Rated: T for death, language and of course, violence.
Summary: "What about you, Girl on Fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?" In three years, her answers had changed many times. She leaned down, pressing her face deeper into the tombstone. The smell of moss and salt filled her nostrils, and she whispered softly. "I love you."
Author's Note: For the record, this is Finniss, or Everdair, whatever name you prefer. So, if you don't like the couple, please kindly and quietly leave. You've been warned.
This is my first (and possibly last) entry in The Hunger Games fandom. No, seriously, this world needs more Finniss fanfic. And no, I haven't edited this - this is the rough draft. So please bear with me and my typos. :3
Anyway, please read and review!
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I did own The Hunger Games, believe me when I say both Peeta and Gale would be heartbroken, Finniss would be canon and Finnick would still be alive.
.:.
Sugar Cubes
.:.
The first time they met, Katniss thought he was a little too flirty for her to be comfortable around him.
It was his footsteps that alarmed her of his arrival, and his breath, sweet and sugary, with a touch of cool mint fanned slightly on her skin, sending small shivers down her spines.
"Katniss." - One word, it was only one word, but he made sure that it sound seductive whilst rolling on his tongue.
"Hello Finnick."
And while Katniss didn't remember the rest of their conversation, she did remember his taste - of sugar and mint, brushing swiftly against her lips, sweet and addicting.
She aimed her arrow at him - at his heart, to be specific.
He didn't startle. Didn't attack. But from his body gesture - the tenseness of muscles, trident ready - there was no doubt that he could easily end her.
Katniss did not believe him.
He killed the tribute from Five with one shot, and thus saving her life.
He knew her charade.
He knew Katniss didn't really love that boy - Peeta.
Finnick could see through it easily.
Because he also wears that same mask everyday. The same empty, madly-in-love look whenever he had... appointments.
But that day, under the pink sky, with Peeta half-dead, with the force field, Katniss proved to him otherwise.
He didn't know what to feel.
Really, the combination of the scabs and the ointment looks hideous. And that was the understatement of the year.
Finnick looked distressed. Another understatement. He looked horrified. She couldn't help but grin at him
"Poor Finnick. Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?"
"It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?" he asks.
"Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it."
"Not if I keep looking at you."
It was her first, genuine laugh after a long, long time.
She woke up at midnight - sleeping a peaceful, dreamless night is a precious and impossible gift for any Victor.
In the darkness, her silver gaze could only make out his lean, slumped figure, sitting there. Muffled sobs and teardrops floated in the air.
She wanted to sit up and comfort Finnick, but decided against it.
He needed time.
He needed to be alone.
And so she lay down and pretended that she never woke up.
She pointed her arrow at him again. Her eyes spoke of coldness. Of betrayal.
She didn't know what to believe anymore.
He looked at her, sea-green eyes never wavered, a silent reminder of his unspoken words.
Remember the real enemy.
She shifted her arms, letting the arrow flying up the force field.
And watched everything exploded.
Finnick sat there silently, watching the Girl on Fire now stood in front of them.
Her whole figure was trembling and shaking uncontrollably, the syringe was held in her hands like a lifeline.
She eyed him with rage-filled eyes.
Why did you keep this secret from me?
He couldn't look at her silver stare.
Empty.
Her eyes shifted to the bland ceiling, never had any emotions in them.
It was worse... worse than facing her fury. Because she couldn't even be furious now.
She knew nothing.
Drowning down, deep down into nothingness, and praying, hopelessly praying for the pain to go away...
She didn't eat.
She didn't communicate.
She closed her soul and seperated herself from life.
He couldn't see her like that.
His stomach churned, and he ignored the nagging voice inside telling him that Annie was like that too, and that he loved Annie nonetheless.
Everything he knew was the silent, desperate urge inside, begging him to do something, to keep her from that fate.
.:.
Secrets
.:.
She saw him again, but this time, Finnick looked... different. And not a good 'different'.
He was in the patients line, taken care by her mother. His eyes was infocus, the sea-green pools, once vibrant, now fogged, mirroring nothing but darkness itself.
She knew that look. It was in the stranger staring back at her from the bathroom mirror.
His name rolled out her tongue before her brain could even register what happened, and Katniss flinched at her own voice - too soft, too desperate, too raw and vulnerable. It didn't sound like she wanted: cold and controlled.
He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze fixated on the rope in his hands, knotting and untying it absent-mindedly.
She looked at his dishevelled form - his crunched rope, messy bronze hair.
Her heart tightened, and she felt her eyes getting hotter and blurrier as Katniss shook him, trying to get a response.
His face brightened as she told him about the immunity of victors captured by Capitol.
