A/N: T rating for swearing and violence. Written using the prompt 'create' from Caesar's Palace and as an entry in the monthly oneshot challenge.
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She crept up behind the handsome District Four tribute, high on the thrill of being so close to her goal. Lilliana raised her weapon, ready to bring it crashing down on the man's head, but he turned before she could land the final, crushing blow. She froze, her axe still high in the air. The man's eyes were enchanting, sparkling with emerald fire. She longed to close the distance between them, to run her hands through his luscious bronze locks, to feel his lips –
"Having fun?" a voice came from behind her.
Johanna quickly flipped over the sheet of paper. "What the hell do you think you're doing here?"
Haymitch grinned. "Good morning to you too, sweetheart." He threw himself into the chair next to her and winked. "So, how is Finnick? Besides luscious, I mean."
"You breathe a word of this, Abernathy, and you're a dead man." Just to be sure none of this ever got to Finnick, she'd rip up the pages she'd written on. No, that wouldn't be enough. She'd rip up and burn them. Yes, that should work. She glared at Haymitch.
He put his hands up in mock surrender. "I believe you." He took a gulp from the glass in his hand.
Johanna narrowed her eyes. "Hair of the dog already?"
"So we're changing the subject now, eh?" Haymitch smirked. "Well, if you insist, yes. Best cure I've ever found."
"You would be the expert," she snorted. Her voice turned serious. "Haymitch, please don't tell him."
He smiled, this time sincerely. "All right, sweetheart, not a word from me. You've got it bad."
"Yeah." She nodded. Yes, she really did.
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"Damn it!" she yelled. Johanna slammed the door to District Seven's floor in the Training Center. "That bastard!" She kicked the coffee table, knocking over a vase of fresh roses that crashed to the ground and shattered.
Finnick followed her into the suite. "Jo, it'll be all right," he said soothingly, moving over to her and pulling her into a hug. "I'm sorry this had to happen."
Johanna wanted so badly to be brave, strong, everything she should be, but instead she broke down. She sobbed, fat tears running down her face and staining the almost transparent fabric of his shirt. "I just want him to die – no, I want to do it myself. I want to put an axe in his skull and rip his corpse to pieces with my bare hands just to make sure he can never come back again."
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "It gets better," he said, gently rocking her back and forth in his arms. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
"How about writing? Haymitch told me that you do that sometimes. Getting that out really does help, Johanna, and if you don't want to talk about it..." He gestured towards the pad of paper that had once sat next to the now-broken vase.
She worried her lips with her teeth as she thought about it. Then she looked into his eyes and nodded. Finnick handed her the paper and a pen, and she curled up on the too-perfect white leather couch. He moved to sit next to her, but she stopped him. "No reading over my shoulder, Odair. Go sit over there."
"What if I promise not to look?" He widened his eyes in his best innocent expression, and despite herself, Johanna grinned.
"That wasn't a suggestion. Move." Finally satisfied that he couldn't see the paper from his vantage point, Johanna began to write.
Lilianna collapsed against the door of the elevator, struggling to breathe as sobs racked her body. She'd never realized how much emotions could physically hurt. It felt as though the knife had been buried in her own stomach, not her brother's.
Martin. No, Martin. He hadn't deserved this. No child deserved what had befallen him, but Martin had been such a sweet boy. Nothing like her. She was the one who should have died. Lilianna was filthy, nothing more than dirt. She'd been selfish, denied her master, and for that, her brother had paid dearly. Lilianna wished that it had been her that bled out in the Arena, that the light in her eyes had faded on live national television as thousands of people across Panem watched. Things would be better that way.
The ink smeared as a tear fell onto the page. Johanna put down the pad of paper and wiped her face with her sleeve. She curled into fetal position and laid down, feeling the coolness of the leather against her cheek. Finnick moved to sit next to her, but Johanna shooed him away. Maybe some people wanted the comfort of others when they mourned, but she needed to be alone.
It was all she deserved.
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"What you writing?" Finnick asked. Johanna looked up to see him peering over her shoulder, his eyes crinkling with laughter as he read the passage.
She pushed him back. "It's not funny!" she protested.
Finnick laughed. "No, it's very funny. President Slush, really?"
Johana could feel her cheeks reddening. "Got any better ideas, Odair?"
"Are you offering?" He raised an eyebrow, and for a second Johanna wasn't sure what he was asking.
The answer soon came to her. "Let's find another pen."
"Can I write in marker?"
"Why, are you seven?" she scoffed.
Finnick shrugged. "Pretty much."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't think I won't make fun of you for it."
"You were going to do that no matter what."
"Don't use logic against me. Ready?"
"Each year, our twelve districts provide the Capitol with two children as tribute. Though I understand the sacrifices you make, I am also a very evil man, and I'm not satisfied with merely twenty-three deaths a year. So, I am happy to announce that from this day forward, we shall have two Hunger Games annually! One will be the Games we all know and love, but it will be joined by a new, exciting competition in which all of the people of the districts will participate!"
She rolled her eyes. What was that man thinking? Lilliana had always known Slush was evil, but this was more stupid than anything. How could Slush think this was a good idea? It didn't even make sense. She spoke up. "I feel like that might be a one-time deal."
Confusion replaced the pride on Slush's face, and soon he looked almost ready to cry. "Why don't you all like my idea? I worked really hard on it!" The audience booed, and the president's lip trembled as he fought back tears. "I can't help it that I'm an idiot. You should all give me another chance."
But then, a single, dark figure swooped down onto him. Andrew Laughlin, a suave, handsome, former Capitol agent with a deep-burning hatred for his ex-commander, forced his knife into the President's back. "See you in hell," Laughlin whispered to the man as he crumpled to the ground.
"Damn it, Odair! You can't have your self-insert kill off Snow immediately after you introduce him!" Johanna snatched back the pad and scratched out Finnick's last couple sentences.
And Lilianna, sensing that the newcomer was about to steal her kill, took the hidden weapon out of her pocket. She smiled grimly. Bet he doesn't see this coming. She raised the blow gun to her lips, and with a breath of air, the dart went sailing through the air towards -
Finnick stopped her from finishing the story by clapping his hand over the paper. "Johanna, if I don't get to kill him, then neither do you."
"Yes, mine does. Yours doesn't get to kill him because you only introduced him one sentence before."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
Finally, the sheer ridiculousness of their conversation dawned on Johanna, and she began to laugh. Finnick grabbed the notebook away from her and began to read aloud what she'd written before, complete with individualized character voices and facial expressions, which only made her laugh more.
Light danced off his chiseled features as he read, and Johanna gazed up at him with longing. He was only her friend, and that was all he would ever be, but, somehow, it was all right. Just being with him was enough.
He'd been right, she thought, all those weeks ago. Writing did help. With everything that had trapped her for so many years laid bare on a page, she finally felt alive.
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A/N: Well, that was … different. Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought of the story!
~finnicko-loves-anniec