’s Village. You had called the number as soon as you had finished moving in.

Seeing your mother aided in lifting your spirits. The two of you fell into your typical routine as best as possible - with the addition of debilitating night-terrors and weekly calls to Finnick. During your time in the arena she had found solace in returning to work in the factory, which she continued well beyond your return after she had ensured that you would be okay without her. It had angered you slightly that she had treated you so delicately, but after she had rescued you that night from a particularly terrible flashback you decided that you didn’t mind her coddling. As for you, you tried to pick up work at the factory to no avail - Victor’s weren’t allowed to put themselves at risk like that, which you thought was immensely ironic. Instead, you spend most of your time helping Cecelia as much as you could. She looked about ready to pop and couldn’t really do her chores the way she wanted, so you diligently crossed the Victor’s courtyard every morning and assisted her in any way she needed.

The first time you received a call from President Snow you had assumed it was Finnick calling early. You had picked up the phone on the third ring expecting to be greeted by his warm teasing voice only to be greeted with a cold venomous tone on the other side. 

“Good afternoon, my dear. I do hope you’re not busy.”

Your smile dropped from your face, body going stock still. “President Snow?” You asked as if you needed the clarification, which you most certainly did not - that voice was one you were sure you could recognize under any circumstance. 

“Expecting someone else? I… apologize for the disappointment.” 

You knew for a fact he most certainly did not care if you were disappointed. “Not at all, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

Never one to beat around the bush, he replied “You have your first request here in the Capitol. The train will be arriving in your District to retrieve you at sundown tonight. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you what will happen should you fail to show up.”

Your throat went dry, choking any words that tried to surface. 

“Am I clear?”

“...Yes, sir.” You croaked.

“Wonderful. That will be all.”

Without another word, the line dropped. The receiver trembled in your hand, face going as white as your knuckles. You stayed like that until your body caught up with your mind, moving like a ghost as you started gathering a small collection of items you thought you might need. At some point, Ma had come home. You didn’t have the heart to tell her why you had to leave, so you made up a half-hearted excuse and left with promises to be back before the end of the week. 

For the first time in your life, you were headed to the Capitol on your own. 

The train was shockingly vacant, save for the operators and peacekeepers in their separate compartments. In the Capitol, they had sent you to the tribute’s hotel which brought a humorless laugh out of you once you had realized. You would be mourning the loss of yourself in this room twice , it seems. 

There was a lone Avox stationed in the kitchen, prepared to bring you anything you wanted. Any food she brought you turned to ash in your mouth, so you instead requested that she keep you company before you went to sleep. Though the two of you shared no words, you felt a strong kinship with her - two girls taken from their homes and doomed to rot while the citizens of the Capitol feasted on their flesh. You went to sleep with tears in your eyes and an ache in your heart. 

The arrival of your client the next day punched the very air out of your lungs. 

Torrac stood in the doorway, just as grimy and horrid as the day you had met him. Of all the possible citizens, you felt this was the greatest punishment. He wore a menacing smirk as he advanced, knowing now that you were in no position to escape or be rescued by a handsome Victor. 

Everything had happened so quickly.

One moment you were laying with your eyes shut tightly and your jaw clenched, the next you were standing over the bed with blood dripping steadily down your hands and onto the pristine covers. You startled as you took in the scene before you, dropping the shard of ceramic like it had burned you. 

It was grotesque . 

Torrac’s body had been mangled beyond repair, his arm at an unnatural angle and blood seeping from a variety of sources. The sheets were stained a deep crimson and clung in odd places. The lamp on the bedside table had been smashed. The Avox you had sat with last night stood in the doorway, eyes wide with a horrified gleam. You trembled as the aftershock tore through you.

“What…what h-happened…?” The words came out painfully, like the words were too big and covered in sandpaper as they clawed their way out. “I didn’t…I don’t…” Your eyes widened as the reality of what you had done sunk in. “ Oh god …I didn’t mean it, you have to know that - he has to know that.” You climbed worthlessly onto the mattress, hands scattering around Torrac’s body as you tried desperately to erase the fatal wounds you had inflicted. “Please, please , I’m so sorry , I’m sorry , I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You’ll be alright, just… don’t tell Snow, please , I’m so sorry.”

Two frail arms gripped you from behind and you flailed, weakly trying to remove their grip from your body to no avail. The Avox brought you to the bathroom and shut the door that led to the bedroom, shielding you from the view inside. She wordlessly led you to the tub, gesturing to the tattered clothing adorning your body as if to ask ‘would you like help?’. You nodded blankly as moments came back to you slowly.

Being pushed onto the mattress. Clothing torn from you. A hand like a vice grip around your throat. Tears down your face. Throat screamed raw. Arms thrashing for anything to defend yourself. A snapping sound from above you. Then…

You gingerly reached for your throat as the Avox washed the event off of you gently. Your mouth opened to thank her but she stopped you, gesturing to your throat. ‘Don’t. You’re hurt.’ You wept instead.

Once you were clean, she led you away from the bedroom and went to work to get rid of the mess. You could only watch as she silently stripped the sheets and threw out the broken lamp. You’re not sure what happened to Torrac’s body, but you think someone retrieved it when you were in the bath. There was no evidence of the massacre at all anymore, just the memory of it remained. 

You stayed in the hotel room for three more days after that, paralyzed with the fear that Snow would summon you and have you executed for your crime. For three days you sat and waited silently, shaking like a leaf and jumping at any and all movement within the room. The Avox who had helped you comforted you as much as she could. 

Eventually, a call did come, but not one you were expecting. 

“You’re free to return to your district. The train is ready at the station.”

Your shock was evident, but you didn’t dare voice your concern or complain. He was pardoning you, it seemed, and you would be damned if you looked a gift horse in the mouth. Every mile put between you and the Capitol felt like a weight off of your shoulders.

You arrived in District 8 to the news that Cecelia was in labor. You smiled, making a note in your head to visit her at the infirmary as soon as you had rested enough to become a person again. As you walked into Victor’s Village, a feeling of dread climbed up the back of your neck. You opened the door to your house and called out for your Ma - it was far past quitting time at the factory which meant she should be home.

It was oddly quiet. 

You called again as you cautiously walked through the house, peeking your head into various rooms to try and find her. Distantly, an acrid smell hit your nose. Your face scrunched up as you continued your search, going to call out for her one last time but the words died on your tongue as you entered the kitchen. 

Ma was lying lifelessly on the kitchen floor, skin deathly pale and a thin stream of blood coming from her nose. 

You screamed, a raw and choked sound that pained you almost as much as the view in front of you. Your knees gave out from under you and you crawled towards her, taking her head gently into your lap. He had told you, had warned you countless times that if you slipped up your Ma would pay. And what did you do? For three days you had cowered on the couch worried for your own life while Snow sank his fangs into your Ma. Your hands flitted over her cold body, searching for something you didn’t quite know. They were stopped dead in their tracks when they found it, though you smelled it before you felt it in truth. You grabbed it shakily, examining it in the light as if there was any doubt in your mind who was responsible for this. Your mind clouded with rage as you threw the offending item as far away from your mother’s lifeless body as you could. No matter how far you threw it, the horrible perfumed stench still wafted into your nose, reminding you of its presence as if to say ‘I’m still here. You can’t get rid of me.’

The white rose laid on the ground just a few paces away as you screamed yourself hoarse.

Chapter Text

It had been two months since Ma was killed. 

She had been buried next to your Pa in the District 8 graveyard the day you had found her in the kitchen. The pungent smell of flowers at the funeral made you sick. 

After the burial, you didn’t do much of anything; You stopped answering phone calls from Finnick, stopped talking with Cecelia, stopped going outside unless you had an assignment from Snow - you couldn’t find a point to fight back and got lost in the pain of it all. The days blended together. You lost track of what clients gave you which bruises and marks, lost sight of who you were underneath the grief. 

Against your repeated attempts to block Cecelia out, she was persistent in her desire to check on you. She knew better than to try and speak to you at this point (she had been on the receiving end of copious insults and arguments from your mouth), but she still found a way to wordlessly leave warm food on your bedside table and coax you into the bath if she was lucky. 

The Reaping for the 68th Hunger Games arrived suddenly. Cecelia had dragged you out of bed, getting you washed and dressed and ready to go without a word from either of you. Although she didn’t say it, you knew she felt bad for leaving you to deal with this year’s mentorship by yourself, especially considering all that had happened after your victory. 

The day passed in a haze - the names were called, the tributes cried, you boarded the train, you headed to the Capitol. The tributes hadn’t spoken a word the entire train ride and for that you were immensely grateful. You weren’t sure you’d be able to look them in the eye and tell them that they would not live to see this train a second time. You fled the common area and retreated to your room. In your head, you knew it was wrong to leave your tributes to their own devices. In your heart, you couldn’t find it in you to try. 

The train had pulled into the Capitol once again, the familiar rocking sensation as it screeched to a halt enough to make your stomach churn with nerves. Your mind scrambled to remind you that you were returning as a mentor and not a tribute, though you weren’t necessarily sure if that made it better. In many ways, you were still in the arena. In fact, you weren’t sure you ever left. 

Arriving at the District 8 suite felt the same as arriving at the graveyard. You had to get out. As quickly as you could manage, you returned to the elevator and rode it all the way to the roof. The fresh air felt nice on your sweaty skin. You hadn’t taken a deep breath since the reaping. Since the funeral. Since your games. Since your reaping. You sat with your back against the railing, taking a moment to actually think about everything that had happened instead of being numb to it all. 

Nero. The boy from 5. Cecil. The three career tributes on the roof. Torrac. Ma.  

Could it really be true that a year ago you were here with clean hands? Only one year ago you had your Ma, you hadn’t met Torrac, you hadn’t gone into the arena, you hadn’t fought to survive. The scar at your hip ached at the thought. Here you were one year later but completely different. The girl on the morning of the reaping last year was gone - she had died in the arena and had been replaced by the Capitol mutt that currently resided within your chest. That’s what you were now, weren’t you? A mutt doing the Capitol’s bidding, senseless and brainless and only capable of killing everything around it.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you felt the hot drops fall onto your palms. 

You would give anything to go back. To erase all that had happened. To wake up on reaping day and restart and this time die in the arena like you know you were supposed to. 

There it was.

You were the problem in all of this. If you had died in the arena that night when Nero and the boy from 5 had found you, none of this would have happened. Ma would be alive - grieving, yes, but alive - and you would have died an innocent child. What a cruel fate it is to survive. 

“Mind if I join you?”

You startled, hand darting to wipe off the evidence of your sorrow from your grief-stricken face. It was no use, Finnick had already seen your tears. Words attempted to make their way out of your mouth, but they got stuck somewhere underneath your guilt for not calling him like you swore you would. A sad, knowing look painted Finnick’s face as he sat down next to you. There was a wide berth between the two of you, as if he was afraid to burst the bubble you had created in the time between your victory and the 68th Reaping. 

“I won’t ask if you’re alright because, frankly, you and I both know that’s a stupid question to ask-”

“Finnick, please , not right now-”

“ No . I won’t let you turn into Haymitch or one of the Morphlings or…” He stopped himself, taking a steadying breath. “I know it’s hard, okay? I get it. But there are so many people who care about you - I care about you. You have so much good in you.” You scoffed. Good in you? You weren’t sure you’d heard anything so stupid in your entire life. “I won’t sit here and watch the Capitol take that away.”

“Take what away, hm?” You turned to face him defiantly, effectively silencing whatever thought was about to exit his mouth next. “No one good or…or decent wins the Games. Don’t you see , Finnick ? There’s nothing left . The Games took it all.”

He’s silent for a moment, eyebrows drawn together as his green eyes scan your face for an answer to the problem ricocheting in his head. “What…what happened ? While you were home in 8…what happened?”

His words bring the tears back to their rightful home in your eyes and you turn your attention back to the empty rooftop ahead of you. Everything , your mind screamed at you, everything you warned me about . “...Nothing.”

“Yea, bullshit . Before we left you were upset, sure , but not like this. This” he gestures at you “is not ‘nothing’.”

“I said it was nothing , so just leave it-”

“Not until you tell me-”

“I’m serious, Finnick, you need to leave me alone-”

“No. Not while you're like this. I know there’s something you aren’t telling me so-”

“ I fucked up, okay ?” You practically screamed in his face, tears coming in steady streams now. “ I fucked up . Big time. And I can’t fix it - no one can. There’s nothing you can do.”

The only sound was the quiet hum from the force field surrounding the rooftop and the heaving of your chest after your outburst. 

“I killed Torrac.” 

Even the humming seemed to stop at the hitch of Finnick’s breath. “You… what ?”

“ I killed Torrac . And because of that, they killed my Ma. She’s dead because of me ; because I’m everything they said we are - I’m dangerous and deranged and sick and I am a ruthless killer out for blood.” At Finnick’s stunned silence you continued, words coming out in steady and unstoppable streams. “He didn’t even do anything wrong. He is- was - a creep but he didn’t deserve to die . I made that choice. I freaked out and killed him when all I had to do was just lay there and take it like Snow told me to do. But I couldn’t even do that, could I? No . Because I can’t do anything if it isn’t violent or shameful. And if that blood on my hands wasn’t enough, I’m about to send two kids into that arena to die . Because that’s what'll happen; they will die in that arena and I can’t find it in me to care because, honestly, they are better off dying in there than facing the god-forsaken reality here.” You scoffed. “I mean god , what’s the fucking point ?” The words echoed around the rooftop as you practically screamed them. You looked at Finnick, though the view in front of you was blurry from your tears. Your voice lowered to a whisper, words breaking. “What’s the point?”

The night air that had once felt refreshing seemed to suffocate you. You couldn’t bear to look Finnick in the eye, afraid that you would find the disappointment and disgust you knew all too well.  

For a moment, it seemed like the rooftop would remain silent for the rest of the night as Finnick considered the word-vomit that had just left your mouth.  “What did he do?”

You blinked, fat tears escaping your eyes and cascading down your face. “Wh…what?”

“ What did he do ? Torrac, I mean.” At your confused silence, he continued. “You said you freaked out; why? What did he do that made you freak out? You aren’t a person that would be violent unless you were provoked. So, what did he do?”

“I…he…it’s not important.”

“Says who? I want to know - even if you think it isn’t important. Humor me, okay?”

“It won’t change anything.”

“I know. Maybe I just like hearing your voice.” His lips quirked up at the corners, a boyish grin adorning his sharp features. “And you sort of owe me for ignoring my calls. Just saying.”

The bastard was trying to make you laugh, you realized. You’d be furious at his plan if it wasn’t currently working to make you feel slightly better. You really had missed him, after all. A small smile tugged at your lips for a moment, but you could tell Finnick was quite pleased with himself - the gleam in his eyes told you so.

“Fine, fine .” and then, after a moment, “I really am sorry about not answering your calls, by the way. I…I missed you. Probably more than I should, which is embarrassing. I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything after Ma and-”

A soft, low rumble of your name gave you pause, surprising you with its tenderness. “I get it. I’m not upset at you - grief is impossible. And for the record…I missed you too.”

Your smile grew, finally reaching your eyes as they flitted across his face. While everything was changing around you, there was a constant in the set of his sandy brows and the light smattering of freckles dusting his full cheeks. You were so unbelievably lucky to call him a friend - to look into his eyes and find a home in the only sea you had ever known. Maybe there wasn’t a point - not without Ma and Pa - but maybe there didn’t have to be one. Maybe you could just be here with Finnick on the roof of the tribute’s building, absolutely pointless but never lacking meaning. 

“Did I lose you? Where’d you go?” He questioned, face screwing up in confusion at your rapidly changing expression.

“No, sorry, I’m back. I was just…gathering my thoughts.” 

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Asshole.”

“I’m going to let that one slide because clearly you are emotionally vulnerable right now, but just know that I will revisit that later.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever big blue.”

“ Big blue? What is that even supposed to mean-”

“Okay, do you want to hear the story or not?”

That snapped his jaw firmly into place, his eyes widening comically as he raised his hands up in surrender.

Your smile dropped slightly as you tried to think of the best way to start. How much context was needed? You supposed too much was better than not enough. “Okay…um, did you watch my games?” He nodded, staying quiet so as to not interrupt your train of thought. “Right, okay. Do you by any chance remember the first two tributes I killed when I was cornered on the first night?” Another nod. “Well after I killed Nero, there was a moment where the other tribute - the boy from 5 - he…he had his hand on my throat. And in that moment, I really thought that was it; that I was going to die then and there as I suffocated underneath him. The fear was so bad I swear I could taste it, and after that…it was like someone took over. One minute I was mentally saying my goodbyes and the next…” You trailed off, then shook your head to get back on track. “When I got called to the Capitol for my first assignment from Snow, it was Torrac who walked through the door. I thought I could make it through. I thought that if I shut my mouth and did what I was told that it would all be over. But…Torrac, he…he put his hands on my neck and I…for a minute I was back in the arena with a dagger in my hip and the boy from District 5 above me, and for another minute someone took over again. Next thing I knew, Torrac was completely mutilated and I was covered in blood that didn’t fall under the excuse of the Hunger Games. The Avox stationed in my room helped me cleanup and I waited for three days to be executed for my crime - for three days I did nothing but sit on the couch and feel sorry for myself until eventually I was given the order to return home. I arrived in 8 to find my Ma dead on the kitchen floor with a white rose on her chest.” Your voice broke slightly at the end, catching on the mention of your beloved mother. 

He processed your words for a minute, a rough but sure finger coming to catch a stray tear falling from your lashes. “See? I was right.” Your brows drew together, prompting him to elaborate. “I said you aren’t a person who would be violent without being provoked. I was right.”

You let out a watery laugh, not expecting these words out of his softly quirked lips. “ That’s what you got out of that?”

“That you’re not giving yourself the grace you deserve? Yeah, that is what I got out of that.” You laughed again, a weak but honest sound. Then, after wondering if saying it was the right idea, he spoke again with words so soft they were almost carried away on the evening breeze. “I’m so sorry about your mom. I would have loved to meet her someday. She must have been pretty incredible if she raised you, but maybe I’m biased.”

“She really was.” Your laughter turned waterlogged, morphing into something heavy with grief and loss. “I really miss her, Finn.”

Strong arms pulled you in as you wept. His gentle hands carded through your hair after a moment’s hesitation, caressing your head as if he had done it his whole life. “I know. I know.” 

The two of you remained woven together on the roof until the sun threatened to return to the sky. He brought you to your room with a promise to help you with your mentoring as long as you swore not to give up on your tributes. It felt heavier than just something to do with the Games, as if it carried more meaning than that, but you pushed that thought aside. For now, you would simply focus on being there for the kids from your District. 

The next morning, you learned some details about your tributes; Kilton, the male tribute, was a year younger than you. He worked in the factory that manufactured Peacekeeper uniforms with his two older sisters Aisha and Bonnie, whom you knew from school. Dotty was freshly thirteen years old with an eight year old sister back home. She said very little, except to ask that you look after her baby sister for her after the Games were over. You had to excuse yourself from the conversation after that.

When you returned, you attempted to give them as much helpful information as possible. In reality, you were simply parroting the knowledge Cecelia had given you this time last year - you figured it didn’t really matter who came up with it, only that they knew it and remembered it when they went into the arena. 

When the interviews arrived, you had come up with plans and personas for the two of them to adhere to. You weren’t sure if that was the correct thing to do, but it was the best you could come up with for your first time. You helped them get ready with Rumina before slipping into your own dress and heading backstage. As much as you protested, the Peacekeepers had ordered you to make your way to the audience, as only current tributes were allowed in the area. For a moment, you argued with them with a ferocity that would have been commendable had it not been for the strong hands planted on your shoulder blades shoving you towards the exit. As you turned around to throw one last insult at them, you ran directly into a cream button up shirt and the smell of sea salt and sugar. You looked up in surprise. “ Finnick ? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in the audience already?” 

“I should be asking you the same thing. I heard all the commotion and came back to make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. It looks like I was too late.” He said, a cheeky smirk forming on his face. 

“Oh shut up, Finnick. It was nothing.”

“Oh I’m ‘ Finnick’ now? And here I was thinking I was ‘Finn’ to you.” He teased, referencing the nickname you had surprisingly called him the night on the roof.

You sputtered, an embarrassed flush quickly crawling up your neck and up to your face. Your hand went to shove at his chest playfully before getting unexpectedly stuck against him. Perplexed, you went to pull your hand back only to be met with the same resistance from before. You inspected the sleeve adorning your wrist as Finnick attempted to pull away from you.

“Wait, wait , stop. My sleeve is caught on one of your buttons, just-”

“ Right , like I haven’t heard that one before.” 

“Quit it, big blue, I’m trying to get us unstuck.”

“Who says I want that?” Then, after a moment he added, “And that one better not stick.”

“Which one? I told you, I’m trying to get us unstuck - I don’t think it’s bad enough for us to stay like-”

“ No , not your sleeve ” He laughed heartily. “The nickname ; Big blue. ‘Finn’ is cute, but ‘big blue’ is just absurd - you know that’s a type of fish, right?”

You rolled your eyes, trying harder to free your sleeve from its place wrapped around his shirt button. “Yes, I know. That’s exactly why I said it. You know…District 4 and whatnot.” With one final yank you pulled your sleeve from Finnick’s chest, taking one of his shirt buttons with it. “ Shit , I’m so sorry.”