It was the first few times she ever saw him this happy, and something bitter boiled up her stomach as he mentioned Annie.
Maybe that was guilt, she told herself.
But that didn't sound convincing, even in her head.
"I need you to add Annie Cresta to the immunity list." - Katniss told Coin the next day.
Rue's brown eyes, staring wide in a sightless accusation, blood pouring out freely, staining her eyesight red. Glimmer, with venom bloating her body grotesquely, and her plum-sized stings were oozing green pus and were bursting. Marvel's horrified look as her arrow pierce right through his neck. Gale's standing, shirtless, whipped, writhing on the cold hard ground, cuts drawing a deadly picture of violence. And Peeta, oh God, Peeta, on air, being hit repeatedly, blood pooling and flowing on the white tiled floor, splashing everywhere...
Katniss woke up suddenly, sitting rigidly, cold sweat broke down from her face, mouthing an unspoken scream.
They were all real, real, real, and nothing could ever change these scenes...
Blood, it was blood, tainting her eyesight red, blinding her, the fishy and salty smelt of liquid redness violently filled her nose.
And before she knew it, Katniss was standing in front of the wooden door, hesitantly knocking it.
"Katniss?" - Finnick's face popped out, sleepy and lazy, his hair a tangled mass of bronze colour.
"I... have nightmare."
He opened the door just a little more and let her in.
He was back to that state again - surprised, scared, unstable.
Her breath hitched painfully in her throat, and it felt like a thousand needles stinging into her skin.
It took her sheer force of will to stand there from the afar, comfort and not hug him to death, burying herself in his warmth and cry everything out - Peeta, Gale, her mother, Prim. Everything...
"Finnick?" she said, "Maybe some pants?"
He looked down at his legs, eyes widened. Then he whipped off his hospital gown, leaving him in just his underwear. "Why? Do you find this" - he struck a ridiculously provocative pose - "distracting?"
She laughed - truly laughed.
On the third week, she sneaked into his room.
He was lying there, staring intently into the ceiling.
She nudged him.
"Finnick, look what I found."
Sea-green eyes shifted to the translucent nilon bag she was holding.
Small, pure white little cubes shook a little in the bag, dangling and dancing lightly.
Slowly, a grin broke through his face.
"You stole this from the kitchen?"
She shrugged.
"Maybe."
His eyes glinted mischievously, and he looked more like his old self - more lively, more flirty, more seductive, more Finnick.
Warmth seeped in her heart.
"Want a sugar cube?" - He asked her playfully, with that old voice he used back in the Quarter Quell.
The memory brought a small smile up her lips.
If this were seven weeks ago, she would have told him politely, "No, thank you. But I'd love to borrow your outfit someday."
A year ago, she would have looked at him like an alien.
Two year ago, she would told him something along the lines "Fuck off".
But now, now...
Katniss answered back, grinning:
"Sure, I'd have one... Or two... Or you."
They both broke off in laughter.
The look on Gale's face was priceless.
"Hey..." - She ruffled his hair, while he just lay there, bearing with her.
(He knew he loved it anyway.)
"Can I ask you a question?"
A golden eyebrow quirked up.
"That was already a question, Kat."
She pouted.
That only served to widen his grin.
"Ask anyway."
"Can I call you Finn?"
Another eyebrow rose up.
"Sure, why not?"
She found herself caught up in nightmares more than often these days.
Whenever she closed her eyes, the dead haunted her.
When she opened her eyes, the living haunted her.
At the thought, Finnick gave her a warm embrace, his face buried in the crook of her neck, murmuring sweet nothing, trying to soothe her.
She let herself soften, relax in his arms, and for once, engulfed his aroma - sweet and sugary and addicting.
She slept in his room almost every night now.
Her hair sprawled out, framing her defined face, eyes closed.
Every night, she would wake up, scared, screaming and sweating, hopelessly holding onto him like a lifeline.
He didn't mind at all.
They didn't love each other.
This was only for comfort.
A way to keep each other from the brink of insanity - which had already loomed dangerously close from the beginning.
I don't love you, he'd told her right from the beginning. You are my friend, Kat...
I know, she agreed. I know.
And as he kissed her hungrily, devouring every bit of her, as his fingers tangled themselves in her brown hair, she couldn't help but feeling her heart shattering and clenching in a painful shape.
He loved Annie. His sweet, lovely, innocent Annie, accepting him for who he was, embracing him, showing him the light in his darkness.
He loved Annie.
Finnick told himself that, repeatedly, over and over again.
He had done this a thousand times already, a method to endure the countless nights, to keep himself from getting eaten by guilt; and it always succeeded.
