DISCLAIMER: All of the places and characters in this story belong to Suzanne Collins. No profit is being made from this story. It only serves to (hopefully) entertain.
Rated K+ for implied sensuality. Mostly Everdair, but includes Everlark and Cresdair for the sake of canon compliance.
Untangling Truth
Once again, I find myself in Four, only this time it's of my own accord – a reluctant choice, but a choice nonetheless. As I feel the familiar sea breeze brush against my face, I'm reminded of the last time Peeta and I were here. I'll never forget the Victory Tour as much as I may want to, but even now as I walk along the shoreline in the district I've visited once before, it's surprisingly not at the front of my mind.
I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.
Annie invited us here today. We got her letter last month, and though it was a difficult choice to make, we both agreed it was the right thing to do. She's with Peeta and little Finn a little further down the beach. They didn't seem to mind that I wanted to walk ahead. There are no woods here; only the dunes offer any sort of solitude, and even that's minimal, but it will suffice. It takes a few minutes, but I find what I'm looking for.
Finnick's memorial is carved into a polished slab of sandstone and set between two low, grassy dunes overlooking the rolling tide. He probably wouldn't have cared much for the flowers decorating its base, but I'm positive he would have loved the view. When we were in Thirteen and he was lost in a trance, staring out at the vast nothing, he told me back home he'd often look out to the sea. It was tranquil, he'd said. Though I prefer the woods and mountains myself, I certainly cannot argue. The fresh scent is intoxicating, and the steady, rhythmic music of the waves is indeed a comfort. It's almost as placid as the sound of the wind snaking through the trees of the forest.
I sit in front of the epitaph, sand sticking to the exposed skin of my ankles that glisten with sweat in this coastal heat. From my pocket I pull one of the knotted stretches of rope Finnick tied for me in Thirteen and get to work. I don't talk as I work my hands through the braided cord; we never talked when we untangled. We only breathed and thought. I'm not about to change that.
I don't feel guilty as the feel of rope against my hands reminds me of the first time we'd undone knots together. Even a mile below the Earth, the firebombs exploding overhead upon Thirteen could be heard. We were both frightened, but not because of the attack; we had been far more concerned with what was happening to the two people who meant everything to us trapped in the Capitol. Our terror was the reasoning behind why we'd tangled our bodies after we'd finished untangling ropes. Once we'd had enough of the ropes, he pulled me close and I settled right in, pressing my face against his chest and allowing the shivers of fear to coarse through my body. Our fingers entwined to the tune of explosions raining down upon our sanctuary.
Finnick didn't sleep that night and neither did I. Any attempt to fool the other we'd done so was futile, because we each knew better. We kissed instead. I suspect he kissed me for the same reason I kissed him: the small bit of hope we had left was slipping away with each explosion up above. It could have been our last night. Our loves could have already been long gone for all we knew.
It was comforting to kiss him. Natural, even. I was initially puzzled, because I'd never felt that the few times I'd kissed Gale despite being close to him for so many years. But now, I know why: Finnick understood.
It was like that for many nights after. We'd meet at night, and he'd have new ropes for us to tie up and untangle. We'd work in utter silence before tumbling into one another's arms and allowing only our lips and hands to express our fear, our need.
The rope I'm working on comes unlaced at last. It's about two feet long and it rests limply in my outstretched hands. This was the moment when Finnick and I would embrace: when both of our untangling was complete. I'm surprised to realize I actually miss is, long for it, even.
The wind kicks up behind me and gusts in my ear, and it's almost as if he's right behind me, whispering to me.
Got any secrets worth my time?
I lay the straightened rope in front of his memorial.
"I'm an open book," I mutter, and it's true; Finnick was the only one who could always see right through me. He always knew. I can almost hear his satisfied, playful laughter in the breeze. It still doesn't seem like he's really gone.
I hear footsteps in the sand behind me, and I already know it's Peeta. I can hear little Finn's laughter in the distance; he's probably playfully running away from Annie on his chubby little legs.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
"Do you mind if I...?"
"No," I answer, looking at the stone one last time before standing up. "Go ahead. I'll be with Annie, alright?"
"Okay."
I leave Peeta to pay his respects in peace; it's the least I can do seeing as he afforded me the same courtesy. As I walk back to the open beach, I wonder what would have happen if things turned out differently. What if Peeta and Annie hadn't made it out of the Capitol? What if Finnick and I had been all each other had? I don't ever wish for it, but I do wonder.
And somehow, I know that I always will. That's one knot that will never come undone.
Author's Note: This is the first time I've written for The Hunger Games in two years, and it's been quite some time since I've read Mockingjay. That said, please forgive any inaccuracies.
Written for Kay as part of the 2014 GGE. :) Thanks for reading!