You scrambled to find the button on the floor as Finnick cackled warmly behind you. “It’s fine really I-”

“Where’s your stylist? They can put it back once I find it.”

“He had to leave. Seriously, it's not a big deal.”

“ Aha ! There it is.” You exclaimed, picking the button up from the floor. “Does anyone have a needle and thread? Someone’s got to have one, right?” You began asking around, searching for anyone who looked vaguely like a stylist. 

Eventually you ran into a very startled and confused stylist who handed you the materials you needed with little question as to why. Determined to right your wrong, you pulled Finnick aside and began to work on sewing the button back into its rightful place without accidentally pricking him. You made quick work of it, having sewn your fair share of buttons back home. 

“ There ! All done.”

He laughed again, amused by your pleased look and the absurdity of the entire situation. “What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably. You’re welcome, big blue.” 

“Thanks, button .” He smirked, seeming pleased with himself now, too. You recoiled at the name, putting two and two together.

“ No .”

“It’s only fair. I don’t have a nickname for you - I’m just evening the playing field.”

“What if I swear not to call you big blue?”

“Hm… nope . I like ‘button’ - it suits you. Although, swearing not to call me big blue definitely gets you points.”

You laughed against your better judgement, shaking your head at him as you both finally made your way to the audience. “I guess I deserve that.”

The 68th Hunger Games went quickly after that.

Kilton and Dotty both died in the initial bloodbath. Finnick’s tributes died on the second night. You both held each other as you mourned the losses. With no tributes left in the arena, Snow had given you both various assignments to keep you busy until the closing celebration. With Finnick at your side after the fact, the meetings weren’t as soul crushing. You liked to think he felt the same way about the predicament. 

When the male tribute from District 2 was crowned Victor and celebrated properly in the Capitol, you were finally allowed to return home. Parting with Finnick was difficult, pulling tears from your eyes as you thought of how much you would miss his company. 

“You have my phone number, you know.” 

“I know. I’m just going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Weekly phone calls?” He asked hopefully.

You smiled. “Of course. You can’t get rid of me that easily, big blue.”

He smiled, green eyes crinkling with that boyish joy that made you beam. “Wouldn’t dream of it, button.” 

Upon your return to District 8, you went to Cecelia about Dotty and her younger sister, asking her if it was possible for the two of you to look after her. You told her that you had promised your young tribute, and your mentor couldn’t help but agree. When you entered your home, a newfound energy took hold of you. You cleaned your house from top to bottom, taking careful care in the kitchen. You drew yourself a bath. You made yourself dinner. You called Finnick before bed. And distantly, you thought yes, Ma would have loved Finnick.

Chapter Text

 Phone calls with Finnick started out as a weekly affair. The phone would ring on Sunday, you would talk well into the early hours of the morning, then do it all again a week later. You grew accustomed to this routine. If you were being honest, it had become the highlight of your week. So, when the phone rang on a Wednesday, you were quite confused. 

“Hello?” You said, skepticism creeping into your voice. 

“Hey, button.” came the reply, cheeky as always. You could practically hear the smirk on his face. 

A smile tugged at your lips against your will. “You know it’s Wednesday, right, Finn? I know counting is a little hard for you but this is single digit stuff we’re talking about.” 

A warm laugh buzzed at the receiver, vibrating pleasantly in your ear. “That’s a good one, you know. Definitely a keeper.”

“Yes, I’m hilarious, I know - you can hold your applause.” Another laugh sounded from the other end. “Seriously, though, is everything okay?”

“What, I need a reason to call my favorite girl?”

This was another recent development. Occasionally, Finnick would deviate from his usual playful banter and slip into something… different , making you flush from head to toe. 

“My favorite girl.”

“You have a cute laugh, you know.”

“I miss your pretty face, button.”

The issue this development presented was the fact that you couldn’t tell if this was anything out of the ordinary for him. Sure, Finnick was a flirt and a tease to most everyone in the Capitol, but that was the persona he put on. Was he just getting more comfortable around you? Was it something more? You shook your head. What a silly thought to have. Finnick was your friend - a good friend at that - and you would not mess it up by getting swept up in his charms. 

“‘Favorite girl’ hm? Can I have that on record?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, now.”

You both shared a laugh this time, the sounds harmonizing and mingling playfully through the space between the two of you. “I’ll think about it.” you countered. 

“You’re too kind.”

“What can I say? Anything for my favorite boy.”

There was extended silence on the other end, as if he wasn’t quite expecting those words to come out of your mouth. Embarrassed, you quickly moved to continue the conversation. “Isn’t it almost your birthday?”

Finnick cleared his throat on the other end. “Uh…yeah.”

“How old are you turning? 84?”

“Funny. It’s truly a miracle the tributes in your Games didn't die of laughter.” The monotone of his voice did not go unnoticed. Your lips quirked upwards, amused. 

“That’s what they want you to think.” Then, diverting the conversation back to the original topic, “Do you have anything planned? 18 is a pretty big deal.” 

Finnick made an unbothered sound, as if he hadn’t given it much thought before. “I guess so. I’ll probably end up spending my day with Mags - she was my mentor, you’d love her. Beyond that, there’s really nothing.”

You balked. “ Nothing ? Oh come on big blue, there’s gotta be something you’re itching to do.”

“Hey I never said there wasn’t. You only asked me if I had anything planned - which I truly don’t - not what I wish was planned.”

“Okay, okay, fine . You’re right.” Amused laughter fell from your lips, bleeding into what you were trying to say. “Are you gonna keep making me play 20 questions or are you gonna tell me?” 

“Tell you what, button?”

“Finnick.”

His bright laughter poured out of the receiver. “You’re so bossy, you know that?” He paused for a moment, his laughter trailing off. “Fine, you win. I guess… it would be nice to spend it with you - to see your face, hear your voice; make sure you’re okay. I…” He stopped, seeming to consider if he should say what was on his mind.  

“Is everything okay, Finn?”

“Don’t laugh.”

Your natural instinct was to make a joke - to poke fun at him like you always do - but something about the slight tremor in his voice gave you pause. “I won’t. I promise.”

There was silence on the other end for what felt like an eternity before his voice softly made its way to your ear. “I had a bad dream. That’s why I called you.”

Your face softened. “Do you want to…talk about it?”

“It’s really not that big of a deal. I don’t want to bother you with it or anything I just-”

“Finnick. You don’t bother me. Ever. I’m here if you want me to listen, okay?”

He sighed, and for a long while you thought he had hung up on you before his voice - the quietest you’d ever heard it - rang out through the phone. “I was in the arena again. And that isn’t really the problem, I mean, I dream I’m in the arena every night. The problem was that you were there too. You were there and it was a completely new arena and-” he took a steadying breath. “I don’t know. It seemed so real. I just really needed to call you.”

Your heart clenched in your chest. “Oh, Finn…”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be a downer.”

You shook your head as if he could see you. “Nope. Don’t apologize. That’s what I’m here for, okay? I care about you, Finnick. A lot . Probably too much, honestly. I am here for all of you, not just the good parts. What kind of a friend would I be otherwise?” 

A wet laugh echoed in your ear.

“On the bright side, the only good thing about being a Victor is the fact that we never have to go back into the arena. We’re safe.” 

“Right. Thank you, button.”

“You don’t need to thank me. Just promise you’ll call me when this happens.”

“That would be everyday, sweetheart.”

“Good. I’m looking forward to it.” Then, after a moment of thought, “And for what it’s worth, I would love to be there for your birthday. If it weren’t for the District lines, I would be there from sun up to sun down. Don’t ever forget that.”

Phone calls with Finnick started out as a weekly affair. After that fateful Wednesday, the conversations became a daily occurrence. And if your heart skipped a beat everytime the phone would ring, well no one needed to know that.

Chapter Text

Something was happening in the districts. 

You had heard whispers of it in 8, felt it in the increased protests and Peacekeeper presence. As the third Quarter Quell reared its ugly head in the distance, the people became more and more resentful. At first, you had thought it was exclusively your district, but one of your daily phone calls with Finnick proved you wrong.

“8 is getting restless. I’m not really sure what started this whole mess but I can tell you it has something to do with the Games.”

“Not just in 8, button - 4 is feeling it, too. Everyone is pissed off.” 

“4? A career district is pissed off about the Games?”

“People forget we’re human, too. Career or not, we’re sending kids to slaughter just as much as everyone else.”

You wondered hopefully if this could be it - if this anger from the Districts could be the spark needed to reignite the rebellion that has laid dormant for nearly 75 years - but dismissed it as quickly as it came. Hope was the soul killer; you couldn’t afford to get your hopes up like that - not if it ended up being nothing. 

It had officially been seven years since you had won your games; Seven years since Ma had died and you had become a Victor; Seven years since you had met Finnick; Seven years since you had started mentoring tributes. In those seven years, you had grown used to the new schedule you were to operate under - the way in which you were expected to live your life, the things you were expected to see and hear. 

In your seven years of being a Victor and Mentor, you had never seen a volunteer from District 12. 

This act had spread like wildfire through Panem. Whispers about the bravery (or sheer stupidity, depending on who you asked) of the scrawny 16 year-old girl reached every corner of the Capitol, quickly becoming the most popular dinner subject. When you had heard, you had gone straight to the person you told everything to.

“Can you believe it, Finn? I mean, a volunteer from an outer district that’s - that’s unheard of!”

“Caesar is going to have a field day with her. The interview has practically written itself.” 

You laughed, picturing Caesar Flickerman’s painted lips speaking the practiced questions about bravery and sacrifice and anything else that would pull at the Capitol’s heartstrings. “Definitely.” You thought for a moment. “What do you think this will mean? In the Games?”

Finnick’s eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know. Probably a damn good show. Only someone with guts would volunteer like that - It’s bound to be pretty insane.” 

Somewhere between the 68th Games and now, you both had implemented a tradition of being together from beginning to end instead of watching them alone, making them much more bearable. You would have preferred not watching them at all, but viewing was mandatory and - unfortunately - extremely helpful for mentors. No matter how many times you had mentored your tributes, it did not get any easier seeing them die. 

After your second tribute had passed, you had cried into Finnick’s chest for the better part of an hour. He playfully scolded you for getting attached to the kids but smoothed your hair all the same, his own steady tears drawing a path from his eyes at his tribute’s death from earlier that same night. It had been late, your tears exhausting, and the day long and tiring from discussing sponsorships. One minute you were awake, and the next you were sound asleep against a sturdy and warm body. The soft and slightly-salty scent comforted you as you slept, allowing for a peaceful night’s rest for the first time in quite a long while. 

You were stirred the next morning by a familiar hand brushing over your hair and a slow rising and falling motion underneath you. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” His voice was thick with unuse, tender and gravelly in a way you had never heard before.

You roused, shifting to see his face and - likewise - the position you had found yourselves in. “Oh…oh my god, I’m so sorry - I didn't mean to fall asleep on- why didn’t you wake me up?” A bright flush crept up your neck, threatening to consume you as you scrambled to peel yourself off of his comfortable frame. 

“Because you looked cute. And it was pretty comfortable, actually.” He smiled, eyes crinkling in amusement at your embarrassment. “You missed some pretty crazy stuff, though; They’re allowing two victors as long as they’re from the same district.” 

Your body lurched up jerkily at this. “ What ?” Your eyes searched his face for evidence of a lie, but couldn’t find any. “You’re joking.”

He shook his head, gesturing to the television across from the two of you. On it were several camera angles throughout the arena displaying the tributes scrambling with this new information. The female tribute from 12 caught your eye as she searched for her District partner. 

“That’s Katniss, right? The girl from 12?” 

He hummed in confirmation. You kept your eyes on the screen, thinking about what this new rule could mean. “I really think she could do it - her and her partner. I think they can win it.”

He considered this, watching Katniss run across the arena as she searched for the boy from 12. “What do you think it means? Two winners?”

You shrugged. “Maybe the Capitol found a heart.” 

You both laughed heartily at that.

The days continued as normal after that, with the new addition of you and Finnick napping together (for the convenience of not leaving the couch, obviously ). The two of you had almost forgotten the new rule until the Games had approached its close. Finnick had called your name from the living room, urging you to watch the finale.

“I’ll be there in a sec, Finn, let me just get some water-”

“You need to see this, Button.”

“I’m coming !” You insisted, muttering your next words under your breath. “So impatient.”

What greeted you on the screen made your eyes widen in a strange mix of shock and fear.

The tributes from District 12 stood in front of the cornucopia, poison berries in hand. 

“What’s happening? What are they doing?”

“They revoked the rule change; Girl on Fire did not like it.”

Realization crossed your face. “She's challenging them.”

“What?”

“She knows they have to have a victor - she’s giving them a choice. Both of them or neither of them. No Victor, no Games; No Games…” You trailed off, watching as they raised the berries to their lips with baited breath. 

The berries dropped to the ground as a booming voice announced the Victors of the 74th Hunger Games.

“And we have a winner.” Declared Finnick, surprise crossing his features. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the Games or to the standoff with the berries. You weren’t sure if he knew himself.

You thought of the finale that night as you slept on Finnick’s chest. Something about that moment had irked you - had kept you thinking; Two Victors. Snow couldn’t have been happy about that. Those two Tributes, who had everything stacked against them, bested the Gamemakers - and by extension, the Capitol - with a couple of berries. 

Upon your return to District 8, you felt the true impact of the 74th Hunger Games in real time.

The unrest was in plain sight now - protests and riots and outcry at every corner. The factory workers had gone on strike, refusing to sew a stitch if the Games were to continue into the 75th year. Peacekeepers had not taken this lightly, increasing the number of floggings and demonstrations in the square to encourage complacency. Eventually, workers had gone back to their stations, but not without a plan.

Mere months after the 74th Victors were crowned, the Peacekeeper uniform factory had gone up in smoke. 

You had rushed to the scene, having been a former employee, desperately trying to pull anyone you could from the ash and soot. It was pure havoc in 8 - citizens running around, Peacekeepers flooding the streets, and you in the middle of it all, frantically trying to rescue your fellow man. Amidst the rubble, you had heard a voice calling your name - a young girl who was trapped somewhere in the factory. Dotty , your mind supplied to you, Dotty is trapped somewhere in there . You went to call out for her only to come to your senses; Dotty was gone - had died in the 68th Games - this was her sister’s voice, Esther , the little girl you had promised to take care of in Dotty's absence. 

“Esther!” You screamed, voice hoarse from the smoke permeating the air. “I’m right here! I’m coming to get you! Where are you?”

Her frail voice continued calling out for you, weeping and wailing. 

 A Peacekeeper had seen you in the midst of the wreckage and had seized you by the arm, trying to rip you away from the building. He spat insults at you, calling you a “waste of space” and a “rebel sympathizer.” You pleaded with him, telling him that a little girl was caught in the rubble somewhere and you needed to help her.

“For all I know, she was probably the one behind it. Serves her right to die in the mess you people made.”

You saw red, connecting your fist with his jaw. He spat his blood in your face, dragging you to the square to make an example of your apparent rebellion. A batton had made contact on your prone form more times than you could count. You weren’t sure how long it had lasted, only that - eventually - he had deemed your punishment satisfactory. 

You had limped back home in a daze.

The phone rang as you walked through the door, but all you could do was collapse to the floor. Your lungs were tight with smoke, body aching from the strikes delivered in the square, hands scorched by stray flames. You would answer Finnick tomorrow. For now, you needed to shut your eyes and figure out what was happening.

In the morning, your limbs were more sore than the night before, the wood floor doing little to ease your injuries. Still, you peeled yourself off of your makeshift mattress and moved to the phone - the receiver ringing anew early in the morning. 

Finnick’s voice was not the one that greeted you on the other side. 

Your Capitol escort’s shrill falsetto fluttered into your ear, demanding that you meet them at the station with a few essentials by noon today. All Victors were being relocated to the Capitol in light of recent events . “Recent events” was Capitol talk for “riots” - they were scared to admit when something was amiss. 

As you exited your home in Victor’s Village, Cecelia and her children greeted you at the door.

“We heard about what happened yesterday - in the square. I’m so sorry, sweetpea, If I had known, I would have-” She rambled, hands flying along with her words.

“ Cecelia .” You stopped her. “It’s not your fault. Just…will you help me to the station?” 

She nodded, hooking an arm under your own and assisting you down the stairs. “Esther’s safe. I heard Bonnie got her out.” You let out a sigh of relief, leaning more of your weight on Cecelia.  “Do you know what’s going on? I haven’t heard much besides…” She looked down at your bruised body.

You grimaced. “It’s chaos out there. The people are rioting and no one can keep up. Someone blew up the uniform factory - I tried to help everyone get out but a Peacekeeper tried to stop me. You can see how well that turned out.” You groaned after taking a particularly painful step, earning a mumbled “sorry” from your Mentor. “Everything’s different now that those two kids from 12 got out. I think…” You stopped yourself, looking into Cecelia’s eyes for a moment. “I think this is it. I really do.”

“You think…” She halted for a moment, keeping your group planted at the stairs of the train station. Before she could continue, your escort whisked all of you - including Woof who, miraculously, had made it to the station by himself - onto the train and away from your smoldering District.

You wondered distantly what Finnick would think - if he knew you were okay. You hadn’t meant to ignore his calls, in fact you had actively tried your hardest to answer him, but to no avail. You hoped he was safe and that you would see him again soon come Reaping Day - if that was even happening anymore. Against your better judgement, a smile pulled at your lips. No Reaping Day ; It sounded like a dream - one of the dreams that only came when you were by Finnick’s side. One that felt safe and warm and idealistic. 

On the train, your escort had informed you of a mandatory meeting with the President - though you wondered if any meeting with the President could be anything less than mandatory - upon your arrival in the Capitol. You blanched at the news, wondering what he could possibly want from you now. Surely not another assignment. He wouldn’t - not with everything unraveling before his very eyes. Your mind was still swimming with questions even as you waited behind the ornate door to his office. Just being here made your stomach roll with nausea. You hated this door - hated what was behind it even more. 

The doors opened to reveal a fuming President Snow, a sickeningly sweet and floral stench wafting off of him in waves. He had his hands laced together atop of the desk, knuckles paler than the rest of him. Tense , you noted; Angry , you mind fed back to you.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Your voice wavered, the same frailty it had the first time you had found yourself in this room making itself known. You were met with silence, finally noticing a screen to his right after not receiving a response. His lips ticked upwards, seeing your eyes shift to the image on display.

The screen depicted you running into the fray of the factory explosion and searching for Esther. It continued well into your hunt, and ended right after you had punched the Peacekeeper. Your breath hitched.

“Sir, I sincerely apologize-”

“Do you?”

His question stopped you in your tracks, mouth opening and closing stupidly. He sat back in his chair, observing the video as it looped. “You don’t regret what you did, just that you got caught doing it. That seems to be a theme amongst your kind .”

You recoiled, face twisting in anger. “‘ My kind’ ? What do you mean ‘my kind’ ?”

“ You will speak when spoken to .” he demanded, voice raising. His face had not changed while yelling, the only evidence of his anger being the echoes of his yelling and the fury in his eyes. He inhaled deeply, settling himself once more. “Your kind; Victors . You think you’re above it all. You think you’re above punishment . Isn’t that right?”

Rage seated itself on your chest, taking control of you without warning. “‘ Above punishment ’? So killing my mother - that wasn't punishment enough?” A bitter laugh fell from your lips. “I’m sorry, sir, but I have to disagree. Victors are constantly punished.”

He considered this. “Not nearly enough. It appears I’ve been too… lenient .” He paused, taking a moment to breathe deeply. “Panem hasn’t always been perfect. It took quite a bit of effort on my part to make it so. Now, District scum like you and the rest of the Victors think they can change the way everything works - the way I painstakingly arranged everything to be.”

Your heart raced in your chest, blood draining from your face the longer he went on. “So-” You cleared your throat, trying to steady yourself “So you want perfection; peace, order, complacency…” You trailed off, voice pitching upwards in a question unintentionally. Where this conversation was going, you weren’t sure. Surely, if he had brought you here to kill you, it would have happened already. This was something more - something beyond the surface that you were struggling to grasp. 

“I don’t just want perfection - I demand it.” He said calmly, leaning his weight onto his forearms resting on the ornate desk separating the two of you. “In the Capitol, everything is of the highest quality, even down to the undergarments we receive from your District. You know this, yes?”

You nodded quickly, staring into his sharp blue eyes with a fear you hadn’t felt since your time in the arena. 

“Then you must also know what happens when a product isn’t of the highest quality?” 

“It’s thrown away, sir. Reworked until it’s perfect.”

“Very good. And what makes it perfect the second time around?” 

There was a pause as confusion crossed your face. “President Snow, I-”

“It is free of loose threads. Every stitch is perfectly finished and neatly arranged. You , my dear, are a loose thread; one that I have no problem snipping to ensure the retained perfection of Panem.” He leaned back into his chair again, a relaxed sort of composure on his face. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” 

He smiled, a sinister thing that sent a chill down your spine. “Very good. That will be all, then.” 

You turned to exit the office on shaky legs, eyes brimming with unshed tears. Before you could reach the door, he called your name for a final time. You did not turn to face him, but you froze in your pursuit towards the door, arm outstretched for the doorknob. He would know you were listening. 

“Do give my love to your mentor and her children. They are so very lucky to have her.” 

You nodded and ran out of the room.

