Disclaimer: What do you think? Of course I do own The Hunger Games trilogy. And Harry Potter. And Percy Jackson too. In fact, I own everything. And then I wake up :v
Rated: T for death (obviously) and too depressing angst for children to understand without traumatizing their perception of life.
Summary: Her name is the first thing he said when they first met, and the last thing left his lips. And life goes on.
Author's Note: Usually, I would use the book version of The Hunger Games trilogy, since I'm not a big fan of movies (why bother watching if you already knew what would happen anyway? XD) but this is an exception… I guess? :3 This is a little drabble to celebrate Mockingjay part 2's premiere… And to make you guys cry some more XD I'm sadistic, per say… XD
To ObeliskX, I know this isn't exactly what you want me to write, but my muse is kinda dead and this is the only thing I can come up with… I'm sorrrehhhh darling!
Dedicated: To anyone who is reading this story…
Everyone is someone's most important person in this world.
"Katniss."
Her name sounded a little too sweet on his lips, innocent and blissfully ignorant to this world, acid burning slyly underneath with light sour taste, and they just were everything she was. A rebellious teenage girl, barely able to understand her own actions and the consequences of its. Just her.
She turned her head toward his direction, skin toned down darker than he remembered, eyes painted fiery crimson, pooling steel gray colour directed at him in a carefully masked expression. The whole thing just seemed completely professional, cold, and very fake.
Her name popped up in his mind again, and this time, he grimly noticed, the charming smile never wavered as he walked toward her – one step, two steps – that her facial expression, no matter how cleverly used, was just one of a sixteen year old, eyes naive and foreign toward everything cruel and dark dwelling underneath.
Her name couldn't suit her more.
"Katniss!"
He yelled at her, and her head, once again, whipped around to meet his eyes, alerted and determinded, sharp tip of an arrow pointed at his left chest without a grain of hesitation, muscles stretched and trained, olive skin clenched tightly until her knuckles went white with force. Desperation he could detect, obvious and unhidden, another person's name clearly written.
(How familiar. If only he had a mirror...)
His action halted to a light stop, and he threw the trident as the Fifth's tribute lurking at her back.
"Katniss, you have to listen…"
Her world had already blurred into a jumble of colours and outlines and shapes, swimming and mixing and blending together until she couldn't pinpoint out one thing or another again.
Her name felt bitter on his lips.
The lone clanking sound of syringe hitting metal ground dropped in his ears, and she knelt, screaming at everything and nothing and cursed, cursed with all she had.
"Katniss." - His throat lumped lowly, her smile reversed into a frown, and sharp naivete bled from those eyes.
Her name curled in his vocal chords, and he watched as she cut off a piece of her that day.
(A spark had forever dimmed in those eyes.)
"Katniss, you need to calm down."
Her name stood out like a sore thumb in this place. Thirteen was dull and colourless, sucking out everyone's liveliness, replacing it with tight schedule and repetitive works. Train, eat, sleep, train, eat, sleep, over and over and over again.
She stared at him, begging – for something he couldn't give. She begged for a way out, a salvation, anything. She begged for herself, for him, for Peeta, for her selfish desire.
He couldn't grant her those things.
(Himself, Finnick afraid, was too long gone and too broken to be repaired.)
But she was still there, burning too bright and fighting too hard, startlingly steely eyes iced into searing coldness, her name refused to be erased and give up.
"Katniss."
Sugar and sweets and everything he used to feel tingling up his spines. (Everything he tried to be, every last remnants of himself he tried to keep and pulled together, every reminder of a something he had quite forgotten.)
"Everything is going to be fine."
She collapsed in his embrace, incoherent words and sobs and a name repeated again and again until they both lost count, she pretended to believe him and he pretended he didn't know.
She choked, her hold got tighter around his torso like a lifesaver, and he stroked her hair, whispering soothing sweet nothings in her ears.
Her name was repeated again and again and again.
Her body trembled with shock and laughter, eyes wide and blank at vibrations were sent continuously down and down, his hands holding her shoulders, keeping her standing still, a stranger's name spilled out his lips, too vindictive and venomous to be hers.
His eyes sparked, mirth dancing in a genuine smile as he called her name, hopeful and caring for a friend splashed colorfully, a little light illuminated in dark despair and hopelessness, leading him to a brighter future, and she found herself returned it.
He threw his trident at those mutts, and the metal weapon drowned in crowd of disgusting creatures.
Nostalgia hit her hard, and she shook her head, this is not a place for flashback.
He cursed his own stupidity and drew out a dagger.
They outnumbered him. He could easily see that coming.
She bit down her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood out, tainting ashen skin crimson, hands reached out to grasp his, fingers curling around his, pulling him forward.
He shoved her out forcefully. Gray breath clouded in cold air, in, out, in, out, misting and blurring sharp, intimidating eyes. Goodbye, his mind whispered, bitter farewells droned them all, goodbye. Her lips trembled but sealed with unspoken words, stubbornly refused.
He yelled at her, ushering her to escape as something hit him hard, stabbing him with everything and nothing and a bridge burning between them, distance singing mockingly at he helplessly faced his inevitable fate. Pain laced his voice, and he knew he couldn't pretend anymore.
And Finnick would remember her, how her name felt like, how she was easily bruised, how innocent and naive and untainted she was, how she bled bright and blinding. How she sounded just like hope and salvation, and she truly was.
"Katniss!"
Her name died on his lips, forever sealed by death and pain.
Her name was the first and last thing he told her.
And life goes on.
In case you are wondering: Yes, Katniss really is the first word Finnick said when he first appeared in Catching Fire, and in Mockingjay, it is the last word he said, before you-know-what.