This couldn't - shouldn't be any exceptional.
He loved Annie.
Finnick closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he was thinking of a red-haired, green-eyed girl, and not the one in front of him.
Apparently, it was about to be as convincing as the Capitolite fashion sense.
The rescue team had landed ten minutes ago.
She'd imagined herself running there, crying in delight at the sight of them, of Peeta and Gale, safe and sound.
He'd prepared for ever for this moment, meeting the love of his life, holding her tight and kissing her senseless.
Neither were good at meeting expectation anyway.
(They found themselves holding onto each other, fearing - fearing of what could have - should have been, fearing of what is happening and what will happen instead.)
Peeta lunged himself at her, his hands clutching her neck with so much anger she'd ever seen.
She wasn't prepared for this to happen.
Air was forced out of her body, Katniss felt lightheaded, weightless, floating and flying freely in the air, everything was a blurry mess of colours and shapes swimming around.
This was nothing but a sick joke, she decided. Just a sickening, disgusting joke that Katniss didn't even enjoy.
This whole Hunger Games was a joke.
This revolution was a joke.
Peeta was a joke.
Everything was a stupid, stupid joke, and she was just stuck there, being the audience.
Katniss let out a hysterical laughter.
This is all a stupid, cruel play, designed to humor someone else.
Truth hit her hard.
It wasn't a game.
Peeta... God, Peeta...
She let out a cry.
His arms wrapped around her protectively, almost instinctively.
Finnick didn't see the questioning look everyone was giving them.
She clung onto his shirt like a frightened child, tears were streaming down, soaking the cloth.
His hand ran down her hair, brushing them tenderly like he always did, when she woke up from a nightmare.
"Sssshhhh..."
That night, she held onto him tighter.
He touched her more than he did.
Together, they mourned for their loved ones.
For Peeta and his delusion.
For Annie and her coma.
For every uncertainties and every dangers in the future ahead.
We only have each other left...
They were getting out of those sewers, and still she couldn't find Finnick anywhere.
Katniss didn't worry too much about that, though. Because he was Finnick and Finnick survived two Hunger Games already, because he was Finn and Finn would never hurt her, emotionally or physically, on purpose or by chance.
She ignored the small, worried voice at the back of her mind.
It was only when they were already escaping and still she couldn't find him anywhere that her nerves began to provoked.
His scream, it was his scream that woke her, catching her attention, so hurting and scared that she didn't believe her eyes in first sight.
And she still didn't believe it when a mutt lunged at him, swiftly bit his head of.
Her eyes were just deceiving Katniss.
Gale pulled her up just in time - right when those tentacles about to touch her and drag her down.
Half of her wanted to hug him and thank him - because they were the sensible things to do, and because hadn't it been for Gale, she wouldn't be alive.
The larger half, however, wanted to laugh at him, silly, innocent Gale, how could she even die anyway? Finnick was still alive down there, he would protect her like he always did, right?
Peeta shook her body and begged her to snap out of it and wake up.
She didn't even know what he meant by that.
Finnick was dead. Oh God, he was dead.
Finn died.
He died.
He was dead now.
He is dead now.
And nothing could ever change it.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to destroy everything. She wanted to yell at everyone, because it was so unfair, why was her loved one being stolen away and theirs were safe and sound, she wanted to personally torture Snow for this.
But most of all, she wanted pain.
She wanted another pain to kept her distracted from his death. She wanted to be numb. This hurt, it hurt, her lungs were filled with fire, her throat dry.
Silver eyes were hot and blurry - like they could explode anytime, but no tears came out. There was a little flame, burning them out already. They were just there, prickling and tingling the back of her eyes.
She wished she could cry. It would hurt less if she could actually cry.
Her eyes were just bled dry. Katniss wondered with the veins didn't just break and let the blood stream out instead of tears.
If she could actually let something out...
Then the tears wouldn't have to run back to her heart, and she wouldn't have to swallow them back down, repeatedly tasting the salty, bitter feeling over and over again.
Gale gave her only one arrow.
One was enough.
She shifted her arms. The arrow flew off, soundlessly.
Blood splashed out again, staining her vision red.
President Coin fell down from the balcony. Dead.
A mild, gentle part buried deep down her heart wished that she'd missed, and that Coin was still alive.
The large, numb, indifferent part only wished Coin's death had been slower and more torturous.
"Why?"
She didn't have to think twice before answering.
"She didn't deserve to live. Not when she'd helped taken them away."
Haymitch didn't say anything when she stumbled on his doorstep.
Instead, he only waved his hand at the bottle on the table.