Your legs carried you all the way to the District 8 suite, not daring to stop until you saw Cecelia and her children safe and far away from President Snow’s clutches. The conversation swirled in your head, hidden meanings and thinly-veiled threats all jumbled together. Why had he brought you there just to threaten you and Cecelia? Why had he spared you? What else had been happening that you weren’t aware of?

The door opened and you bounded through, voice breaking as you breathlessly called out for your mentor. Confused, she sauntered into the main living space to find you sweaty, heaving, and wide-eyed - a look she hadn’t seen on you since your Games. 

“Sweetpea, what’s wrong-”

“Where are the kids? Where are Freya and Webb?” 

Her eyebrow furrowed in confusion. “They’re napping right now, I…What’s going on?”

“Can I see them?”

“Not until you tell me what’s got you so rattled.”

“Cecelia, please, you don’t understand I-”

“No, you don’t understand. I won’t let them see you like this.” She took a deep breath, grabbing you by the shoulders and ushering you to the couch. “I was just with them; they’re fine. Just sit down and tell me what happened.” 

It was then that your body registered its own fatigue. You collapsed into the sofa. ‘It’s Snow; He threatened you and the kids. I didn’t know what to do, I just…I ran straight here. I had to know you all were alive.”

“He threatened us? What did he say?” 

“...It isn’t really what he said, exactly, it was how he said it.”

She sighed, running a hand down her face in exasperation. “Sweetpea…”

Your eyebrows twitch. “Don’t do this, Cecelia. Please , you have to believe me.” 

“I think you should get some rest. You’re still beat up from yesterday and you haven’t had time to process everything that has happened. Just…go to sleep, okay? I’ll wake you up for dinner.” She turned to leave, effectively shutting down the conversation.

Your face went hot, chest heaving in anger this time, not exertion. “I’m not a child anymore, Cecelia, you can’t treat me like one. Just listen to me for a minute - that’s all I ask.”

Cecelia paused for a moment, back facing you. “Just get some rest, sweetpea.” She continued out of the room without another word. 

Tears cascaded down your face. You couldn’t understand why she was being this way - why she was blatantly ignoring you. More than ever, you desperately wanted Finnick to be here. You knew he would understand your fear, would rationalize the conversation and figure out what it all meant. You wondered what he was up to in District 4 - if he was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him, if he was okay, if he was wondering why you hadn’t called. You missed him more than words could express.

You fell asleep that night on an empty stomach with thoughts of Finnick racing around your head.

The next morning you ignored Cecelia. You kept to yourself, stayed sequestered in your room, and tried to make sense of the conversation with Snow. Eventually you got sick of your four walls, so you moved to the roof to get some fresh air. There, you sat with your back against the railing, listening to the noisy streets below you and watching the endless sky above. 

“Figured I’d find you here.”

You shot to your feet, hearing the one voice you had needed to hear over the past few days. “ Finnick !” You exclaimed, clinging to him as if he would disappear before your very eyes. His steady hands traced a path up and down your spine, squeezing you as much as you were squeezing him. “What are you doing here?” You pulled away reluctantly, eyes scanning his face - remembering the familiar features and noting the new developments since the last time you had seen him. 

“The Victors of District 4 are officially in time out. It looks like 8 is in the same position, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes crinkled, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. “I missed you, button.” His hand came to rest at the cusp of your jaw, thumb swiping back and forth across the expanse of skin there. You flushed, tears flooding your eyes. “Hey, hey , what’s wrong, sweetheart?” 

A choked sound came out of your throat. “I just missed you. Everything’s been so confusing - all I’ve wanted to do is talk with you but we had to leave 8 so suddenly and Snow talked with me and-”

“ Snow talked with you?” Finnick’s voice hardened, eyebrows furrowing in what you thought might have been protectiveness. “About what?”

You sighed, a trembling hand coming to swipe at the tears that had fallen from your eyes. “That’s the problem - I don’t know .” You shook your head, eyes squeezing shut as you backtracked. “Well, I mean- I…I do know, in a way, but Cecelia didn’t believe me because he didn’t outright say anything, really, but- It’s just-” 

“ Woah , slow down.” he placed his hands on your shoulders, steading you as you worked yourself up. “ I believe you, okay? Just start from the beginning.”

One deep breath later, you began to recount the conversation with Snow, explaining in as much detail as you could about the encounter and how strange it had been. When you had finished, Finnick remained silent, a thoughtful expression on his face as he tried to piece everything together in his mind. 

“Well…that is definitely a threat - at least coming from Snow, it is. The part that’s confusing me is why ; It’s not like you did much of anything to warrant him lashing out like this.” He reasoned, pacing back and forth with his arms crossed. 

“Well, I did punch a Peacekeeper.”

He chuckled. “True, but that’s not a good enough reason for him to threaten you like that. He doesn’t care about the Peacekeepers - not really. There’s something that we’re not seeing here.”

The two of you remained on the roof for the better part of two hours before eventually returning to your respective suites. Finnick had invited you to lunch on the 4th floor but you politely declined - you needed to talk to Cecelia and apologize for the way you had been behaving. 

When you walked into the living space on the 8th floor, the tension in the air was thick. However, it wasn’t from your fight with Cecelia like you had anticipated - it was due to the President making an announcement on the screen in the center of the room. The words you were going to say died on your tongue at the sight of Cecelia sitting on the couch with Freya and Webb tucked into her sides, completely still and silent. Woof stood in the corner of the room, eyes blank but focused ahead of him. 

“What’s happening?” you asked, voice trembling. 

“He’s announcing the rules for the Quarter Quell.” 

Your feet took you to stand directly behind the couch, arms braced on the back. Sweat dripped down your neck the longer he talked, stomach rolling with nerves. Why were you so afraid?  

The President’s bony hand selected a slip of paper from the pristine box before him, opening it with care and explaining what it read. Your heart hammered in your chest so loud you were sure you wouldn’t be able to hear what he was saying. 

“As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes shall be reaped from their existing pool of Victors.”

You stood straight up, arms coming to dangle at your sides. To your left, Woof had walked away in a daze, retreating to his room without another word. In front of you, Cecelia clutched her children as they wailed, tears of her own making a steady path down her face. The blood drained from your face as you stood and watched it all unfold. In a cruel moment of recognition, you finally pieced everything together.

“Your kind”

“You think you’re above punishment’

“It appears I’ve been too…lenient”

“They’re so lucky to have her”

He had warned you. That day in the office, he had told you the rules for the Quarter Quell, taunted you with knowledge that would not help you escape, but rather would send you to your grave. He had known you better than you knew yourself - had known then what you know now. He knew that you would do anything for Cecelia. 

He knew he didn’t need to kill you himself.

You would do it yourself by taking Cecelia’s place in the Games. 

The walls felt like they were closing in on you - a true rat in a trap, unable to escape the ending written in the stars. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t speak; all you could do was stand there as bile climbed its way up and out of your throat.

Chapter Text

Only when you had registered the bile in your mouth had you snapped out of your stupor.

You ran to the bathroom, expelling the contents of your stomach into the basin while President Snow’s words ricocheted in your head. 

“...Existing pool of Victors”

The air felt thin around you, not enough to satisfy your greedy lungs as they desperately fought to inhale and exhale normally. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except retch violently. For the first time in a long time, you cried for your Ma - craving her soft touch and gentle words. 

“...Existing pool of Victors”

23 other Victors would have to return to their biggest nightmare in less than a few months - 23 Victors would be dead in the same amount of time. You were a fool to think this could be the end of the Games. In truth, they had only just begun. 

Finnick , your mind suddenly screamed at you, what about Finnick ? 

You shot up, wiping your mouth and stumbling out of the bathroom, willing your feet to carry you to the elevator as fast as possible. You needed to see him, to hold him, to feel his heartbeat underneath you and know that he was alive and untouched. You couldn’t save yourself - that much had been made clear - but you could still save him. 

The doors opened to reveal a disheveled Finnick, green eyes wide and wild - searching . His chest was heaving underneath his shirt, muscles wound taught. For a moment, the two of you drank each other in - it was clear neither of you had taken the news well and yet, here you both were, in pursuit of each other. He whispered your name like it alone could save him from his fate, a broken sound tumbling out of his lips as he attempted to catch his breath. Your collision with him was inevitable. The two of you clung to each other as the sound of Cecelia and her children wailing slowly drifted off. Here, there was no Quarter Quell - no threat of danger - there was only you and him in an eternal embrace, safe and sound as long as the other was breathing. 

You felt him speak before you heard it, the deep vibration rumbling under your head. He was asking you something, you realized, although you hadn’t heard him the first time. “What?” you questioned, throat raw from the bile and the fear. 

“Don’t volunteer. Please .” He muttered, one of his shaking hands coming to cradle the back of your head. 

You hadn’t cried yet - the tears had been barred by a wall of shock up until this point - but hearing the desperation in his voice had finally been enough to cause your eyes to well up and your vision to blur. He knew you, knew your love for Cecelia just as much as everyone around you had known - just as Snow had known. He knew you had already decided to go in Cecelia’s place and had still come to plead with you anyway. “ Finn… ” You pulled away, focus dropping to the floor along with your tears.

He shook his head violently, hand coming to cup your jaw and tilt your head upwards. “ No . Listen to me , button, you can’t volunteer. I’m begging you. If your name gets pulled - fine . But please , don’t go in there on purpose. Promise me you won’t.”

You leaned into his touch, face crumpling the longer he talked. You couldn’t get a true breath in, chest catching after every inhale. It felt as though your heart was splitting in two. “You know I can’t do that. I can’t let her go in there and leave her kids behind-”

“But I can’t let you go in there. I just can’t . You can protect her as her mentor-”

“And work against you ?” Your voice raised involuntarily, hand coming to clutch his hand still resting on your face. “Watch you die at Cecelia’s benefit?” You squeezed his hand, urging him to understand. “I could never live with myself - watching the two most important people in my life fight to the death- I just-” You let out a sob, eyes shutting tightly as you steadied yourself. “If I go in her place, I can at least make sure she’ll be okay - that she’ll survive. And when - not if - I’m in the arena, I can make sure you’ll be okay, too.” There was silence for a moment as Finnick tried to understand what it was you were insinuating. Your voice softened, trembling as you looked into his eyes. “I’ve always known I would die for you, Finnick. I’m okay with it.” You smiled, thumb coming to swipe at his waterline as he cried. 

“No. No , I won’t let you-”

“It’s my choice, big blue. Nothing you say will change my mind.” Your fingers strayed from his face, brushing them through his wild golden curls. “Getting to know you has been the greatest gift of my life. You saved me; it's my turn to return the favor.”

His face screwed up in anguish, the most pained you had ever seen him. “Why are you talking like you’re already dead?” 

You smiled sadly. “I might as well be. Nothing will come between me and getting you out of there - even my own death.”

Finnick stood in front of you, weeping freely and unable to speak. You hated seeing him this way but you didn’t regret your choice. Without saying another word, you grabbed his hand off of your face and led him to your bedroom. You let him sit on your bed, silent and distant. His eyes had glazed over now, not truly seeing or hearing you as you prepared the room for sleep. 

The next day, each Victor had received the order to return back to their respective Districts to prepare for Reaping Day. Finnick had vanished that morning, leaving without saying goodbye. You figured he needed time to process, to understand where you were coming from and why you felt the way you felt - he would come around. 

Back in 8, you waited by the phone every day leading up to the reaping. Every day you sat in your house, hoping for a call from Finnick, and every day you were disappointed. You had mourned this loss bit by bit, heart breaking the longer the receiver laid silent against your wall. You had to remind yourself of why you had made this decision - why it was important that you stayed firm in it and why it was alright that he was ignoring you. You would be okay with him hating you - at least that meant he was alive. 

The morning of the reaping began with a nightgown soaked in sweat and a blood-curdling scream. It appeared that some things never changed.  

You had selected one of your Ma’s dresses today, finally fitting into them after all these years. It felt right to know that she would be with you for both of your reapings. You hoped she would understand why you were about to do what you were going to do. As you smoothed your hands down the sides of the dress, you knew she would. Ma had always had a sense of justice about her - always knew what was right and wrong, always believed in repaying the debts that you owed. You knew that if no one else understood this choice, Ma would be right there in your corner backing you up. 

Clock bells chimed as you made your way to the stage, spotting Cecelia, Freya, Webb, and Esther a few paces ahead of you. You joined them in front of the crowd, looking out into the still-smoldering District now crawling with Peacekeepers and enforcement. The people looked on with varying levels of anger. Finnick was right - everyone was pissed off. 

Your Capitol escort wasted no time making their way to the name bowls, beelining for the male side. Inside the glass dome laid a lone slip of paper. It seemed cruel to have to draw it out when everyone knew Woof was the only option. He stepped forward after his name was called, making his way to the center of the stage like he had done all those years ago. With their signature dramatic flare, the Capitol escort reached their hand into the other bowl, taking their time selecting a slip. Your heart hammered in your chest, suddenly realizing that nothing was stopping Cecelia from volunteering for you if your name was called. You had not considered this as a possibility until now, watching the escort slowly remove the seal from the piece of paper. Nausea wracked your body, then, feeling out of control for the first time since you had come to this decision. 

The seal broke with a deafening ‘pop’, everyone in District 8 holding their breath in anticipation.

“Cecelia G-”

You exhaled gratefully, words tumbling out of your mouth. “I volunteer as tribute.”

Beside you, Cecelia gasped gutterally. You stepped forward to join Woof, not looking back at Cecelia in fear of losing your nerve. I’m sorry, Finnick, you thought to yourself. 

‘W-wait! Wait ! Sweetpea I-”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, your tributes for the 75th Annual Hunger Games!”

A gloved hand grabbed your bicep, pulling you towards the door that led to the train station. You struggled, eyes widening as you realized where they were leading you. “I need to say goodbye; You have to let us say goodbye-”

“President’s orders. No goodbye’s this year.”

“No, please , I-”

You heard your name from the stage, a heartbreaking wail that you’d never be able to unhear. You turned to find Cecelia cradling the children, tears streaking down her face. “ I love you , sweetpea.” 

Your throat closed up, eyes brimming with tears immediately. Before you could say anything, the doors slammed in front of you and you were dragged the rest of the way to the station. 

You boarded the train in silence, the reality of what just happened sinking in. You were riding this train for the last time - you would never see District 8 again. This train was a one-way ride to your coffin and Finnick’s victory - there would be no stops, no pauses for mercy, only a high speed chase to the end of the line. 

Once again, the train had deposited you at the Tribute complex. You diligently rode the elevator to your floor, occasionally glancing at Woof as you ascended. He seemed at peace - like he had already accepted his imminent death, or perhaps he was welcoming it with open arms. It would only be you and him from here on out. No mentor, no sponsors, no hope for survival; Just you and Woof staring your final moments in the face. 

The two of you watched the Reaping recap in silence before lights-out, keeping track of everyone you knew returning to the Games. You were immediately struck by the District 12 reaping, noting the rotten luck of the two young Victors. Having to return to the arena only a year after their victory simply seemed cruel. Although, every aspect of this Quarter Quell was exactly that - cruel . Woof had retired to his room after the recap had ended, leaving you alone on the couch in the unsettling silence that remained. You wished more than anything to talk to Finnick - to reconcile and get your friend back. Trying your luck, you peeled yourself off of the couch and made your way to the roof of the building. 

Finnick was pacing, tracing the perimeter with his footfall. He looked lost in thought, as if he was weighing the options of something in his mind. You allowed yourself a brief moment to simply look at him, to take note of his slightly-longer golden curls and his bronzed skin. He had been spending more time in the sun, it seemed, hair somewhat sun bleached and freckles more prominent than before. 

After what you deemed to be enough staring, you parroted his words from the last time you had found each other on the roof. “Figured I’d find you here.”

He stood stock still at your voice, body going rigid. You waited for him to speak, to scream, to tell you to leave; Instead, you were greeted with silence. Frustration bubbled in your chest. “Are you ever going to talk to me again?” There was more silence and he remained facing the skyline. You sighed. “Look, Finnick, I’m sorry - I really am - but you have to understand why I did what I did. Cecelia, she- I mean, she has two kids - three if you count Esther. The only person I have is you, and you’re…well, you’re here.” He still didn’t speak. Tears welled in your eyes as your face grew hot with anger. “Can you at least look at me? I get it if you hate me but please don’t make me go into that arena without my best friend. I’m sorry, just- please look at me.”

He mumbled something, so quiet it could have been mistaken for the wind around you. And still, even though you could hardly hear him, your ears perked up at the sound of his voice - gravelly from what you assume was lack of use and thick with an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. 

“What?”

“I don’t hate you, button.”

A choked sob escaped your mouth suddenly, hearing the words you had desperately wanted to hear the past few weeks. “You don’t?”

He turned around, a sad smile pulling at his full lips. “I could never hate you.” 

You ran to him then, closing the distance and crashing into his chest. It felt like home here, you realized. You would be satisfied if this was the last home you ever knew. He cradled the back of  your head in his hands, smoothing your hair down. “I understand why you volunteered. It’s the same reason Mags volunteered for the girl from my district; She knew it was the right thing to do and so did you. I just…” He trailed off, peeling himself away from you so he could look you in the eyes. “I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. But-” Finnick stopped suddenly, as if deciding against what he was going to say.

“But…?” You probed.

His green eyes searched your face before searching the roof around the two of you. Without warning he grabbed your hand, dragging you towards the large and very loud air conditioning unit a few paces away. All protests died in your throat at the sight of his serious and determined face. “I’ve been talking with Haymitch and- yeah, I know , but hear me out - he told me he’s been in contact with the Head Gamemaker this year; Plutarch Heavensbee, I think? Apparently, Plutarch is on our side - the Districts, I mean. He told Haymitch that he’s rigging the arena for a total shutdown. The rebellion is up and running…and so is District 13.”

You startled, scoffing involuntarily. “ Finnick , this is-”

“-Crazy, I know , but there’s a plan - a good one, too - that guarantees our survival.” his hands came to rest at the soft curve of your neck, thumbs tracing a lazy pattern. “We could both see the end of this - all of it.”

You took a moment to consider this information. Escaping with Finnick did sound tempting. But a rebellion? Was it even possible? Could you trust this information from Haymitch and - better yet - could you trust the Head Gamemaker ? Thoughts and questions came to you rapid fire, pulling emotions from you faster than you could think; Hope, fear, uncertainty . “Why now ? Why these games?” You questioned.

He nodded, as if he expected you to ask this. “The Districts are already rioting - have been for a while now - but after Girl on Fire pulled her stunt with those berries, people started rebelling . She was the spark - now it’s time to stoke the flames.” 

You nodded, tentatively at first before fully agreeing with him. “Okay…okay, yeah . Yes . I’m in. What do we need to do?”

He smiled. “You just need to get the lovebirds to like you. Leave the rest to me, okay?” 

That night, the chariot ride to the President's house allowed you to observe and take in as much information as you could - from the looks of it, it would be difficult to get on Katniss’ good side.

The next day marked your first day in training and, thus, your first day attempting to befriend the District 12 Tributes. You wished you knew more of the plan, but Finnick had assured you the less you knew the better. So, here you were, following his orders blindly. Until you came up with a solid strategy you decided to stay by Woof’s side, leading you to the edible insects section of the training center. Woof hadn’t been there for more than ten minutes before he repeatedly attempted to eat the clearly-poisonous bugs on display. You tried to dispel him, attempting to calm him the same way you had seen Cecelia do. Your hands came to hover at his sides, trying to make as few moves as possible. “It’s alright Woof, let’s just go sit down-” 

Woof’s large hand drew a path directly across the table in front of you, sending hundreds of bugs flying onto the floor of the training center. He gave your form a hefty shove before stumbling away, clearly in a daze. You watched him from your new vantage point on the floor, wishing you could do more to help him. As you moved to clean the mess around you, a voice startled you. 

“Are you okay?” 

You turned your attention to the teenager to your left. She had a neat braid resting on her shoulder, the rich brown color complimenting her olive skin nicely. What struck you most, though, were her eyes - a cool and determined shade of gray. Katniss , your mind supplied. You smiled softly, beginning to clean up as you spoke to her. “I’m alright. He just gets spooked sometimes, I think. I don’t blame him.” She nodded, joining you on the floor and helping pick up without a word. For a short while, the two of you coexisted in silence - you noting her generosity and willingness to help, her noting your gentle and welcoming nature. As the two of you neared the end of the clean up, you broke the silence. “It’s Katniss, right? District 12?” Yet again she nodded but kept quiet, as if gauging if this question had another motive. You offered your name and District, stretching your hand forward for her to shake. After a moment's hesitation, she grabbed your hand and shook it gently.

“It’s nice to meet you.” She said, catching you by surprise once again.

You smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Thank you for helping me, you really didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged, a small smile of her own pulling her lips. “Don’t mention it.”

Sensing the natural end of the conversation you walked away, scanning the other training stations. Across the room, you noticed Finnick at the Trident station. Smiling to yourself, you walked to meet him there. 

“What are you up to, big blue?”

A smile of his own pulled at his lips. “Training - unlike some people. Came here to stare?” He preened, shaking his curls as he turned his attention to you. 

You scoffed, a bright laugh coming out of you unexpectedly. “I came to learn , thank you very much. I’m useless with anything other than hand-to-hand, so I was hoping…” You trailed off, gesturing in his direction.

“What - you want me to teach you? Can I get that in writing?” 

You frowned, crossing your arms over your chest. “Don’t make me walk away, Finn.” 

He laughed heartily, the mischievous glint in his eye catching the light as his head tossed backwards. “ Sorry, sorry - I’ll stop. C’mere.” He beckoned you with his head, urging you to move closer. You obliged, walking towards him as he explained. “It’s pretty close to a spear in terms of weight distribution and general wielding - the primary difference is a spear is usually meant to be thrown, whereas a trident stays with you. It’s an extension of your arm.”

He continued explaining, turning the trident this way and that as he pointed out details and features of note. You watched his hands trace the outline of the item, gentle even though he held a weapon within his grasp. His movements were sure, his words confident and knowledgeable. There was an intense passion about the way he described everything - something akin to respect and fondness seeping from his voice. You could have revelled in the upturn of his lips and the brightness in his eyes. Even though you were supposed to be listening, you couldn’t help but get lost in his eyes, something new and enticing drawing you to them in a way you had never felt before. 

“Are you even listening to me, button?”

You snapped out of your daze, face flushing in embarrassment. “Oh, I- Well, you know.. I was actually-”

He smirked, crossing his arms across his chest as he observed your struggle with amusement. “ Uh-huh .”

“I was just thinking that maybe this isn’t for me, you know? I’m just not sure I’ll be able to get the hang of it. Plus, it’s your thing anyways - I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder or anything so-” You cleared your throat, slowly backing away from the conversation as your face grew hotter and hotter. What had gotten into you? What were you even doing? Without giving it much thought, you moved to the first station you saw. 

As you approached, you noticed a blonde tribute trying his hand at various sutures. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief - this was something you knew. Without hesitation, you began matching the suture patterns displayed before you. Every now and then, you would hear a disappointed sigh and thread being cut to your right. You turned your attention to the tribute and his clumsy attempts at the wound closure - to his credit, he was trying his best. He had simply made a very common mistake. 

“Your needle’s too deep.”

The teen turned his head, kind blue eyes observing you. “It is?”

You nodded, hands gesturing to the fake skin he had been practicing on. “May I?” Without saying anything he pushed it to you, clearly eager to learn. “You’re using a buried suture on a relatively shallow wound. You could definitely get away with using a continuous suture instead - it’s much faster and way more efficient.” With deft fingers, you demonstrated the stitch to the tribute next to you, stopping to explain when necessary.  “There. All done.” You beamed, showing your finished product to him proudly. “Do you want to give it another try?”

He laughed, a contagious sound that made a smile of your own grace your face. “Sure. Can’t hurt knowing how to save your own life - where was this station last year?” 

You chuckled, threading his needle and passing it to him, keeping a close eye on his handiwork. “Knowing how to avoid bleeding to death gets rid of all the fun for them. Plus, it’s not like they have needles and suture thread growing on trees in the arena - careful with that knot there - It’s a very hot commodity and not easy to come by unless you have a very generous sponsor. Trust me.” 

He looked at you one last time before piecing it together, identifying your name and your district. “You won the 67th Games, right?” 

You were taken aback, not expecting this to just be common knowledge. It’s expected for Finnick, sure , but not for you . “Yeah, that’s me.”

His lightly-callused hand was extended towards you, poised to shake. “I’m Peeta, District 12. I think you met Katniss earlier?” Nodding in recognition, you shook his hand. “Hope she didn’t scare you off. She can be a bit of an acquired taste at times.” His voice revealed his fondness, going soft at the mention of her. 

“Not at all. She was polite - sweet , even. Maybe a little quiet, but nothing crazy.” 

Peeta seemed to appreciate this answer, smiling at you with slightly more ease than before. “I’m glad. Hopefully District 12 has made a good first impression…?” 

A laugh escaped your lips. “Definitely. I hope District 8 has done the same.” A voice indicated the approach of the end of training for this segment. You began to walk in the direction of the voice but suddenly stopped, having one more thing to say to the teenager in front of you. “I’m truly sorry that the hand you’ve been dealt is so unfair. I hope you’ll see me as an ally and a friend, and know that I’m in your corner.” Before he could respond, you made your way to the bench Woof had been sitting on for the better part of an hour and brought the two of you back to your suite. 

This dance continued for the remainder of the time you had outside of the arena. Every day that passed caused more doubt to creep in. Had this plan been thought through? What was going to happen in the arena? Unable to stop the questions from coming, you pulled Finnick aside after another day of training had come and gone. 

“Finn, I need you to tell me what it is we’re doing here.”

“I already told you, button, don’t worry about-”

“ Don’t worry about it ? We’re talking about the fate of Panem here - not to mention our lives . All I ask is for some clarity. I want to at least know what I have to do in there - if you’re willing to give me more than that? Great . But please , at least give me something . A couple of months ago I had accepted the fact that I would die in that arena, and all of a sudden we’re planning a revolution …I need a second to catch up, okay?” 

Guilt crossed Finnick’s face. “...It’s dangerous for you to know-”

“It’s dangerous for me not to know.” 

He sighed, dropping his attention to the floor. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He took a breath, taking one more look around the two of you to ensure the security of the conversation, then began to explain your part. “Alright. All we need to worry about is getting Peeta and Katniss out safely. If everything goes according to plan, the rebels will be there to get all of us out.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “When will they do that?”

He shrugged, a smirk on his face. “When the time is right,”

You sighed, exasperation dripping off of every limb of your body. “You’re seriously not going to tell me?”

“I did tell you.”

“ Oh for the love of - okay, fine . Peeta and Katniss are the priority. Keep them alive no matter what. You’re following those rules, too?”

“I’m supposed to be.” He crossed his arms across his chest, something like amusement painting his features. You frowned. Smug bastard, you thought to yourself. 

“Swear to me.” Finnick’s head cocked to the side, clearly confused. “ Swear that we’ll both do whatever it takes to protect Katniss and Peeta.” You extended your pinky - quite childish, in truth, but still no less sincere. After a moment of hesitation, he looped his own pinky around yours. 

“I swear I’ll protect the people that I need to protect.” 

You thought about this promise up until the final moments before the Quell. You and Finnick would go into the arena as a united front working to get the Victors of District 12 to safety, no matter the cost. What Finnick didn’t know was that you had made a second promise - a promise to yourself that you would get Finnick out alive. Of course, this was done long before the discussion of revolution and rebellion and whatnot, but that didn’t make it null and void. If it came down to it, could you sacrifice Finnick’s life for two teenagers you barely knew? All in the name of a revolution that didn’t have its legs under itself yet? You knew damn well the answer was no, but you kept that thought to yourself. 

You entered the tube, watching the door close in front of you. The platform jolted to life, beginning to rise and lift you into the arena. The sun nearly blinded you as you tried to find your bearings. When you did, you gasped .

Surrounding you was the biggest body of water you had ever seen in your entire life.

And you didn’t know how to swim.

Chapter Text

“So you’ve never…”

“Nope.”

“Seriously?”

“Well there’s not really a place for me to learn in 8; No water unless it’s for drinking or bathing.” 

“...Damn.”

“Finnick?”

“Hm?”

“What’s it like?”

“...Liberating.”

You couldn’t breathe. 

A thousand thoughts flooded your mind, drowning you with their multitude. It didn’t matter that you had made a plan to get out of this arena - you would die here and now, whether on this platform or in the choppy water surrounding you. Could the so-called friendly gamemaker not have warned you about this? What were you supposed to do? 

25…24…23…

The booming of the countdown alerted you of what little time you had remaining. Each number marked the approach of your failure - You would not protect Peeta and Katniss; You would not protect Finnick; You would not make it to District 13. Your chest heaved as you scrambled to find an escape. To your left, you noticed another tribute, seemingly in the same predicament you were in. Her features hardened as she fought to retain her composure. One thought among the thousands presented itself to you suddenly, a life ring amidst the wreckage - you weren’t the only tribute who didn’t know how to swim; you couldn’t be, realistically, considering the geography of every other District in Panem. The only Tributes who had access to water and knew how to swim without a shadow of a doubt were Mags and Finnick, which meant that you were relatively safe for the time being. 

16…15…14…

You took a steadying breath, trying to assess the rest of the arena now that you knew you had more time to think. To your left was the female tribute from District 7 (you struggled to remember her name), the two of you separated by a thin strip of rocky land stretching from the beach behind you to the center of the arena. To your right, one of the Morphlings trembled on her platform. Ahead of you was the Cornucopia, beyond that was a lush green jungle. Amidst it all was the water, dark and dangerous with unknown depth and contents. 

9…8…7…

Your only real option was to get to the land on your left and hope the female tribute didn’t get there first. After taking another look, it didn’t look too far away - definitely enough to be dangerous considering your lack of experience but not enough to be impossible. 

6…5…4…

Your hands shook at your sides. Sweat gathered at the nape of your neck. Your heart hammered in your chest.

3…2…1…

Go.

It was warmer than you thought it would be.

Water shot up your nose, salt burning you from the inside out. The current pushed and pulled at your body as you fought to rise to the surface once again. Your legs kicked desperately, arms flailing about. You were well and truly disoriented, completely out of your element. 

When your head finally breached the surface you gasped for air, lungs tight and squeezing. Your limbs ached from trying to keep you afloat, but you continued to kick and push to remain above the water. The waves lapped at your face, mouthfuls of warm water threatening to choke you if you stayed still for much longer. Move , you thought to yourself, you have to move . 

The time you spent in the water felt eternal. The strip of land slowly came into view as your head continuously bobbed under the waves. You were sure you seemed pathetic, barely staying afloat as you ungracefully made your way to your destination. If you survived this, you would never swim again. 

Mercifully, you arrived at the rocky stretch. Your shaking hands searched for a hold to pull yourself up as you coughed up water. Above you, a hand was extended towards your trembling form. Your head snapped up, eyes widening as you looked up at her and the axe in her hand.

“Relax. We’re on the same team, genius . Besides, Finnick would kill me if I hurt his… whatever .” 

Johanna Mason , your mind finally pieced together. You tentatively grabbed her hand, getting yanked up by her strong form. “We have to find Nuts and Volts and get the hell out of here.” She said, ushering you away from the blood bath. 

You struggled against her, looking over your shoulder to try and spot a familiar mop of golden curls. “What about Finnick? And Peeta and Katniss-”

She groaned. “We’ll find them. That’s not our job right now.” Without another word, she shoved you forward. 

The two of you ran down the strip as fast as possible, scanning around for threats as you approached the beach. It seemed that your earlier assumption about others not knowing how to swim was accurate - many tributes were still on their platforms, much to your benefit. You weren’t sure who ‘Nuts’ and ‘Volts’ were, but you were still on the lookout regardless. Luckily, it seemed Johanna knew who she was looking for, spotting three people down the beach and making a break for them immediately. The closer you got, the easier they were to recognize; Wiress and Beetee, District 3 - Nuts and Volts, you assumed - and Blight, District 7. Distantly, you thought it was cruel of her to refer to them that way, but you didn’t dare say anything. 

Your group of five looked worse for wear as you ventured into the jungle, the unending heat getting to each of you. It clung to your skin, seeping into your pores and draining your body of what little energy you had left. Everything had an unnatural warmness - from the water to the air, there was no escaping it. You had proposed taking a break, noticing Beetee looking particularly rough as he clutched a spool of golden wire to his chest. Everyone agreed, taking a much needed rest along the lush ground. 

You weren’t sure exactly when it started. Your eyes had slipped shut for what must have only been a few hours when you felt warm drops upon your face. A frown pulled at your face. Even the rain is hot , you thought bitterly. The rain intensified, going from a drizzle to a downpour in mere seconds. 

That’s when the smell hit you.

Iron .

You were drenched in hot, metallic blood as it fell in multitudes from the sky. It was everywhere, gagging you as it got into your mouth, your clothes, your hair. Your allies scrambled to get away from it, stumbling around blind as the blood continued to pour from overhead. You attempted to keep everyone together, calling out for them amidst the chaos. Above it all, a loud booming sound ahead of you stole your attention. A gust of wind knocked you to the ground. Someone was gasping for air, choking on the blood falling into their now-open mouth. 

“ Hello ? Is everyone okay?” You gurgled, spitting the liquid from your mouth and wiping your face as best as you could to assess the situation. 

Deep, waterlogged moaning echoed directly in front of you. You crawled to meet it, hands patting the earth underneath you to try and feel for whoever was making the sound. The closer you crawled, the clearer you could hear a soft sizzling sound - could smell burnt hair underneath the heady iron smell. Without warning, your hand came in contact with an unnaturally hot body, coated in the slick substance from the sky. Your hands darted clumsily across the trembling form on the grassy floor, trying to find a way to save them but not knowing what had happened. 

“Can you hear me?” You blindly called out to the prone body beneath you. The gurgling began to slow. “ No…no , no, stay with me- help ! Can anyone hear me? Johanna ! Blight ! Anyone ! Help, please !” You were interrupted by a cannon and the eerie silence that followed. One of your allies was laying dead underneath you. 

You mumbled an apology and shot to your feet, turning away from the body and making a break for what you hoped was the beach - you needed to find your group and figure out what had just happened. Somewhere ahead of you, you heard who you thought might have been Johanna calling your name. Still almost completely blind and disoriented, you ran towards the sound. 

“ Johanna ?” You called out, desperate and confused. 

Your name echoed once more, closer this time. You willed your legs to pump faster. 

After running for what felt like an hour, your body collided with someone, pulling an involuntary yelp out of you. 

“Tick-tock. Tick-Tock! ”

“... Wiress ?”

“We have to get out of here. Come on.”

Someone grabbed your hand on your left, prompting you to grab the hand of the person you had collided with (who you think was Wiress) and follow diligently out of the jungle. Eventually the rain began to slow, allowing you to get your wits about you now that you could see. With you was Johanna, Wiress, and Beetee, meaning…

“ Blight .” You stopped moving, everyone quickly following suit. 

“Tick-Tock.”

“What about him?” Johanna scowled, defenses up.

“He…I don’t know what happened. One minute he was fine and the next…it was like he had been burned by something.” You paused, looking at Johanna as she took in the news. Her jaw shifted as she tried to swallow her sadness. “I’m so sorry , Johanna. I tried to help him, I really did-”

“It’s fine .”

There was silence, then, as the four of you adjusted to the missing person. Since the rain seemed to have stopped, your group decided it was safe to take a rest once again. You stayed this way for a long time, watching the sun start to come up on a new day. Then, Beetee spoke.

“The force field.”

“ What ?”

“Tick-Tock.”

“The Gamemakers had a force field in the training center. One could only assume that they implemented that same technology along the perimeter of the arena to retain the tributes. If you touch it with enough force-”

“-You get fried. Really good to know, Volts . You know, maybe next time you can warn us .” She got up and stormed away, approaching the beach you could now see in the distance. Not wanting to get split up again, you ushered Beetee and Wiress to follow Johanna to the shoreline. The four of you broke through the foliage, Johanna at the head and you at the rear. Beetee and Wiress went straight to the water, leaving you and Johanna on the sand. 

Then, you heard it.

Finnick’s voice calling your name. 

Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, eyes immediately welling with tears. Was that really him?

“Finnick?”

Again, your name echoed around you, louder this time. Suddenly, you saw him, bounding down the beach faster than you’ve ever seen him move. Your knees nearly buckled underneath you as you began to sprint towards him. 

“ Finnick !”

The two of you crashed into one another, his hands cradling you to him while you clutched at his back like a vice. All too soon he pulled away, taking in the sight before him; It couldn’t have been pretty - sweaty, coated in blood, sobbing openly. Still, he beamed - until he seemed to register what was dripping from your body. 

“Is that blood ?” he blanched, hands skirting over you as he tried to find an injury. “Are you hurt? What happened?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh, a smile painting your face involuntarily. Your hands came to cup his face. “I’m okay , Finn. I’m really okay.” His eyes searched yours for evidence of a lie, not finding any. “It was rain - blood rain . Pretty twisted and fucking insane, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Honestly, the swimming might have been worse.” He laughed at that, making your smile even wider. You loved his laugh. “What about you? Are you alright?” For the first time in the entire conversation, you looked away from him to take in the tributes behind him. Peeta and Katniss joined the fray, getting familiar with your group. Someone is missing from this picture , you thought. “Where’s Mags?”

His smile dropped, head dipping down. Oh .  

Before you could even say anything, you became aware of the yelling behind you. 

“...Let go !”

“Tick-Tock!”

“ Hey ! Lay off her!”

You and Finnick both snapped your attention to the fight occuring a few paces away from your reunion. You ran to Katniss, trying to peel her away while Finnick did the same with Johanna. 

“I got them out for you !” Johanna yelled, trying to lunge at the teen in your arms. 

With one final yank, Finnick was able to pull Johanna towards the sea as she threw more curses in your general direction. Katniss shrugged your hands off of her, backing towards Peeta. 

“For me ? What does that mean?” She looked at you expectantly, wanting answers you couldn’t give her. Thankfully, Peeta gave her an answer that seemed to placate her for the time being. She didn’t look completely convinced, but she moved to get Wiress in the water (away from Johanna and Finnick, of course) before you could say anything. 

“So you and Finnick - you two… know each other?” Peeta asked you, a small smile on his face telling you his question was genuine. Although, there was something almost teasing about the way he spoke, as if he knew something you didn’t. 

“Yeah. We’ve been friends since my games, actually. He’s great.” You smiled, laughing to yourself. “Don’t tell him I said that, it’ll go straight to his head.” 

Peeta laughs at that. “I won’t. It’s our secret.” 

Suddenly remembering that you were still drenched in blood, you excused yourself to the water to wash off. You were thankful that you were able to be in the shallow part for this, still wary from your brush with drowning earlier in the day. 

“I can teach you one day, if you want.”

You smiled to yourself, cupping water in your hands and scrubbing it down your face. “ Right . I bet you had a blast with all that water, big blue.”

Finnick laughed, coming to sit next to you on the bank. “Yeah…I bet you didn’t .”

“ Ha - ha , very funny.”

“I try.”

“ Yeah , well, stick to your day job, pretty boy.”

“So you think I’m pretty?”

You shoved him with a scoff, a smile giving away how you truly felt. There was a pause as you tried to decide if it was right to say what you wanted to say. After some consideration, you spoke. “I’m so sorry about Mags, Finn. She must have been a really special lady if you loved her that much.”

He sighed, bumping you with his shoulder gently. “She is… was , I guess. She really would have loved you.” 

Your heart squeezed in your chest. You would have given anything to meet her. Mags Flanagan was - at first glance - an unassuming lady. Upon further inspection, however, you had seen that her wispy gray hair told the story of years gone by, the wrinkles on her face spoke of laughter and heartbreak, the shine in her eyes whispered about the pain she had endured. This was the woman who had held a 14 year-old Finnick as he wept, had protected him as best she could, who had tried for years to mentor as many children as possible. Without Mags, there would be no Finnick. For that, you owed her everything. You mentally thanked her for everything as you grabbed Finnick’s hand. 

For a moment, Finnick just looked at you. His eyes glistened in the bright sunlight, thick with unshed tears. You were mesmerised by his strength - not only physically, but emotionally . After everything he had gone through, he was still gentle, witty, kind, generous, caring; After everything, he was still Finnick - your Finnick, who you would do anything for. Who you loved .

Your eyes widened at the thought.

Love ? Surely you had meant platonically. You platonically loved Finnick, that much you knew. He was your best friend . Yes , you thought,  you had definitely meant platonically. 

“Do you…want help getting all of that off?” He mumbled, still not breaking eye contact. 

You smiled. “What - you don’t like the look? Is red not my color?” 

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “You’re so difficult.”

Laughing harder, you acquiesced. “ Yes , I would like some help.”

Without another word, Finnick shifted so he was kneeling behind you, hands cupping the water and gently pouring it over your back while you worked on your front. You hummed thoughtfully. 

“Is it always this warm? The water, I mean.”

More water ran down your back. “No. Back home, it’s pretty cold. I guess in the summertime it's a little warmer but nothing crazy - nothing like this .” He leaned into your space, speaking into your ear for some semblance of privacy. “This is a gift from the Capitol itself. Wouldn’t want us to be comfortable , now would they?” 

You laughed, eyes crinkling as your head canted downward. You supposed he was right - the heat must have been by design, just another way for the Capitol to torture the unlucky souls trapped within the arena’s borders. “I guess you’re right. Did you get it all out of my hair?” You turned to look at him.

He shook his head. “Lean your head back for me.” You responded in kind, relishing in the way his fingers carded through your hair. 

“ Tick-Tock ! Tick-Tock!”

You sighed, shutting your eyes tight as if that would make it go away. 

“What’s the story behind that ?”

You shrugged, humming in delight as Finnick began to massage your scalp. “I don’t really know. I’m guessing shock - dehydration, too. She’s been saying it since the rain. I wish I knew how to help her.” 

With one final brush of his fingers Finnick pulled away, offering a hand to you to help you up. “She’ll be fine. We all will.” He pushed a strand of hair away from your face, smiling boyishly at you. “I know I’m doing much better now that you’re here.”

Lightning and thunder boomed in the distance. 

You flushed. “ Cheesy .”

“It’s true!”

“ Yeah , yeah, whatever.” 

“...a clock ! Wiress, you’re a genius !” You heard Katniss exclaim. 

You turned your head suddenly, listening to the commotion from the typically reserved girl. 

“What’s that about?” Finnick questioned.