The alcohol burnt fiercely at the root of her mouth and it tasted so bitter that she wanted to gag the liquid all out.
But at the same time, Katniss could feel numbness, could feel everything faded away. Including those memories. And it felt so surreal that she was almost sure those events were just nightmare.
So Katniss decided to chug the whole bottle down.
She woke up, screaming and sweating.
There were footsteps rushing toward her room and the door opened, revealing a worried Peeta.
And for a fleeting moment, she'd hoped that it would be him...
Katniss was the Mockingjay, the face of Second Revolution, hope of the rebels. One should think she knows hope better than anyone does.
She did.
She knew hope would only lead to greater disappointment.
She knew that it wasn't like in those propos or the flowery speeches.
Because something just couldn't be changed. And if you keep your expectation high, it will only make the result more sour.
She'd learnt it the hard way
.:.
Rosemary
.:.
She knelt down, her legs dug further into yellow, warm sand; her face pressed against the cold, gray stone.
It was a cold December day, but since this was Four, it wasn't so cold as it used to be at Twelve.
She didn't tell anyone, but she missed him. There were no one left to tell anyway.
Peeta would have asked if Katniss was in love with Finnick, and no, she didn't want to answer that question, she didn't want to face it - not yet anyway.
Haymitch wouldn't even understand.
Gale would make some insulting comments, and she didn't need any of that right now.
So no, she could tell no one.
Katniss missed him, she did.
She never told anyone, but she remembered his exaggerated flirting and his seductive comments - all to make her laugh. She remembered his warmth, engulfing her and soothing her whenever she needed. She remembered his eyes, sea-green colour bored right into her soul and brought out her deepest secrets, lying under so many layers that Katniss herself didn't even know.
These memories lived in her. They made her who she was.
So, everyday since that Second Revolution, she went to visit his grave. She didn't bring flowers, save for the humble rosemary, because they would attract attention, and while the Capitol's heartthrob was everything but humble, she knew Finnick Odair didn't really like these looks people gave him. She went here every year without fail, not on his birthday, not on the day he'd died, because there wouldn't be any time alone. She visited him on the Reaping Day instead - a reminder of what he had to sacrifice his life for.
She brought nothing, but her tears, and sorrow, along with her bleeding heart.
It had been three years, three years, and she wanted to cry even more.
So here she was. In front of the stone resembled him.
She'd walked a long road, watching and bearing enough scars on her back. This was just another loss.
The wetness on her cheeks soaked her, and she realized they were her tears.
No raindrop could be so warm and regretful like that.
Water fell down her face, dancing and singing a song of rain, and she titled her head just the slightest.
She wanted the rain to wash away the pain, the shame, the fear, the regret...
Katniss sobbed and curled into a small ball.
"I'm sorry... You shouldn't have had to die like that..."
There was a stillness in the air.
Tears poured out more, mixing with the raindrops, her frail frame shook from sobs after sobs.
She tossed the flower angrily, her hand curling up.
Tight fist came up, pounding and punching repeatedly at the stone, the rough material scraping her smooth skin, blood trailed down her fingers.
"You promise you would protect me from these nightmare!"
Another punch, and the tombstone didn't crumble under her fury.
"You said you would be there!"
Waves after waves crashed on the shore, white foam fizzing and covering the sand before it disappeared into thin air.
"You liar!"
Her voice cracked.
Dried eyes looked around, taking everything in her throbbing vision, and Katniss smiled sadly.
Because there were only raindrops on her face. She'd run out of tear.
"Finnick Jr." - She gave a shaky laugh. - "your son, Finn."
She paused tentatively.
"He is growing up so well."
She laughed again.
"Annie is very proud of him. He is an excellent swimmer, or so I've heard."
Silence.
"Finn..."
"Do you think - do you ever think what would happen if we had a child?"
Her hand traced the stone slowly, engraved every curves and every detail in her mind.
"He or she would be so beautiful..."
A ghost of a smile gazed her feature.
"With those sea-green eyes of yours..."
Calloused fingertips ran down, touching a loose grain of yellow powder.
Bitter taste crawled up her mouth, and she laughed, shaking her head.
"Nah... That would be too much for this world to handle, another miniature Finn running around. Like there wasn't enough of you already."
There wasn't enough of him, really.
What about you, Girl on Fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?
In three years, her answers had changed many times.
She leaned down, pressing her face deeper into the tombstone. The smell of moss and salt filled her nostrils, and she whispered softly.
"I love you."
Done.
Phew, this took me a sleepless night to finish, and well... I don't know if the outcome worth this tiredness I'm currently feeling right now.
So... review?