“...I don’t know. Guess we should go find out.” You began walking towards Katniss and the others as they congregated around one of the black landing strips.

“Let’s head to the Cornucopia. Wiress is onto something.” pitched Katniss, already making her way towards the center of the arena.

“More like on something.” Johanna mumbled, begrudgingly following after her.

You and Finnick held up the rear as Katniss began to explain her findings. 

“This entire arena seems to be set up like a clock - a new threat every hour, but it stays inside its wedge. It all starts with the lightning, then the blood rain, fog, monkeys; those are the first four hours. At ten, that big wave hits from over there.” She pointed her bow at a wedge to your left. 

You smiled, passing Wiress as you approached the mouth of the Cornucopia. “Wiress, you’re a genius .” She smiled.

“Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock…” Wiress chanted, walking away towards the edge of the island. 

Peeta pointed at the Cornucopia. “Look, the tail points to twelve.”

Nodding, Katniss began to draw a diagram in the sand, explaining what all of you had gathered thus far. As long as your group avoided what you deemed the “active wedge”, you would be safe. 

“Yeah, relatively speaking.” Supplied Finnick, frowning. 

A gasp turned your attention to the edge of the water where Gloss plunged a knife deep into Wiress’ neck. A cannon sounded. 

All hell broke loose. 

An arrow buried itself into Gloss’s chest, taking him and Wiress into the water. Johanna threw her axe at Cashmere who was running down the strip, sending her to the ground with a sickening thud. You grabbed Beetee and ushered him into the mouth of the Cornucopia as Brutus and Enobaria began their attack on the others. Weapon , you thought, You needed a weapon of some kind. You scrambled around the crates of items, looking for anything you could use. A needle and suture thread stood out to you, immediately making their way into your sleeve for safe keeping. In the back of the metal fixture, a wrench laid in waiting for use. You scoffed - go figure . You grabbed it, feeling the weight in your palm and making your way back to Beetee. 

Suddenly, the ground began to shift underneath you, sending you off balance. You reached for the walls of the Cornucopia to steady yourself as the island began to rotate. Faster and faster it spun, sending you to the floor as you clung onto the rocky terrain for dear life. Beetee slipped down the platform in the corner of your vision, thankfully being caught by Finnick only a few paces away from you. 

After about a minute of relentless spinning, the Gamemakers seemed to be done with their torment. You stood on shaky legs, grateful that you didn’t fall into the water. It seemed Katniss wasn’t as lucky. 

Your group ran to Katniss where she coughed up water and clinged to the land strip. While Peeta helped her up, Finnick grabbed your arm gingerly. 

“Are you alright?”

You nodded, looking at his concerned face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” You scanned him for injuries, eyes catching on a gash by his collarbone. Stabbed, by the looks of it. “Oh my god -” 

“It’s nothing, button-”

“Finnick you’re bleeding , that’s not nothing-”

“Let's get off this fucking island.” Yelled Johanna, catching your attention. The group began to walk towards the beach once more.

“Let me look at it.” You insisted, hands poised to inspect him.

“We need to stick with the group.” He countered, walking towards the rest of your allies. 

You sighed, reluctantly following after him. So stubborn . You broke into a quick jog to catch up to the others. Matching Finnick’s stride as you made it to the shoreline, you grabbed his non-injured shoulder to attempt to reason with him again. “ Now can I look at it?”

He shrugged your hand off, grabbing the wrench from your grip and placing both it and his trident on the sand. “I told you, it’s fine-”

“Would you stop being such a stubborn ass and let me help you?” You exclaimed, exasperated. Then, after a moment of silence, you softened. “ Please , just let me have this; let me help you.”

 His eyebrows drew together in guilt, nodding and sitting in the sand without another word. You withdrew the suture thread and the needle from their holding place in your sleeve, threading it and poised to begin before you remembered something. “Hey, Peeta!”

His head turned to the sound of your voice. “Still interested in learning sutures?” You called to him, gesturing to the needle in your hand.

He smiled, excusing himself from his conversation with Katniss and making his way over to where you stood above Finnick. “Alright, you ready?”

Peeta nodded. “As I’ll ever be.” His smile seemed to drop slightly as he thought for a moment. “ I’m not actually doing it, right?” 

You laughed, shaking your head as you beckoned him closer with a jerk of your chin. “ Nope . Finnick here barely wants me to be doing this, let alone a newbie. No offense, sweetie.” 

He flushed, smiling bashfully. “None taken.”

You rubbed your hand up and down Finnick’s arm placatingly. “You ready?” He nodded, clenching his jaw in anticipation. You dragged a hand across his jaw soothingly. “ Relax , Finn, it’s just me. It won’t hurt too bad, you big baby.” He huffed in annoyance, a cute red flush dusting the highpoints of his cheekbones. 

You cleared your throat. “Alright. Let’s do this.” 

Slowly and delicately, you stitched Finnick up while answering Peeta’s plentiful questions. You beamed at his progress, proud of how far he had come. “Exactly. Nice work, Peeta! Tell you what - if I get banged up in here, I’ll let you fix me up. Sound good?”

He grinned, nodding. You patted him on his shoulder before he walked away. 

“Don’t get attached.” Finnick teased, standing up and brushing a hand over your handiwork. 

You rolled your eyes, shoving him playfully. “I’m not !”

“ Yeah , right.”

“ Hush . Are you feeling okay?” 

He smiled, nodding. “Yeah. Thanks for patching me up, doc. Need to be at my best the closer we get to the end of this thing.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to do the math in your head. “Wait…who all is left besides Brutus and Enobaria?” You called out, half to Finnick and half to the rest of your group. 

Peeta turned around to look at you. “Chaff. Just those three.”

Finnick hummed something like confirmation. “They know they’re outnumbered. I doubt they’ll attack again. We’re safe on the beach.” 

“For now.” Added Johanna, ever the pessimist. 

Before you could scold her, a loud painful shriek rang out from the jungle, causing Katniss to shoot up. “ Prim ? Prim !” She bolted into the foliage. You ran after her, stuffing your needle and thread back into your sleeve.

“ Wait , Katniss! It’s not safe! Wait !” You called after her, bounding through the greenery. 

“ Prim , where are you?” She screamed, head darting about as she tried to find who you assumed was her younger sister. You caught up to her in the clearing as she swiftly strung her bow and released an arrow on a bird nearby. As suddenly as it came, the screaming stopped, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

“You okay?” You checked, searching her face. 

She nodded, looking around for another threat. “I’m fine. It’s just a-”

Your name echoed through the forest, piercing your ears as it bounced in your head.

The blood drained from your face as you spun around. “ Cecelia ?” 

Once again, the screaming came - desperate, agonizing, painful screams. 

“Help me, sweetpea!”

“Cecelia! Cecelia, I’m coming! ” You began to run, trying to find the source of the screams.

“It’s not her!” Katniss shouted, running after you.”It’s a Jabberjay. They’re playing a trick.”

You spun on her, eyes wide with fear and chest heaving. “How do you think they got that sound? Jabberjays copy .”

Her eyes widened, horrified as she began to put two and two together. All at once, the screams increased tenfold, making you both clutch your ears in pain. The voices blended together; Prim, Cecelia, Gale, Esther. It made you dizzy, trying to catch your breath as you sprinted as fast as you could to escape the active wedge. You grabbed Katniss’ hand, dragging her through the foliage. 

Finally, you saw Finnick and the others at the edge of the clearing, arms up in waiting. You pumped your legs faster, willing the screaming to stop. The closer you got, however, the more panicked Finnick looked - as if he was trying to warn you of something. You simply ran faster, ignoring the alarm bells in your head. 

Just when you thought you had escaped the nightmare, you ran headfirst into an invisible wall. 

Your heartbeat quickened as you stumbled backwards, slamming your fists against the force field in front of you. Finnick tried to speak to you from the other side, though you could hear nothing but the agonizing screams of your loved ones. You wept, head whipping around as you looked for something to shut the stupid birds up. Eventually you collapsed, head spinning and chest heaving as you screamed and sobbed. Your hands clawed at your ears as if that could make the sounds any less unbearable. Around you, the birds dove and swept after you, slicing and pecking at your exposed skin. Selfishly, you hoped they cut you deep enough to kill you, though you knew the Capitol would never allow for anything so merciful. 

An hour later, you felt hands on your face, thumbs swiping at your tears as a voice slowly faded into your hearing. 

“...got you, sweetheart, it’s okay. Look at me, button.” 

Your lower lip trembled, throat raw and thick with tears. Slowly, you peeled your gaze from the forest floor, meeting Finnick’s concerned green gaze. His hands pushed your hair out of your face, caressing your head and coming to rest at the junction of your neck and your jaw. 

“I’m right here. You’re safe . It’s alright.” 

You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face in his collarbone. He rubbed up and down your back, being oh-so gentle with you like he always was. Taking his time, he lifted you off of the floor and away from the dead birds at your feet, moving you back to the shoreline. The two of you sat on the sand in silence for a long while, you with your head on his shoulder and him with his arm around you - protective. 

You sniffled, trying to clear your throat. “You called me sweetheart. Earlier.” 

He stiffened, caught. “I’m so sorry, if it makes you uncomfortable I’ll-”

You stopped him with your lips pressed against his cheek. “I liked it.” 

Finnick’s head snapped towards yours, flushed crimson and at a loss for words. His eyes darted to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes. You swallowed, breath hitching.

Suddenly, Beetee’s voice broke the spell the two of you were under. 

“I have a plan.”

Chapter Text

The plan went something like this: 

1. Leave the beach and hope the careers moved in
2. Run Beetee’s wire from the water to the lightning tree before midnight
3. Lightning strikes at 12, electrocuting anyone on the sand 
4. ???

You weren’t necessarily convinced - there were too many variables for your liking - but you had few other options. So you waited, watching Finnick fish with his trident from the sand. You couldn’t shake the feeling of unease, as if this would be the last semi-normal moment you would have. Selfishly, you allowed yourself time to take him in - the look of his silhouette against the setting sun, the sound of the waves lapping at his legs, the way his curls fell over his forehead. If this was the last thing you ever saw, you would be content. 

“See something you like?” He called to you, hand on his hip as he eyed you cheekily. 

You grinned, huffing a puff of air out of your nose in place of laughter. “I’m just observing.”

He laughed, coming to join you on the sand. “Right. And what exactly have you observed ?”

For a moment, a million responses swirled in your mind. I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do if something goes wrong. I can’t live without you. You said none of this. “This beach would be pretty beautiful if it wasn’t a death trap.”

You both laughed. “I guess you’re right.” He knocked his shoulder against yours, getting your attention once again. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?” His eyes were soft, eyebrows pinched with concern. 

Your eyes darted from one side of his face to the other, trying to find words to dispel his worry but ultimately coming up empty. “I…I guess I’m just… worried . About this plan - about everything , really.” You looked away, running your fingers through the sand. “What happens if this doesn’t work?”

“It will.”

“And what then ? What happens when it's just us left?” You hoped he could hear the real question, the one you couldn’t say - how are we all getting out of here alive?

Delicate fingers pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, lingering at the side of your face for a moment. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You turned to face him once more, vision becoming blurry as your mind raced. “What about you ? And everyone else?”

His thumb swiped at your waterline, collecting the tears that resided there. “It’s okay, button. It’ll all work out the way it needs to. Trust me.” 

You nodded before resting your head on his shoulder, looking out at the arena before you. It really was beautiful; the sun painted the sky, the water reflected it, the trees swayed in the breeze. Somewhere in your home district, perhaps there was a sunset just like this one. Your heart ached, longing for the hills and plains you knew so well. Oh, what you would give to be 11 years old and rowdy as ever, climbing trees and laying in the grass until the sun eventually went to sleep. If this plan worked, would you ever see your precious home again? Would you ever smell the honeysuckles that grew beyond the borders of the District? Would you ever taste the sweet, plush bread from the bakery in town? Would you be able to watch the sun rise on District 8? 

Without warning you were suddenly weeping softly, homesick and afraid of what was to come. After this moment, everything would be different. You knew this - knew it was what needed to happen for the future of Panem and its people - but you couldn’t help but selfishly wish for one more day, even just an hour, to relish in the way things were. It was all so confusing, longing for before but hopeful for the after. 

Before you, the sun was dipping below the waterline, marking the end of this moment. You reached for Finnick’s hand, squeezing it once before standing and joining the rest of the group. 

“Time to go?” you questioned, jerking your chin to indicate the fall of dusk. 

Beetee nodded, looking at everyone as if gathering data. “Take everything. They are surely watching us.” 

The six of you made your trek to the lightning tree, the steps feeling more like a death march the longer it went on. Regardless of what Finnick had told you, you could not shake the unease in your stomach. 

By the time you arrived at the tree, the insects from the 11 o’clock wedge began sounding.

“We have exactly one hour.” Declared Katniss, exchanging looks with Peeta from across the way.

Beetee pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, carefully unspooling his golden wire. “Let’s get this wrapped up.” He said, gesturing to the lightning tree in front of you. 

Katniss began wrapping the tree wordlessly as the rest of you were briefed on how the night would go. As it were, you would be with Johanna and Katniss while Peeta and Finnick stayed to protect Beetee at the tree. There was protest about this, with Peeta demanding he go with his fiance.

“Katniss is pregnant. I want to go with her.”

“There are two careers out there. I need two guards.”

“Finnick can guard you.”

“Not alone , he can’t.” 

“Is there a problem here?”

There was silence as each party involved waited for the other’s response; A stand off between people’s priorities - Peeta’s being Katniss, Beetee’s being survival, your’s being Finnick, and Finnick’s being the plan. Eventually, Katniss broke the tension.

“No. We’re good.” She walked to Peeta, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “See you at midnight.”

You looked at Finnick, breath shallow as your heart raced. “Stay safe, big blue.” 

He smiled, eyes glistening under the light of the moon. “You too, button.”

You opened your mouth to say something else - anything else - but nothing came out. Instead, you nodded and turned to join Johanna and Katniss as they made their way to the beach. 

The three of you walked in a tense silence, heads on a constant swivel as you checked for danger. At the rate you were going, you were afraid that you would be stuck on the beach by the time the lightning struck. You began to walk faster, urging Johanna and Katniss to do the same. 

Without warning the wire went slack, stopping all of you in your tracks. Katniss quickly strung her bow as you looked around with your wrench poised to strike. Behind you, a loud thud sounded, making you whip around to meet the threat head on. 

Katniss laid on the floor with Johanna on top of her, knife in hand.

“Johanna, what are you doing -” You screeched, grabbing her by the shoulders and preparing to pry her off of the disoriented teenager underneath her. 

She sliced an arc diagonally, catching your forearms and sending you stumbling backwards. “Go get Peeta!” 

Katniss groaned in pain as Johanna’s knife sliced a deep line down her forearm. You blanched. “ Johanna -”

“ Go !”

Paralyzed, you tried to get your wits about you. Why would Johanna try to kill Katniss now? After everything that had happened, after tracking them down-

Tracking .

Johanna was removing her tracker. 

Suddenly, it made sense. Muttering an apology to Katniss that you had no idea if she actually heard or not, you began to run back to the tree to find Peeta and remove his tracker. Stray branches swiped at you left and right, tearing your skin as it made contact. You simply pumped your legs faster, searching for the teenager in the foliage. 

“ Peeta ! Peeta, where are you?” You cried, looking on all sides of you as you continued your pursuit. The insects were still chirping and clicking, making it impossible to hear anything over the noise. “Peeta! It’s me! It’s-”

Something sent you stumbling to the ground, knocking the air out of you as you writhed against the dirt. Footsteps were approaching you if your ears didn’t deceive you - heavy footprints, nothing like anyone from your group. Career . You moved to stand, scrambling to steady yourself as the world tilted in your vision. A splitting pain stopped you, sending a sharp yelp tumbling out of your mouth without warning. Confused, you looked down to inspect the area, only to gasp at the sight.

A spear had been firmly lodged in your abdomen. 

Your breath hitched, eyes welling with tears as you tried to catch your breath. Your bodysuit slowly became tinted with crimson, seeping out of the wound faster than you could register. Your hands trembled as you tried to put pressure on it, whimpering and shuttering all throughout. Your eyes were wide as saucers, adrenaline pumping through you at lightning speeds. 

Above you, Brutus entered your sight, grabbing the base of the spear and preparing to yank it free from your body. It occurred to you that these would be your last moments - if the spear was removed, you would bleed out and that would be it; No honeysuckles, no sunrises, no future. 

You screamed . 

“ Finnick !”

Brutus frowned, adjusting his grip on the hilt. 

Before he could yank it free, he was knocked into the dirt with a sickening squelch, a trident sticking out of his upper chest. A cannon sounded around you. A piercing silence followed after.

“ No . No, no, no -” came Finnick’s voice as he knelt before you, hands trembling as he tried to figure out what to do. You wheezed, groaning and writhing as you fought to stay awake. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart, just- just stay with me , okay? That’s it. You’ll be fine , it’s-” He gulped, voice breaking. “It’s not that bad . You’ll be fine .”

“ Finnick -”

“ No . You’ll be alright, you hear me?” His hands came to press on the wound, making you yelp and cough. “I’m so sorry , I know it hurts-”

“Finnick, pl-ease -”

“ Stop it . You’re fine. We’ll get you all fixed up. I still have to teach you how to swim, remember? I still need to teach you how to swim, button, please -”

“You…you need to go get Peeta.”

His green eyes blinked in confusion, salty tears cascading down his cheeks. “ Peeta ?” 

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut tightly as you groaned in pain, breaths becoming more shallow by the second. “Leave me and go get Peeta. He still has his tracker in-”

“ Leave you ? No, I won’t do that-”

“You h-have to, Finn. This was the plan.” You took a shaky breath, chest aching. “We both kn-ow I’m not making it out of this.”

He sobbed, eyebrows wound tightly as he ducked his head into your chest. His hands still put pressure on your wound, coated in your thick blood. You smiled, tears leaving your eyes as you shakily cupped his face in your hands.

“ It’s okay .”

He wailed again, throat raw as he screamed. 

“You go on without m-e. I’ll be okay.” You began to choke on your own blood, tasting it in your mouth. It reminded you of the blood rain just a day ago. Could that really have been yesterday? You were so dizzy, Finnick’s face swam in front of you. This was it , you thought. For a moment, you panicked again, breath hitching as you hiccupped a sob. There was so much you needed to tell him - so much you wanted him to know - and yet no time to do any of it. You took as deep of an inhale as you could and carded your hands through his hair, relishing in the feel of it one last time.

He leaned into your touch instinctively, looking at you as if you were a puzzle he was still trying to solve. Your heart shattered into a million pieces. Suddenly, Finnick’s face steeled as the insects stopped chirping around you. Without warning, he brandished a knife and began making a small incision on the inside of your right arm. It was only then that you noticed his arm was bleeding in the same place he was now cutting into you. Confused and groaning in pain, you tried to voice your protest and anguish but were continuously silenced by his hand covering your mouth. Your thoughts came to you slowly, struggling to form a coherent thought as you lost more and more blood. Through the fog, keywords jumped out at you; tracker, arm, Peeta, dying, no time. 

After he had found what you pieced together must have been the tracker within your arm, he scooped his arms underneath your legs and back, careful of the spear still buried in your chest. You yelped, pain blooming from the wound as you were jostled around in his hold. 

“Finn, what are you-” 

“I’m fulfilling my promise.” 

“Wh-at are you talking about? You need….need to go get Peeta and Katniss, you- you swore to me-”

Your mouth snapped shut, a memory surfacing that didn’t make sense at the time but now felt crystal clear.

“Swear to me. Swear that we’ll both do whatever it takes to protect Katniss and Peeta.” 

“I swear that I’ll protect the people I need to protect.”

You shook your head, thrashing in his hold. “ No , Finnick, please-” 

Electricity began to crackle around you. You were running out of time. 

“Put me do-wn , you need to go get Peeta-” 

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. We’re getting out of here.” 

Your vision grew spotty as you attempted to break free from his grasp. He was comfortable - safe and secure and exactly where you wanted to be - but you knew you had to change his mind, had to make him see you were a lost cause.

“It’s no u-se, Finn! There’s still time to fix this - we had a plan -”

“ Fuck the plan. None of it matters if you’re dead.” 

Your breath rattled in your lungs as tears fell from your eyes. You felt so useless - defenseless and weak and stupid . If you had known the plan - truly known it - would things have been different? Or had this been the plan all along - keep you oblivious to avoid backlash when he inevitably went against his word?  Protests died on your tongue as an explosion tore through the arena, sending you and Finnick to the forest floor and turning your vision black. 

You eventually awoke in a bleak room with rhythmic beeping to your left. Every inch of your body hurt, although heavy medication was doing its best to combat that. You were disoriented, not knowing where you were or how you got there. The beeping began to increase in speed as you tried to understand what was happening. Were you dreaming? Were you dead? Could you finally rest after the agony you had endured? Where were the others?

“Woah, woah , relax. It’s alright, button.” 

Lethargically, you turned to the voice you would recognize blind. Sure enough, there he was - your Finnick , in all of his banged-up glory. His hands trembled as they unknotted and re-knotted a piece of string over and over again. He had a bandage on his forearm, the same one you noticed you had upon further inspection of your form.  

“Finnick?” You questioned, still not sure if this was a dream or not. 

He smiled bashfully, nodding slightly. “Yeah, I'm here. Try and take it easy, okay? You took a real beating.” 

Your brows furrowed, feeling more confused but at least having somewhat of an answer for the pain. “What…what happened? Where are we?” 

His smile dropped, focusing on the string in his hands once again. “District 13. Katniss blew up the arena. Do you…do you not remember anything?” He questioned, a deep frown contorting his features. 

You thought long and hard about what all you remembered, but the morphling in your system made it quite difficult. It came to you in flashes, faint and barely there. The gold wire. Johanna and Katniss. The tracker. A spear. Brutus. Finnick. An explosion. 

Your eyes widened. “ Peeta .”

“...What about him?”

“I remember needing to get to Peeta for some reason…Is he okay? What about the others? Everything happened so fast, I didn’t know who was safe and who wasn’t.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finnick’s face was painted with guilt and you couldn’t figure out why . “Button…”

“What?”

“Peeta and Johanna were taken by the Capitol.”

Your blood ran cold, mouth going dry as you tried to wrap your head around the news you had just received. The boy who was your responsibility and the girl who was your ally were taken by the Capitol? “I …what ?”

“Katniss and Beetee are safe - bruised to all hell, but safe-”

“ Stop, stop - What do you mean Peeta and Johanna were taken?”

“ Button -”

“ No . I don’t understand. How did everyone escape but not them? How is that possible-”

A memory presented itself to you, stopping your words dead in their tracks.

“Leave me and go get Peeta. He still has his tracker in-”

“His tracker .” You were going to be sick, piecing everything together. Your face felt hot, blood rushing in your ears. “He still had his tracker in - they both did, didn’t they?” 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words but ultimately failing. He settled on nodding, instead. 

“I was going to find Peeta to remove his tracker when-” You swallowed, tasting bile in your mouth. The pieces were slowly coming together and the picture you saw was making you blind with fury. “You took mine out instead of his. Finnick, I begged you to go and find him. You swore to me-”

“I swore I would protect the people I needed to protect and I did -”

“That’s not what I fucking meant and you know that. The only thing you bothered to tell me about this plan was that Peeta and Katniss were the priority - was that a lie, too? Was all of this a lie?”

His face screwed up in anger. “That’s not fair-”

“‘ Not fair ’?” You scoffed, blood boiling as tears flooded your eyes. “You know what isn’t fair , Finnick? Getting kidnapped by the Capitol because someone couldn’t let me die like I was supposed to!” You screamed, thrashing in your bed as you wept. The beeping was much faster now, bringing people into your room to try and calm you down. Finnick rose from his seat by your bed, trying to calm you down as best as he could.

“ Sweetheart , I tried-”

“Get away from me you traitor ! You liar ! I trusted you! Why didn’t you just let me die ? You ruined everything !” 

Your screams trailed off as you slipped into a morphling-induced sleep, seeing an emaciated Peeta and Johanna in your dreams and feeling the guilt consume you from the inside out.

Chapter Text

You hated District 13. 

You had been in recovery for two months, alone and miserable and unbelievably irate. Finnick had tried to visit you once in the beginning but you had thrown yet another fit, resulting in his departure and your sedation. The District 13 Doctors had said you were lucky to be alive. You scoffed at that and asked for a higher morphling dosage. 

When you had finally been cleared to leave the med bay, you were disappointed to discover that everything was as bleak as your hospital room. The walls were a dull gray, the lights fluorescent and ugly. You don’t know what you were expecting, exactly, but a window would have been nice. 

At some point in your bed rest you had asked about Cecelia and her children. Heads were hung, apologies given. District 8 had not been evacuated yet apparently, not being a high enough priority on their radar. You cried what was left of your tears that night. 

Your hair was slick with oil, making it itchy and irritating. The doctors had tried to give you a shower in the beginning but you had immediately lashed out in fear, not being able to differentiate the water from the blood rain you had endured in the arena. They had tried a bath after that but ran into a similar problem - you had clawed your way out of the tub, screeching to any nurse that would listen that you did not know how to swim. Ultimately, they had given up on bathing you while you were conscious - a strong sedative had to be administered in order to get you clean. Now that you were out of the med bay and the responsibility fell on you once again, you wondered if you would ever be clean again. 

You hadn’t spoken in days - weeks , maybe. The one person you wanted to speak to more than anything was stuck in District 8. You hoped beyond hope that she was still alive, although with your luck you weren’t sure if that was even possible. 

The days passed slowly in the bunker, trudging on at a snail's pace. Everything felt the same, looked the same, tasted the same. You moved like a ghost around the facility - not truly here , not there either, but somewhere in between. You avoided Katniss like your life depended on it - you couldn’t bear looking at her in fear of the guilt of losing Peeta consuming you the moment you locked eyes with her sad gray ones. Finnick had learned to stay away, having been at the receiving end of your verbal lashing one too many times. Somehow, this hurt even more than seeing him. 

The person you were the most angry with was yourself. For trusting so quickly, for not having all of the answers, for not getting Peeta and Johanna out, for surviving, for being so terrible to Finnick. You resented all of the things you couldn’t control - all of the things that went wrong when you wanted more than anything for them to go right. A few months ago you had been dreaming about surviving the Quell and spending your days with Finnick. Now? You couldn’t stand to look at him. Part of you had reasoned that you had no right to be so angry with him; He had saved your life , something you were sure you would do if the roles were reversed. But the other part, the bitter, guilty, haunted part, desperately wanted - no, needed - to blame him. He had lied to you, betrayed your trust, and a young boy had suffered the consequences because of it. 

Peeta’s face found you in your dreams. His screams, his bloodied face, his battered body - they all greeted you the moment you closed your eyes. You tried desperately to dream of anything else, but the moment your head hit the pillow it was his voice screaming horrible things at you, blaming you for his suffering. When Johanna’s face joined the fray, you stopped sleeping entirely. There was no peace in rest, even less peace in wake. 

You knew you must have looked horrible. Everyone in the bunker seemed to think so if the way they stared was any confirmation. You couldn’t stand the dove-gray jumpsuits, everyone looking just alike. It made your harrowed look that much more daunting. 

You hated District 13.

But you hated yourself more. 

You woke up sweating and hoarse, having screamed yourself out of a nightmare once again. You weren’t sure what day it was anymore, how long you had been sequestered under the dirt. Tears burned at your eyes but they would not come - you had run out of those a long time ago. 

As you got ready for the day, you made the mistake of looking at your reflection in the mirror. What you saw disgusted you - a shell of the person you once were, gaunt and lifeless and cowardly . Yesterday you had tried to muster up the courage to speak to Katniss; You had run out of the room clutching a hand to your mouth to contain the bile rising quickly up your throat. Who were you? What was wrong with you? A trembling hand came to smooth the dirty hair back onto your head. You opened the door with your head hanging low. 

“Hey.”

Your eyes shot up, heart stuttering in your chest and mouth going dry. You were going to be sick again. 

Katniss Everdeen stood in your doorway, looking no better than you. Her hair was wild, tumbling down her shoulders instead of in its usual braid. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, darting about as she looked for threats. Her fingernails were bleeding. Here, she looked every bit the teenager you had almost forgotten she was. 

You gaped at her, struggling to meet her eye. She had come to chew you out, surely - to scream at you for losing the love of her life. She could strangle you for all you cared; You deserved it. 

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “Can I…come in?”

You shrugged, backing into the room as she followed. No witnesses for your murder, then. Smart . You fidgeted with your sleeves as she stepped inside.

She seemed slightly more relaxed here, in a confined space with someone so clearly non-threatening. Even so, it seemed her head was on a constant swivel. “How are you?” She asked, surprising you. You had not exactly expected pleasantries, feeling like you did not deserve them. Your eyes remained on the floor as your mouth opened and closed uselessly. Uncomfortable by the long stretch of silence, she began with what you assumed was the real reason she was here.

“We’re heading to District 8.”

Your eyes welled with tears, head shooting up from the floor. Your heart surged in your chest at the thought of it. Home . 

Pleased that she had finally caught your attention, she continued. “I wanted you to come with me - us , that is. They want to film me or something. I want someone I trust as my guide.”

Your mind was spinning with the information, trying to piece together a puzzle with at least a dozen missing pieces. Film? They? Trust? You willed yourself to respond, to jump at the offer of returning home, but only one thing came out of your mouth.

 “ I’m so sorry .”

Your words were soft, barely audible. Your throat was raspy from lack of use, the words like sandpaper as they clambered out of your mouth. These were the first words you had spoken in what must have been a month. 

Katniss balked, not expecting this answer. “... what ?”

Once you started, you could not stop. Apologies tumbled out of your mouth at a rapid pace. “It’s my fault Peeta isn’t here. If I hadn’t gotten injured he would be here right now, I know that and I’ve wanted to tell you but… I just can’t believe I was stupid enough to- that I- that he- you probably hate me and that’s okay-”

She called your name, a deep frown pulling at her face. Your stream of word vomit stopped immediately, hand darting to clear the tears that had begun to fall down your face. “I don’t need an apology - not from you. I just need your help with this, okay?” 

Your eyebrows drew together as you choked on a sob. “You need someone you trust -”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m here. I trust you.” 

This sobered you more than anything else had in the time you had spent locked in District 13. Katniss of all people still trusted you - still believed in you. Here was this young girl who had lost everything still placing her faith in you - a broken person with seemingly nothing left to give. You couldn’t stand to let her down again. If this is what it took to make it up to her, to repay your debts, you would do it in a heartbeat. 

“When…when do you leave?” 

“About a week, I think. We need to get everything ready. Plus Coin isn’t all that confident in my abilities right now, so…” She trailed off, mulling something over. “I could really use you out there. I…I don’t want to be alone.” 

You wet your lips, taking a shuddering breath. She seemed so young as she stood here before you, asking you for guidance like one of your tributes would have done. Something switched in your mind, as if your brain jumped at the chance to protect someone once again. “...Y-yeah- yes . I’ll do it, Katniss. I’ll go with you. It…uh…might be nice to go outside.” You tested a smile, the feeling strange and foreign on your lips. 

She nodded, the hint of a smile pulling at her own features. “Okay. I’ll talk with Gale and Boggs about it, then. I’ve found they can’t really say no to the Mockingjay.” With that, she left the way she came. Always to the point, that one. 

Feeling lighter than you had since you had arrived, you continued with your day. You were pulled aside for a fitting of some kind, which you assumed had something to do with the trip to your home District. You weren’t sure what to expect from that, so you tried to gather as much information during the fitting as possible, a habit you picked up from a life in the Games. The clothes were breathable and left room for agility, colored in shades of gray and black. Designed for undetectable movement. Interesting. 

You no longer sat alone for meals - Katniss joined you at your table with who you assumed was Gale. They spoke to each other in hushed tones while you ate silently. You didn’t really mind this, just enjoying the company. The days eventually became easier now that you knew you had one less enemy, one less person you had disappointed. 

Bathing became easier, too, although you had to take breaks to ground yourself and remember that your days in the arena were behind you. If you wanted to, you never had to see a body of water ever again. Sometimes this thought helped, although other times it made your chest ache with the thought of Finnick’s promise to teach you how to swim. 

Despite it all, your heart yearned for Finnick, although your head screamed at you to get a grip. You missed his tender embraces, his soft hair as your fingers brushed through it, his golden skin, his perfect smile. You missed your friend , the person you felt safest around. You missed the trust you had in him. You missed what you once had. 

You couldn’t get the memory of Finnick’s trembling frame out of your head as you sat on the jet, his shoulders hunched, his face gaunt, his eyes haunted and vacant. You had never seen him so unlike himself. He had seemed tormented by something the last time you had seen him, empty and confused and lost . The image bounced in your head the whole flight, keeping you on edge and irritable. 

You had not interacted with anyone on this “team” as they called it - save for Katniss, but you had hardly spoken to her, too. They stayed out of your way, looking at you as one would look at a stray dog with its haunches raised. They continued to give you a wide berth as you exited down the ramp and onto familiar ground. 

What you saw nearly brought you to your knees.

Your District was a ghost town. Desolate where it used to be lush, barren where it used to be bustling with life. Buildings were crumbling, streets were demolished, homes were reduced to rubble. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked at the hellscape before you. You could only assume you had landed in the square, although it was hard to say with the dust and smoke in the air. Could this really have been the place where you had grown up? Your home? You blinked back tears as everyone looked at you expectantly. Clearing your throat, you began explaining to the group your whereabouts. 

“We’re in the square, I think. Hard to say with everything as it is. This way” you pointed to your right, “is Victor’s Village. This way” you pointed to your left, “is the rest of town - factories, living areas, and stores. Up ahead is the Justice Hall.” You stopped, not knowing what else to say. Luckily, you didn’t have to say much else, another voice beginning to speak from behind you.

“Welcome to what’s left of District 8. Are you ready to see them?” The voice called, warm but firm and wasting no time. 

Distantly you thought you recognized the voice from somewhere, maybe a neighbor or an acquaintance from another life. You turned to face her, pairing the face with the name almost instantly. Paylor. Peacekeeper Uniform factory worker. Conveyor belt #3. If you weren’t mistaken she recognized you too, nodding her head politely in your direction. You let a smile tug at your lips. 

The group began to follow after her towards a large warehouse you had never stepped foot in when it was in operation. Commander Paylor - as she called herself - explained that this was where they were housing the sick and injured. Katniss attempted to protest this idea but was quickly shut down. You squeezed her shoulder in solidarity. Paylor called your name, stealing your attention from the young girl to your left. 

“Cecelia is somewhere in here. Badly injured, last time I checked, but she’ll be okay. She was asking about you the other day, actually.” She continued walking forward, not even sending you a backwards glance. 

Your feet almost caught on the floor underneath you. Cecelia. Alive . You had to see her - make sure she was alright. You swallowed your hope, daring to ask her a question. “And…and her kids? Are they alright?” 

Paylor cleared her throat and shrugged, grabbing the clear plastic tarp and pulling it aside for the group to enter. “Not sure. I’m sure they’re in here somewhere - it’s been really difficult keeping track of everyone since… you know .” 

You nodded grimly. “Right. Of course.” 

Without another word, you entered the warehouse behind the film crew, watching as familiar faces brightened upon seeing Katniss. It tugged at something deep in your chest, making your throat tight and your face warm seeing hope written on all of their faces - faces you had watched grow up, who had gone to school with you, who had scolded you for running too fast. This was the District 8 you knew. 

You kept your head on a swivel, eyes peeled for the most familiar face of all.

“ Sweetpea ?”

You turned abruptly. “Cecelia?” You searched for her frantically, finally spotting her on a dingy cot a few paces away from the main path. A laugh you weren’t expecting tumbled out of your mouth as you bobbed through the crowd to get to her. You collapsed into her arms as soon as you got close enough, basking in the familiarity of the feeling. 

She was every bit herself, laughing and grinning widely, although Paylor was right about her injury. Her leg was wrapped tightly in gauze, splotches of bright red peeking through on the apex of her thigh. She had deep purple bags under her eyes, a pallor to her skin that struck you as you finally pulled away from her embrace. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again.” She said, her voice thick with emotion and raspy from what you assumed was dehydration. 

You scoffed, tucking a wild strand of hair behind her ear as you attempted to swallow the lump in your throat. “Can’t get rid of me that easily. I’m one stubborn son of a bitch.” The two of you laughed together, her’s devolving into a coughing fit that wracked her weak body. Your eyebrows drew together in worry. “How are you holding up? You look like hell, Cece.” 

She shoved you playfully, rolling her eyes. “You should look in a mirror - you’re not looking so great, either.” After a moment, she sighed and decided to continue. “I’m fine , sweetpea. Just a little worse for wear, that’s all. I’ll be alright as long as I take it easy.” 

You nodded, feeling a little more at ease at her honesty. “Right. Okay.” You took a moment to look around, trying to spot any of the children. “Where are the kids?”

Cecelia looked down at her lap, fiddling with the bandage on her leg. She was silent for a long while, trying to find the words. “I… I lost Freya. In the initial bombing.” She swallowed, swiping quickly at her face. “She went looking for Bonnie in the mess and-” Her eyes shut tightly. You grabbed her hand and squeezed. She took a steadying breath.  “...Webb and Esther are alright - broken up over Freya and practically starved… but we’re managing. They went off somewhere to find me some more gauze, I think. They don’t do anything alone anymore.” 

Your heart ached for her, wanting more than anything to fix it but knowing you couldn’t. You pulled her back into you, swiping a hand up and down her back gently. “I’m so sorry , Cecelia.” You tried to think of something else to say but came up empty, opting to continue rubbing her back while she sobbed into your shoulder. 

Eventually, she sniffled and pulled away, cupping your face in her hands. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t sleep most nights thinking I had lost you, too.”

You smiled sadly, breath hitching as you leaned into her touch. “You’ll always have me. I’m not going anywhere.” An idea suddenly formed in your head, making you sit up a little straighter. “You could come back with me. To District 13, I mean. We have plenty of room and- and it’s not too bad, really, I’d just have to ask, but I’m sure they’d say yes-” Her sobs cut you off, startling you out of your rambling. “What’s wrong?” You questioned, chasing her gaze.

“I can’t .”

Your eyebrows furrowed, shaking your head in confusion. “Why not? Obviously we’d bring Webb and Esther with us, if that’s what you’re-”

“ No , sweetpea - I can’t .” She shook her head, grimacing as if it pained her to say so. “ This is my home. I will live and die here, which with the state of my leg…might happen sooner than I planned.”

Your eyes welled with tears, clouding your vision as you tried to wrap your head around what you were hearing. “Wh- what ? I don’t…I don’t understand. 13 has medics - good ones - they can fix you up in no time, I-” You swallowed, heart racing. “What do you mean you can’t ?”

“I can’t leave Freya behind.” 

That shut you up, making you choke on the words you were about to say.

“She hates- hated being alone. I’m not leaving my little girl here all by herself.”

Your face felt hot, blood rushing in your veins. A million selfish thoughts ran through your mind, thoughts that made you feel like the 15 year old child Cecelia had first met you as, back when you were the only child she had known to love. But what about me , your head screamed out, what about me? All you had wanted for the past few months was to be held by her again, to tell her everything that had happened and to be told that everything would be alright in return. For a moment you weren’t a victor, nor were you a survivor - you were just a girl who needed her mother, who wanted to go home, who needed her best friend. In an instant, you were the little girl who hated being alone. You wanted to scream and cry until your throat was raw. 

Instead you only nodded, attempting a smile as she kissed your forehead tenderly. “Thank you for visiting me. This was the greatest gift I could have ever asked for.” Visiting . Your heart squeezed like you were dying. “I love you, sweetpea.” 

“I love you too. More than you know. I’ll- uh-” You swallowed, swiping at your waterline fiercely. “I’ll come back, okay? This is my home, too. When all of this” you gestured vaguely to your surroundings, “is over, I’ll come back.” 

She smiled at you, swiping her thumb tenderly across the apple of your cheek, muttering a soft “okay” as she stared at you. You stood up, poised to leave before you lost your nerve and threw everything away to stay with her. Paylor called your name from the entrance, beckoning you towards her.  

“You alright?”

You sniffed, putting a weak smile on your face. “Yeah. I just… miss it, you know?”

She nodded solemnly, ushering you out of the warehouse to where the rest of the group was waiting. They looked up at your arrival, mercifully failing to comment on your red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained face. The camera crew was discussing film content when a loud beeping rang out. 

“We’re getting a signal of an incoming attack. We need to take cover.” Came Boggs’ commanding voice, eyes sweeping the terrain before you. 

You blanched. “ Attack ? Like what? Like- like a bombing ?” 

Gale nodded, adjusting the strap across his chest. “They know we’re here. Let’s move out.”

You protested, backing towards the warehouse. “We can’t . What about the people in there? They’re completely defenseless, we-” a breath got caught in your throat, strangling you with the realization of what was about to occur. “...We damned them all.”

Gale shook his head, exhaling exasperatedly. “We don’t have time for this. Do you want to join them? Let’s go!” He made a reach for your arm, grabbing with bruising fingers as you tried to squirm away.

“ No ! No, let me go ! We’re killing them!” 

Your group began to run towards a factory you vaguely recognized as the one your Ma used to work at, all while you were screaming as you were dragged behind them. Once inside, you collapsed onto the floor, beside yourself with rage and grief. You were mumbling incoherently, eyes unseeing as you shook. The ground beneath you began to tremble, loud and brutal against your ears. Your hands came to cover them, nails digging into the tender scalp as you squeezed your eyes tightly shut. Outside your home was being atomized, and you could do nothing but sit and tremble. You wailed . 

Moments passed in fragments. The group eventually moved out of the building as it, too, collapsed. You were on a roof at some point, watching jets being taken down in a fiery blaze. Suddenly, you sat on a jet once more, shaking like a leaf as you returned to the dismal District 13. Below you, Cecelia and her two remaining children lay in ashes, joining Freya in the beyond. 

Chapter Text

When you were little, you had dreamed of leaving District 8.

You had fantasized about ducking under the electric fence and taking off with your stuffed animals, living by a stream and befriending the fauna far away from the buildings and factories you had grown up around. Pa and Ma could come too, you had reasoned one afternoon as you sat in the branches of a great sycamore tree - your favorite to climb - they would keep you safe. That would be it, though - just you and Ma and Pa and your beloved stuffed friends, roaming in the great unknown together.

Growing older meant realizing how foolish you were to dream this way. With the death of Pa came the death of innocence as well, the death of your naivete at how the world operated. Running away was impossible - diving under a live fence meant certain death, not to mention the fact that there was nothing the Capitol didn’t own or oversee, thus what lay beyond the fence wasn’t safe. And yet, a little part of you still yearned to be free of the confines of District 8 - although your expectations were now much more realistic. You carried that hope with you up until your name was pulled from the glass bowl mere days before your 16th birthday. Part of the fantasy had been satisfied upon entering the Capitol, seeing the glitz and glamour firsthand. Another part still dreamed of a different life, living in a completely different place with new scenery and new places to explore. 

Now, nearly 9 years later and living outside of District 8, you would give anything to be home once again.

You had to be sedated on the plane ride back to District 13. When you awoke you were silent, distant and barely there. There was a constant flow of tears from your eyes, your lower lip trembling as you mumbled something unintelligible under your breath. You didn’t leave your room. You didn’t eat, didn’t speak, didn’t do much of anything except for stare at your wall and rock back and forth, waiting for your inevitable death. Death would be merciful, you thought to yourself, you could only hope to receive such a kind pardon. 

Katniss began avoiding you. She felt guilty, you think - couldn’t stand to look at you for the same reason you couldn’t stand to look at her in the beginning. You did not blame her for the events in District 8 but this did not stop her from blaming herself. The irony of the situation did not escape you, although you could not bring yourself to laugh at it. 

Cecelia met you in your dreams, replacing Peeta and Johanna in the nightly terror. Her face was charred, mouth full of hot ash that she spewed on you when you got close enough. Eventually, you stopped sleeping all together, deliriously wandering the halls in search of a home that no longer existed. 

Tonight was no different; Cecelia’s hot ash launched you out of bed and sent you to tour the halls obsessively, eyes unseeing as you stumbled tiredly. Your knees would occasionally buckle, but you simply picked yourself up and continued your path into the darkness. The third time your fragile knees hit the grated metal flooring, however, someone was there to pick you up.

“ Easy , easy. Are you okay?”

The fog cleared from your eyes as you looked up at the face belonging to the voice. Your breath hitched in your throat.

Finnick Odair stood before you with a mop of untamed golden curls and a new wrinkle between his brow. He seemed older in this light, strangely different yet painfully familiar all in one. His green eyes swept over your face quickly, as if he felt guilty doing so. The places where his hands held you steady felt alight, dangerously warm and comforting. You nearly whimpered at the contact. 

“...M’fine. Please, just- just go away.” You attempted to shrug him off of you and continue your walk but your knees had other plans, buckling again the moment they lost their support. Finnick was faster than this, catching you the moment you began to fall once more. 

He shook his head, exhaling as he tried to reason with you in a low and steady voice. You vaguely recognized it as the one he would use to talk to his tributes. “You can’t even walk straight, sweetheart. Let me-”

“ Don’t call me that.” You recoiled as if he had burned you, tears pooling in your eyes. “Leave me alone, Finnick. I’m too tired to be mad at you right now.”

“Then don’t be .” He practically begged, looking into your eyes with an intensity that almost made your knees buckle again.  “Let me help you, just for tonight. You…you can keep hating me in the morning, I swear it. But please , just-” His voice faltered, eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It’s killing me to see you like this, button.” 

For a moment, you truly didn’t have the words. Your tears began to fall as you looked at him again - truly looked at him. He was in disarray, beside himself with grief and worry and something else you couldn’t pinpoint, all because of you . You were being so cruel to him and yet here he was, begging to help you. A choked sob tumbled out of your mouth as you collapsed into him. You didn’t deserve his kindness. You were furious at him. You missed him. You loved him. You hated him. You needed him. 

Without another word, he picked you up in his arms and carried you to your bedroom. The collar of his shirt was drenched with your tears but he didn’t seem to mind, setting you on your mattress gently as if you were something that deserved to be handled with that tenderness. He procured a cup of water for you to drink, helping you hold it when your frail hands trembled. The silence in the room was comfortable, familiar and safe where it was imposing and deafening earlier. 

Eventually, he had done all of the damage control he was able to do and made to leave after pulling the covers around you. You grabbed his hand in a panic, sitting up as you called his name brokenly. He stood stock still, staring at where your hand held his.

“Can…can you stay?”

The silence was no longer a comfort, tension thick in the air. You felt so selfish. Embarrassed, you began to backtrack. “You don’t have to - you’ve already done so much and I don’t…” You swallowed, letting your hand drop from his and picking at the skin around your nails. “I don’t deserve this - you . But if I get one night of this… I want it to count.” Your voice was meek, barely there and oh so frightened. You had expected him to keep walking, to scoff in your face and yell at you, to tell you to grow up. 

What you hadn’t expected was for him to turn around and wordlessly join you on the mattress. You looked at him through unshed tears, waiting for him to say something - anything . He looked as though he was mulling something over in his mind. You gave him time as you looked at the wall ahead of you, heart racing in your chest. 

“I’m sorry .” 

The words knocked the air out of your lungs, causing your tears to fall as you hiccupped. His voice held weight, thick with regret and guilt and everything he could not say. This was an apology for much more than the bombing in District 8 - it was for the Quarter Quell, for the lies, for the abandonment, for the pain, for the loss. It was an admittance of failure, and a request for forgiveness. 

You turned to look at him through your tears, a tentative hand coming to brush a stray tear from the apple of his cheek. He startled, looking at you with wide eyes. “ I’m sorry, too .” You whispered. 

The collision was instant, the two of you reentering each other’s orbit for the first time in far too long. He felt like childhood - like whispers in the dark, promises to be friends, weekly phone calls, nonchalant contact. It felt like a homecoming, like ducking under an electric fence with Ma and Pa and your silly stuffed animals and finding a stream in the wilderness. You had missed him more than you had thought was possible, had needed him even more than that. In this moment, lies and betrayal were words you did not know or care to understand. For now, there was only warmth and the thrumming of a heart you had grown to care for like it was your own, a pulse that beat in time with your own and breath that sang like music in your ears. Tomorrow, maybe you would ignore him once again. Tonight, your Finnick was here and alive and protecting you from Cecelia’s ash and Peeta’s screams and Katniss’ guilt and Johanna’s anger. Finnick’s hands had a slight tremor as they passed over your head, his plush lips placing a gentle kiss at your hairline. For the first time since you had arrived in District 13, you did not have a nightmare.

Chapter Text

Grief was an old friend you knew well.

It was there when Pa died, when the friendly alley cat disappeared, when the nest of birds fell from your favorite tree, when Ma died. It was there every Hunger Games when someone you knew, whether closely or distantly, went to the arena and never returned. 

Now, it was back again. Only this time, grief was far crueler than you remembered it being. 

Your grief winded you, stopping you dead in your tracks as you moved from place to place. It settled heavily on your shoulders, making it difficult to relax. It rested just behind your eyes, prepared to spring a leak at a moment's notice. 

On bad nights your mind would cruelly explain all the ways you had failed, detailing every shortcoming and bringing them to light as you tried desperately to get some sleep. For a while you tried to survive them on your own, feeling stubborn and unworthy of help after your… episode a few weeks prior. It seemed, however, that your limit wasn’t very much at all, as one night when the thoughts were especially bad you found yourself right in front of a familiar door. 

You didn’t want to ask for his help. You didn’t think you needed it or deserved it, in truth. Not only that, you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore. After that fateful night, you found that you did not have it within you to hate him - it seemed that it was against your nature to do so. Beyond not hating him…you weren’t sure how to feel. Everything had been so confusing then, and sadly it was still just as confusing now. 

You shook your head and knocked on the door before you could talk yourself out of it. 

You heard lethargic shuffling make its way towards the threshold, a muffled yawn greeting your ears. Not sleeping well either, it seems. Guilt roiled in your gut. You shouldn’t be here. He had problems of his own. 

Finnick’s sleepy voice calling your name in surprise snapped you out of your stupor. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of him. 

He looked so soft in this light, a rumpled t-shirt hanging off of his frame and sleep pulling at his eyes. His hair was a mess, golden curls sticking out this way and that. He had on a pair of cozy sweats to combat the everlasting cold that permeated the air of District 13 - they were a size too big on him, hanging low on his hips even after he had folded the waistline. There was something so domestic about this sight, so welcoming and warm, that made the grief on your shoulders lighten ever so slightly. 

“...can I help you?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow in amusement. You had been staring and he had caught you. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. 

“Uh…yeah- yes . Sorry, I…” You shook your head, beginning to back away slowly. “You know what, nevermind . It’s stupid so-”

He called your name again, softer this time as he smiled. Your mouth snapped shut at the sight. Oh, how you had missed that smile . “What’s going on?” He prompted gently, as if not to startle you. 

You rubbed your arm gingerly as you shrugged, embarrassed. “I was just…having a rough night, I guess. Couldn’t sleep.” 

He nodded in understanding before stepping away from the doorway, silently giving you a pathway into his bedroom. The invitation was as clear as any and you took it without another word, grateful for the lack of questioning. 

The inside of his bedroom closely resembled yours, with the exception of various pieces of knotted string littering his counter space. It smelled like him all around you, making the corners of your lips pull upwards. The two of you sat at the edge of the bed, not knowing what to say now that you were both in the bedroom. Timidly, you spoke up as you surveyed him.

“Can I… ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why did you do it?”

He inhaled sharply, suddenly looking very interested in his hands. “...what do you mean?”

You sighed, frowning. “Don’t play dumb, Finn.” There was silence as you both waited for the other to speak. “ Please . I’m not mad anymore.”

He looked up for a moment in curiosity before returning his gaze to his hands as they fidgeted with each other. “I couldn’t let you die.” He said, voice wavering and quiet. 

You didn’t speak, letting him continue. 

“I know we had a promise and a plan and all of that - I know that. But-” He swallowed, shaking his head as he played with his fingers. “When the time came, when that choice needed to be made, I just…I couldn’t do it. At that moment, I couldn’t think about anything other than the fact that I-” His words stopped suddenly, cutting himself off as if the words were choking him. He looked up at you, eyes darting across your face. “I couldn’t live without you. Still can’t. And I know that was selfish of me and I know I lied and I wish I could tell you it was a hard decision but, truthfully, nothing has ever been easier. If I went back to that day, I would still choose to save you even knowing what I know now. I have no regrets.” 

Tears fell from your eyes as you looked at him. Not for the first time, you realized how selfish you had been, how horrible you had treated him. He had saved your life and you repaid him by screaming in his face and shutting him out. You hiccupped wetly. “I’ve been so h-orrible to you.” 

A sad smile pulled at his face. “It’s okay, button.”

You shook your head vehemently. “ No , it’s not okay. You s-aved my life and I hated you for it, I-” You sobbed, trying to get a deep breath in. “How can I ever apologize enough ? How can I make it up to you?” 

His hands cupped your face, thumbs swiping at the apples of your cheeks. His eyes were impossibly warm, crinkling at the edges as he smiled at you. “Consider me a friend again. That’s all I ask.”

The tears continued to flow from your eyes as you leaned into his touch. “Why are you willing to forgive me so easily? After everything I put you through?”

“Because I love you .”

The world seemed to stop spinning. Your eyes widened in surprise as you sat up straighter, his hands slipping from your face. 

Finnick sat up straighter, too, words coming out in a frenzy now that he had started. “I love you. I’ve loved you since you crash-landed on my floor and I will keep loving you until I am nothing but bones at the bottom of the sea floor. I love you like it’s breathing , like I’ve spent my whole life holding my breath until I first looked in your eyes. You don’t have to say it back - hell , you don’t have to say anything at all. We can go to sleep and you can ignore me for the rest of our days and I would be satisfied knowing that you know the truth. And the truth is that I love you; so much that I would sacrifice a whole damn revolution to make sure you were okay. I love you .” 

He took a deep breath, as if the entire ordeal had rendered him breathless. His green eyes scanned your face wildly, searching for some kind of thought process but ultimately finding none.

You were stunned. Baffled, alarmed, and quite delirious if you were being honest with yourself. It was late, and you weren’t quite sure if you had fallen asleep and this was some cruel trick your mind was playing on you or not. You blinked once, twice, then three times as your brain tried to catch up. 

“I… what ?” You said stupidly, words running dry as your heart raced beneath your chest. Pieces slowly started to fall into place, making you feel light headed. 

Finnick suddenly looked pained, almost embarrassed. You had never seen him so small and unsure, and you realized you hated how it looked. It was unnatural to see him shrink into himself, usually so bright and open. “You really don’t have to say anything. If you want to leave, I’ll…I get it. I’m sorry for… yeah . I’m sorry.” 

He stood from the edge of the bed, poised to move towards the door. Panicked, you shot to your feet, calling his name. He didn’t turn around, facing the door as his back stiffened. Your throat felt tight, face going warm as your eyes welled with tears. You walked closer to him slowly, trembling on your feet. 

“Come back to bed, Finn.”

Silence greeted your ears as his chest heaved. He was stuck, torn between responses and thoughts. Gently, you placed your hand on his shoulder. He flinched under your touch, wound up and terrified and still refusing to face you. You tried again, speaking softly as you traced your hand down his arm. “Look at me.” 

His waterlogged voice reached your ears, barely over a whisper. “I can’t.” 

You interlaced your fingers in his, swiping your thumb across his knuckles in what you hoped was a soothing gesture. “Why?”

“I’m… scared .” 

Your heart shattered in your chest, tears falling down your face as your eyebrows drew together. “ Finnick .” You beckoned softly, squeezing his hand and tugging gently to get him to turn around. His eyes were squeezed shut, tear tracks decorating his face and cheeks dusted with a fiery blush. He looked so much like the boy you had met all those years ago, so young and vulnerable. You cupped his cheek timidly, feeling the weight of his head press into your palm. “ Please look at me.” You requested again, practically mumbling your words but knowing he could hear you.

His eyes slowly peeled open, gazing at you as if you were both the stars in the sky and the asteroid poised to strike at a moment’s notice. Thoughts raced through your mind - every word that went unsaid, every moment you wished you could stretch on endlessly, every time you had yearned for his touch. His eyes darted to your lips as you smiled shyly. 

How fortunate were you that this was the boy who gave you his heart? And how stupid would you be if you didn’t give him yours all the same? Finnick Odair, your best friend, your confidant, your savior, your mentor, your person . You were the luckiest person in all of Panem, richer than any Capitol socialite or Games sponsor. 

Slowly, you began to lean towards him, giving him time to back out if that was what he wanted. His big green eyes glistened as they widened, lips parting to let in a stuttering breath. Your eyes flicked between his mouth and his eyes, looking for an objection but finding none. 

For a moment, the two of you exchanged breath, tasting the electricity and anticipation in the minimal space between your lips. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Yes , the nod told you, God, yes . Giving your own little nod in return, you closed the gap. 

His lips were soft as they intertwined with yours. He tasted of honeysuckle and home, gentle and caring and so Finnick it made you dizzy from the contact. He kissed you like you were the only water source for miles and he was a man in the desert, desperate but taking his time. His hands rested on your hips, squeezing occasionally like he was convincing himself you were real. Your body was buzzing, humming a tune only Finnick knew. You felt infinite, complete and whole for the first time in months. 

Eventually you had to separate to breathe, resting your foreheads together as your lips tingled from the touch moments before. There was a silence, heavy with emotion and thoughts and the breath briefly shared between two souls. After a moment, you found your voice.

“I love you, too. If… that wasn’t clear enough.”

He laughed, a sweet sound that bounced in your ears and made your chest feel lighter. “I think I pieced that together, thanks.” 

You laughed lightly as he drew a path of featherlight kisses across your face, memorizing the planes and dips with his lips. “Forgive me for wanting honesty between us.” 

“Us?” He smiled, stopping his trail.

You looked into his eyes, suddenly seeing a future within them. A smile broke across your face. “Yeah.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “ Us .”

Chapter Text

Mornings became your favorite time of day. 

You often woke up before Finnick, getting a moment to card your fingers through his hair or gently pass them down his face. He looked so at peace in those moments, eyebrows unwound and lips slightly upturned as he slept. This was something you shared with no one but each other, time together before you eventually separated for the day, strict District 13 schedules keeping you apart. Eventually he would wake up, bringing you closer to his warm frame and mumbling a “good morning, sweetheart.” as he yawned. You would ask him how he slept and he would say something cheeky in response, making you laugh and shove him away playfully. 

This routine became sacred, something you looked forward to every day amidst the doom and gloom outside of Finnick’s bedroom. Spending your days sewing soldier uniforms by hand was anything but ideal, but the knowledge that Finnick would be smiling as he opened his bedroom door at the end of the day motivated you to press on diligently. 

Things were looking up for you. Katniss had eventually warmed up to you once again, even going as far as gingerly asking you to repair her Mockingjay outfit. You of course did so happily, becoming her official seamstress before you knew it. She began to trust you more implicitly after that, oftentimes coming to watch you work and keeping you company in the lower levels of the underground base. She surprised you one day while you sewed the strap back on to her chest plate, asking you a question instead of opting for the usual comfortable silence. 

“How are you?” She mumbled, barely above a murmur. 

You startled, looking up from your needle at the teen sitting across from you. “Hm?” You questioned, not entirely hearing her. 

“I…uh…wanted to know if you were doing okay. With everything going on.” An embarrassed flush crept up her neck. 

You smiled and looked down once more, continuing to thread your needle through the fabric in your lap. “I’m fine, Katniss. How are you ? This Mockingjay business is exhausting stuff, I bet.” 

She shrugged, crossing her arms across her chest as she steeled her face. “It’s alright, I guess. Coin would much rather have Peeta as the face of the rebellion but she had to settle with me, so… yeah .” Her tone gave you pause - the self loathing practically dripping from every word out of her mouth. 

You frowned. “What makes you say that?” 

She scoffed, humorless. “She hates me - thinks I’m entitled and stubborn, not to mention unlikable .” 

You hummed in acknowledgement. “I think she feels threatened by you.” After a moment, you added, “And I don’t think you’re unlikable.” 

“To her , I am.”

“Well, her opinion is irrelevant. I think you’re great.”

She flushed, looking down at her hands. “Yeah, right .”

You stopped your work once again, looking up at her with earnest eyes. “I mean it, Katniss. You’re a great person.”

“Just not a great Mockingjay.”

“That’s not true-”

“Yes it is .” Her voice raised, becoming agitated as she looked up at you, fire in her eyes. “Peeta was always better at the ‘public eye’ thing, I was good at the ‘ surviving’ thing.”

Ah , you thought, that’s what this is about. “ Katniss .” you said softly, trying to reason with her. “You’re being way too hard on yourself, sweetpea. Coin is resting the weight of an entire revolution on your shoulders and it’s entirely unfair. You’re a teenager who just lost everything . Cut yourself some slack, okay? You’re doing the best you can.” 

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she whipped her head to the side to avoid your gaze. “I failed him.” 

Your heart squeezed in your chest as you scooted closer to her and tentatively grabbed her hands. “We all failed him. Johanna, too. But we will get them back. Blaming yourself doesn’t help bring them home - trust me.” 

She squeezed your hands. “...okay.”

You smiled, squeezing back. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to - I know this isn’t really your thing - but know that I will always be here if you need someone. I might just be the only person in this whole damn bunker who comes close to understanding how you feel. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

She nodded, finally looking at you. The way her eyes shifted nervously told you the conversation was over, and you didn’t waste another second before pulling away and continuing the repair on her costume in comfortable silence once again. 

Once you had finished, you handed the garment back to her with a smile and began to make your way to the dining hall. Before you made it to the door she called your name, making you turn around curiously. 

“...Thank you.” She said quietly, running her hands over the newly fixed outfit. 

You grinned. “Any time.” 

Without another word, you made your way up the stairs. 

Being in an especially good mood after speaking with Katniss, you practically floated into the cafeteria, eyes searching for a mop of golden hair.

“You seem chipper.” A voice said behind you, a smile practically audible. 

You grinned as you turned around, coming face to face with exactly the person you were searching for. “I am. Today’s a good day.” You replied, grabbing his hand and ushering him into the food line.

He hummed, a smile pulling at his lips. “ Yeah ? Why’s that?”

You grabbed your tray, making your way to an empty table knowing that he would be following you. “Katniss talked to me today.”

His eyebrows shot into his hairline as he walked in step with you. “Really? What about?”

You found a table and sat down, turning to face him once he had taken his seat as well. “How she’s been feeling.”

That earned you a disbelieving scoff. “ Right , Miss ‘Emotionally Constipated’ talked to you about her feelings - that’s a good one, button-” 

You shoved him lightly, eyebrows drawing together in annoyance. “I’m serious , Finn, she really did! It was a really great conversation, actually - very eye-opening.” 

He held his arms up in defeat as he turned to fork at the food on his plate. “ Okay , okay, I believe you. How’s she holding up?”

Following his lead, you began to eat the food on your own plate. “She’s okay - kinda struggling with the whole Mockingjay thing, but who can blame her? I mean, I can’t believe they’re making her do that - after all she’s been through and at such a young age, I-” you huffed in annoyance. “It’s disheartening to say the least. She’s a fighter, though, that’s for sure.”

He nodded thoughtfully, continuing to pick at the food on his plate instead of actually eating it. Noticing his lack of appetite, you frowned. “What’s wrong, Finn?”

He grimaced, avoiding your gaze. “I, uh…I need to tell you something.”

Your heart dropped as it began to pound, eyebrows knitting together in worry. “...what’s going on? Is everything okay? Are…are we okay?”

His head snapped to you, hands coming to brace your shoulders as his eyes widened in alarm. “We’re fine, sweetheart- we’re great . It’s…it’s something else.” He took a deep breath. “I was talking with Coin-”

Before he could continue, the televisions in the center of the room flickered to life, showing an image that made your fork clatter to the floor. 

Peeta Mellark’s face lit up all four screens in the room, looking like a Capitol citizen in a high-quality suit that would have been made in your District’s luxury factory. You felt sick, seeing his gaunt frame and haunted eyes. He was speaking, surely, but you couldn’t hear a thing over the ringing in your ears. This was not the boy you had gotten to know - they had changed him somehow. Finnick was calling your name beside you. In a daze, you quickly walked out of the room, tears welling in your eyes as your lower lip trembled. 

You came back to yourself in Finnick’s bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with him knelt before you, eyebrows furrowed in worry. 

“...we go, sweet girl, that’s it. Can you hear me, button?” His voice slowly floated into your ears, feeling delayed and distorted somehow. With a dry mouth and a tight throat, all you could do was nod in response. 

“Good.” He smiled kindly, hands resting on your knees and rubbing slow circles in the flesh that resided there. “That wasn’t your fault. D’you hear me?”

You shut your eyes tight, trying to erase the image of an emaciated Peeta Mellark from your mind. 

“ Hey , stay with me.” Finnick’s voice urged, scooting closer to you from his spot on the floor. “I mean it. It isn’t your fault. We’re getting him out of there - him and Johanna. That’s what I was talking to Coin about earlier today, actually.” 

You opened your eyes, curiosity getting the better of you. He noticed this and jumped at the chance. “ Yeah . she, uh…she’s coming up with ways for us to mobilize - get more people involved in the cause and whatnot. She wants me to be the distraction while everyone else goes in for the rescue mission.”

You swallowed hard, throat still feeling constricted but begging to voice your thoughts. “What…what are they having you do?”

He blanched for a moment, a split second of fear and discomfort. It passed as soon as it arrived, leaving you even more confused than before. “It’s nothing crazy. I just have to talk long enough to keep the Capitol distracted. I’ll be right here in District 13 the whole time - completely safe.”

“You’re sure it’s safe?”

“Positive.”

You nodded, taking a shaky breath to try and steady yourself once again. “... sorry for freaking out. I thought I…I thought I was better, but seeing him like that , I-”

Finnick cupped your cheek, swiping his thumb soothingly across the skin there. “ Hey . Stop that. You are getting better, but you don’t have to be. What we’ve been through isn’t easy. Give yourself some grace, okay?”

You smiled, sniffling and leaning into his touch instinctively. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“I ask myself the same question every day, sweetheart.” 

You blushed. “ Cheesy .”

“You love it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever . Don’t get a big head about it.” 

He shoved you playfully. “ Shut up .”

In a moment of clarity, you sat up a little straighter. “ Katniss . I have to go check on her-”

Your words cut off as soft lips pressed to yours, effectively cutting off your train of thought. “ Slow down . This is Katniss we’re talking about. If she wants help, she’ll come to you. Take a break for once.” He mumbled against your lips, smile pulling at the corners as he chuckled softly. “ So protective .” 

Your head was embarrassingly empty. “Did you…did you just kiss me to shut me up?”

He looked quite pleased with himself, pulling away from you so you could see his shit-eating grin. “Sure did. It worked , didn’t it?”

You shook your head, unable to smother the smile tugging at your own lips. “I hate you.” 

He laughed. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

A loud wailing sound caused your needle to stutter in your hands. 

It seemed to be coming from all around you, bright lights making you disoriented as you looked around frantically. You dropped your project on the working table in front of you, heart pounding in your chest as your brain struggled to catch up with the stimulus being presented from all angles. Distantly, you recognized the high-pitched noise as a bomb siren and you felt the blood drain from your face. 

You sprang into action, your legs pumping to move you out of the clothing department and into the corridor. A mass of people were careening down the metal stairs, their footfall almost as loud as the sirens themselves. You attempted to wedge yourself into the crowd, pushing and shoving to get yourself into the safety bunker just a few flights under you. 

Just as you had made your way onto the stairs the ground shook underneath you, making you stumble against the railing. The lights turned off, leaving you with only the bright flash of the siren to guide yourself to safety. You yelped as something cold and wet hit your face. 

Blood rain is from 1-2. 

A whimper left your mouth as you shook your head to rid yourself of the thought. The water continued to fall from above you in thick sheets, making your hair stick to your face unpleasantly. You couldn’t see anything as you continued your chase down the stairs, trying to calm your racing heart. People all around you were calling out to their loved ones, voices overlapping in a haunting chorus of desperation. You wanted to join them, to call out to Finnick and find him in the mess, but your throat was dry from fear. 

Mercifully, you spotted the doors just ahead of you. You willed yourself to move faster. 

Finally free from the water pouring down on you, you were able to catch your breath and take in your surroundings. Dozens of beds and even more people in between them, searching through the crowd for family and friends. After what felt like an eternity, you were able to find your voice. 

“Finnick!” You croaked, eyes wide and wild as you whipped your head in all directions. 

There was no answer.

“ Finnick !”

Silence. 

Your chest heaved as you began to push through the rows of people around you, hunting desperately for the familiar face. “Finnick!” You called again, voice breaking as you yelled for him. 

People stared at you as you passed, taking in your trembling form as water dripped from your clothes. You likely looked a mess, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. Your head stayed on a constant swivel as you continued to shout for Finnick amidst the chaos. The sound of your heart beating was overwhelming, drowning out every other noise as your panic began to consume you. 

“ Button !”

Your feet skidded to a halt. 

“Finnick?” 

Your name was called out, desperation evident in the shaky but loud voice. 

You turned towards the direction of the sound, breathing quickly as you searched. There, across the room, stood the man you were searching for - soaking wet with wide eyes as he hunted for you. You let out a sob of relief as you ran to him. 

The two of you collided with a force that knocked the air out of you, his hand coming to clutch the back of your head. Hands stuttered over clothing and skin, trying to convince each other that you both were safe and alive. Tears were falling from your eyes relentlessly now, blurring the image of his face as he pulled away from the embrace. He kept your face in his hands, inspecting you for any damage you might have acquired on the journey to the bunker. You noticed that there were tears in his eyes too, dripping from his eyes and collecting just under his chin. 

“Are you alright-”

“I’m so glad you’re okay-”

“I was so worried that-”

“The sirens were so loud and-”

“When the water started to fall, I-”

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your lips - the two of you were speaking over each other frantically as you both tried to explain your respective panicked thought process. Unable to resist, you brought your lips to his, exhaling in relief when they slotted comfortably against yours. He held you close to him as if you both had barely evaded death when, in all honesty, you had been quite safe. However, in lives like yours, you had learned that one could never be too cautious. 

The lights above you went out again, making you flinch away from the embrace to look around. The frightened faces of District 13 stared back at you, making you shrink back into Finnick’s arms. 

“Can we go lay down?” You whispered shakily.

Finnick simply nodded, grabbing your hand and ushering you towards his cot a few paces away. You didn’t even entertain sleeping on your own, knowing that the two of you would be much happier together. 

The bombings lasted for a total of three days if you had kept track correctly. You eventually heard whispers of a warning from Peeta, giving everyone precious time to evacuate and make it to safety. Not for the first time, you thanked him mentally for his giving heart. After a full twenty four hours of silence up above, the citizens received clearance to return to the upper floors and resume daily life as normal.

Finnick had told you that because of Peeta’s sacrifice the rescue plan had been moved up, taking priority above all else. You were both relieved and frightened to hear this news. All you could do now was wait.

Chapter Text

They had tried to explain the plan to you about a dozen times.

You, of course, had tried to explain back to them that as long as Finnick was safe, you were relatively unbothered by whatever they had decided on. The officers had given you a strange, almost pitying look, but assured you that everyone involved would remain firmly out of danger. Finnick himself had also stayed fairly hush-hush about the whole ordeal, but you hadn’t felt the need or compulsion to pry - he wouldn’t even be leaving District 13, all would be well. 

Katniss had become a nervous wreck in the wake of the Capitol broadcast and the rescue mission. She had arrived at your bedroom one night in one of the rare moments you had been there instead of Finnick’s, hands trembling at her sides and a deep scowl on her face. No words left her mouth but her eyes told the complete story - she was petrified, wound tight as a strange cocktail of fury and heartbreak seemed to intoxicate her. You had ushered her in without another word, sending a mental apology to Finnick as you closed the door. She had stayed with you that night, her words bouncing in your mind as the two of you drifted off to sleep. 

“What is it, sweetpea?”

“I…I just want him home. I want to go home. I’m so tired.”  

That one instance seemed to have been an anomaly as she hadn’t come to visit you again after that, but you let her know that she was always more than welcome to lean on you whenever she needed it. It had broken your heart to see her suffering - trying to be strong when she was nothing but a frightened and traumatized child. You had lamented this to Finnick in the silence of the evening, safe between the rumpled bed sheets and tangled limbs. 

“She’s just a kid, Finn. It breaks my heart to see her so…lost.” 

He had pressed a soft kiss to your temple, smoothing your hair down with a gentle hand. “I know, sweetheart. But her family is there for her and so are you - soon enough Peeta will be, too. She has everything she needs.”

Tears gathered in your lash line. “I just wish I could do more for her, you know?”

He chuckled softly. “You and your bleeding heart…”

You frowned, pouting shamelessly as you pried yourself from his arms and turned away from him. “Don’t make fun of me, you ass.” 

He laughed louder at this, a breathy sound that threatened to tug a smile from your lips involuntarily. He lifted himself from the mattress, strong arms coming to brace on either side of your frame. A cheeky smile rested on his lips. “You know I’m right.” 

You tilted your face to meet his gaze from beneath him, your eyes squinting in mock-annoyance. It was getting difficult to keep this charade when he looked so charming above you, tanned skin and smile lines and clever green eyes. You huffed and crossed your arms. 

His eyes softened fondly as he slowly lowered himself towards your body, nosing at the nape of your neck and the planes of your shoulders. “I never said it was a bad thing, you know.” He pressed a chaste kiss to your jaw. “It’s one of the things I love about you.” He hovered above you once more, enjoying the view as your face flushed with embarrassment. 

“Shut up.”

“Hm…nope.” He continued his feather-light affection across any exposed skin he could find, using a gentle hand to brush delicately up and down your figure. 

“We were having a serious conversation, Finn.” You sighed, trying to maintain a straight face. 

“I don’t see why that has to stop.” He grinned up at you from his new spot against your collarbone, looking far too proud of himself. 

You scoffed, turning your face to the side. “I am not talking about Katniss while you’re kissing me.” 

“So…this is working, then?” 

A surprised laugh fell out of your lips, sending your attention back to the man hovering above you. “I can’t believe you.” 

He canted his eyebrows upwards, amused. “Do you want me to stop?”

You cupped his face, bringing him impossibly close. “Absolutely not.” 

You woke up the next morning having forgotten that the rescue mission had been scheduled for that night. You lingered in bed, brushing Finnick’s curls the same way you always did, smiling to yourself as the time passed. He eventually began to stir, pulling you closer to his chest and mumbling a “good morning, sweetheart.” through a soft smile. You pressed a soft kiss against his lips, languid and intimate and as gentle as the morning often was.

“We should probably get up.” You mumbled against his lips, attempting to lift yourself off of the mattress.

He pulled you back against him, a sound of protest leaving his mouth. “Not yet. We have time.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, the hand that wasn’t carding through his hair going to brush against his side tenderly. “We have a schedule to follow, you know.”

He sighed, leaning into your touch. “Don’t care.” 

You laughed. “Coin does.”

“Well, Coin doesn’t have you in her bed looking like this, does she?” 

“I would hope not.” 

He chuckled, hands coming to rest at the small of your back. “Smart ass.” 

You balked, pinching his side. “ You asked!” 

“You know I didn’t mean it like that!” He laughed, squirming away from your incessant hands tickling his body. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You smiled, diving in closer to him to steal a quick kiss. He hummed happily, warm hands splayed along your back to keep you right where he wanted you. He had won, but he didn’t need to know that this was your desired outcome, too. 

When you pulled away, there was a look of something akin to dread painting his features, making his brows draw together and his eyes to look dull. You frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He hesitated, searching your face for something. “I just want to stay here with you a little longer, that’s all.” 

“ Finnick… ” You inquired skeptically, knowing there was something he wasn’t telling you. 

He sighed. “...The mission is today. I’m just a little nervous.” If you weren’t mistaken, his cheeks were tinged an adorable shade of pink. He was embarrassed by this, you realized. 

In a normal setting you probably would have teased him, but something about this mission and the gentility of the morning hours made you soft. “Do you…is there anything I can do? Can I be there with you when you’re doing… whatever it is they need you to do? Would that make it better?” You proposed, leaning on your elbow to speak to him upright.

He shook his head, remaining as secretive about it as he had been this whole time. “No, I’ll be fine. I just don’t want this to be a memory yet.”

Your heart clenched as you acquiesced, laying your head against his chest to hear the calming thump-thump-thump of his heart. “Okay, big blue.” After a moment of breathing together, you spoke again. “I’m here even if you aren’t fine, you know. Whatever you need, however you are, I’m here.”

He nodded, rubbing a soothing hand down your back. “Yeah. I know.” 

After a few more moments of indulgence, the two of you separated for the day with a kiss and a promise to see each other at lunch. You went straight to work fixing uniforms in the under levels of the bunker while Finnick attended a logistics meeting about that night. Your heart yanked uncomfortably at the thought of how scared he had seemed that morning, but you tried to keep your mind clear.

Lunch came before you knew it, but Finnick was nowhere to be found.

You frowned as you surveyed the cafeteria, eyes darting back and forth in search of a familiar head of golden curls. Katniss was notably absent, too. Against your better judgement, a knot of dread wedged itself into your stomach. Logically, you knew everything was fine - this was Finnick and Katniss you were talking about, they could handle it - but that didn’t stop you from feeling sick with nerves. 

You finished lunch alone, eyebrows furrowed in concern as your mind spiraled with worry. As much as you tried to concentrate on the uniforms you were meant to be fixing, you realized it was a lost cause and excused yourself without protest - you would likely get reprimanded for it later, but you truly didn’t care. 

The halls of District 13 rolled past as you made a bee-line for Finnick’s room, hoping beyond hope that he had found his way here instead of the many other far less pleasant alternatives that had invaded your mind unkindly. As gently as you could, you rapped your knuckles against the door, a soft “Finnick?” leaving your lips along with it. For a moment, you were starting to think he wasn’t in there after all, but soft footsteps after a moment of silence stopped your thoughts dead in their tracks. So you were right after all; the thought should have made you smile triumphantly, but it instead allowed for dread to settle uncomfortably in your stomach - something wasn’t right. 

The door opened ever so slightly, and the sight before you caused your heart to squeeze painfully. 

Finnick stood before you, looking smaller than you had ever seen him, tear tracks staining his beautiful face and eyebrows wound tight in pain. His green eyes - usually so full of life and mischief - were dull and cloudy. Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“Finn…what happened?” You asked tentatively.

“The video -” His voice broke, fresh tears leaving his eyes. 

You sprung into action, pushing him into the room with gentle hands and shutting the door behind you. All at once, he all but fell into your arms, clinging to your shirt and weeping freely. Through your shock, you were able to card your fingers through his hair and whisper words of encouragement, tears of your own gathering in your eyes at the state he was in. Eventually he pulled back, seemingly ready to begin explaining the events of the day. 

“We, uh-” He cleared his throat, eyes failing to meet yours. “We filmed a propo - a distraction once Beetee gets into the feed for tonight. Everyone knows now.”

You cupped his face, chasing his gaze curiously. “Everyone knows what , Finn?” 

“What they did to us. Everyone knows. ”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. You didn’t need him to explain any more - his few words were enough to catch you up to speed.

“... Oh .”

His face screwed up again, tilting to the floor in what looked like shame. “I’m sorry . I should have told you - I should have…what if this doesn’t work? What if I told them for nothing? Oh, god , we- we would be in so much danger -” 

“Finn, slow down -”

“I can’t get it out of my head , button. I haven’t talked about those things to anyone who isn’t you and now I can't stop thinking about it-”

“ Finnick .”

He stopped his rambling, finally looking at your face as his own was cradled between your hands. Once you were sure he was listening to you, you spoke. 

“It’s going to be alright. We’re not there anymore, okay? We’re free .” He swallowed roughly, a slight nod the only affirmation that he was listening. “I’m not mad at you - no one is mad at you. You did something so brave today, do you hear me?” Another nod, this time more sure of himself. “I’m proud of you, love - so unbelievably proud of how strong you are. You are the strongest person I know, Finn.” 

Choking on your words, you pulled him back into you, heart thumping rapidly. 

The two of you remained that way for what felt like hours until eventually he asked for space. You, of course, respected this and left with a promise to be there whenever he wanted or needed you to be. 

Seeing Finnick that way had truly unsettled you. You had never seen him look so small, so shaken . Your mind began to conjure images against your will - images of him fighting on the front lines in the Capitol, being just as scared as he was just now. Your heart squeezed painfully at the thought, feeling helpless and trapped within the feeling. How could you send him out there alone after what you had seen tonight? How could you not be by his side after what the two of you had gone through? When the time came to fight in the Capitol, you wanted to be right there with him. Coming to this conclusion, you immediately marched into Coin’s office without a second thought. 

The door opened with little resistance, her impassive eyes looking up from her work at the intrusion. 

“I want to go on the next mission to the Capitol.” You demanded, stopping just shy of her desk.

She smiled her irritating smile, the one that never quite met her eyes, and laced her fingers together. “No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “ No ?” 

“No. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I-”

“No, I won’t excuse you. Why can’t I go on a mission?”

A lone eyebrow cocked upwards on her face as she said your name, laced with condescension. “You aren’t trained - you would be a liability.” After a moment’s pause, she continued. “I would expect this kind of outburst from Miss Everdeen, but not from you. I won’t ask you to leave again.”

You shifted your weight on your feet, attempting to settle the anger rising in your chest. “I’m a victor just like any of the others. I’m an adult - I can handle myself.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying, exactly? I think I’m missing your point.” You snapped, chest rising and falling alongside your temper. 

“That’s exactly it.” Her lips quirked upwards in amusement, examining you as if you were a child who had stolen a cookie from the cookie jar. “You miss the point. That seems to be a recurring problem with you.”

Outrage simmered dangerously in your veins, moving your feet before you could think better of it. With a simple raise of her hand, she halted you in your tracks - not at all fazed by your fury. She continued her lecture with schooled features. “You have a certain kind of tunnel vision when it comes to Mr. Odair. I’m not blind, nor am I ignorant. I know this was brought on because of his struggles instead of your actual desire to help the rebellion. You are missing the point of it entirely; it isn’t about you, nor is it about Mr. Odair - it’s about the greater good of Panem, and unfortunately, I cannot trust that you have Panem’s best interest at heart by being here. Frankly, I can’t trust Mr. Odair in that regard either, considering all that he sacrificed during the Quarter Quell, but he is ultimately more useful and more trained. Thus, I am willing to take that risk.” She smiled, a cruel thing that struck you as something familiar even though you had never seen it before. It made your stomach lurch uncomfortably. “Am I clear?” 

You sucked in a breath, heart stuttering in your throat. “What Finnick did for me in the Games is out of my control - I had nothing to do with that and I had every intention of-”

“Oh, believe me, I am well aware of this fact. I think he was incredibly naive for putting the entire operation in jeopardy for you , but there is no use in dwelling on the past.”

“...What is that supposed to mean?” Your eyebrows drew together tightly, arms crossing over your chest. 

“You were not worth losing Peeta over. We would be in a much better place had he been rescued.”

Silence rang out in the office, piercing your lungs and flooding your eyes with tears. 

“...But I’m sure you already knew that. Anything else?” She concluded cruelly. 

A humorless chuckle left your lips as you averted your gaze from the woman in front of you. She had a real talent of making you feel like the smallest person in the room. “So, just to clarify , I’m expendable enough to die in the Quell but not expendable enough to fight in the Capitol? My fight lives and dies in the arena - is that it?” 

Silence greeted your ears as gray eyes bore into your own. 

“Do you seriously think I have no stakes in this rebellion?”

More silence. 

“The Capitol has wronged everyone - myself included. I want nothing more than to see it fall in my lifetime. Just because I have a heart and someone to protect doesn’t mean I am weaker than any soldier or victor - that means I have something worth surviving for. Doesn’t that mean something?” 

A bored sigh left Coin’s lips, her eyes trailing over your trembling frame with disinterest. You fumed, slamming your hands flat on her desk as you leaned close to her face. 

“If you think I won’t fight on the frontlines - if you think I won’t do everything in my power to protect the ones I love, then unfortunately you are ignorant. I will train, I will fight, and you will rue the day you ever underestimated my importance in this rebellion. Am I clear?” 

She smirked, then, leaning back in her chair and effectively removing herself from your heated glare. She seemed amused, which angered you like nothing else. Distantly, a voice in your head whispered memories of a similar conversation many years ago, when you were young and afraid and trapped in your own reality.

Looking at Coin, you weren’t entirely convinced she was all that different from Snow. 

“Certainly.” She replied.