A/N. Loosely inspired by the movie 'Timer'.


BLACK ROCKS AND SHORELINE SAND

mamihlapinatapei

(the look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move)


It's more than just a Timer that draws them together. More than destiny, more than soulmates.

Finnick bites back a derisive laugh. Soulmate.

What the fuck is a soulmate anyway?

It's — that's —

Anyway.

Finnick looks at his wrist, the smooth skin unmarred by the ripped out Timer, unmarred underneath his bracelets. Of course the Capitol wiped the blood away, healed his wrist as if it had never happened, and the only witness was Annie in the Arena grabbing her wrist and looking up wide-eyed, a deer in the headlights, while Finnick's fingers were full of blood.

(He may be a heartless bastard, but he will never forget that moment. He did that. He did that.)

It's different now. He changed the rules. He — unmade them. And you can't go back. You can never go back. Finnick learnt that long ago, licking the sugar off his lips and smiling prettily at his string of lovers. The skin knits back together, and it doesn't matter how much you think the salt water disappears from the sun in the Capitol, some part of the sea always remains with you.

And now, he's left with the consequences. The wreckage after the storm. Annie Cresta survived the games.

(And his weakness, his unscarred wrist, the blank dashes on hers, will forever haunt him.)

Fuck.

Fuck.

He can't stand to look at her, after. He stays away from her in the train, while Mags stays with Annie, the brave, the strong, the survivor. Annie says nothing, staring out the windows, and he knows that she can't stand to look at him either.

She can't stand to look at anything.

(Finnick still hasn't apologized.)


The thing is, Finnick's always been a coward in the worst possible way. He can fake it until he makes it to people he doesn't give a damn about, until he does, and that's the problem. He's careful, but being careful isn't always enough. The lies catch up, slowly devour him. That's always been the fucking problem.

He's let Annie in, somehow, despite everything, and dancing around her with half-truths will only get him so far. Luck runs out, sooner or later, but Finnick is willing to take that chance as far as it will go.

Hell, he could never lie to Aunt Maria, who knows everything, and sees through him anyway, telling him as much.

Annie, though, Annie can stop him with a look, her sharp green eyes cutting through the bullshit, and — fuck.

He doesn't know what he'd say to Annie, even if he tried.


It's a calm, sunny day when Finnick takes Annie to the sea. There's danger in still waters, and maybe that's why Finnick does it in the end.

He rows until his wrists ache, and that's penance, right? It will never be enough, but it'll do for now.

"There's blood in the water," Annie says, palms open to the sky.

Her Timer still on her wrist, blank forever and always now, but still intrinsically connected to him.

"It's a fish eat fish world," Finnick says, because they've known the cruelty of the sea all their life, long before they were Careers, long before they were soulmates, long before they forgot about innocence.

"It's never going to go away, is it?" Annie asks, lashes darkly framed around her eyes, and it hits Finnick all at once, too late, always too late —

Mags had told him that he's a bright boy, but terribly stupid when it counts to affairs of the heart. Back then, he'd laughed and locked his heart away, thinking that the solution was that easy, to swear that his own heart was to be guarded at the bottom of the ocean, a treasure chest hidden under a mountain of sand. Davy Jones' Locker, natch.

Somehow, that hadn't stopped him from trying to slip in a piece of emerald and drowning in its green depths in the process.

"No," Finnick says, swallowing, and couldn't pull himself away even if he tried. "Never."

Annie nods, then looks away. There's a ship visible in the distance, and Annie watches it.

"I missed this," she says, her voice soft, as she reaches out to make ripples in the water. "I missed the sea."

"Yeah," Finnick tries to smile, throat too thick. "There's nothing quite like home."


He claws at his wrist when he's by himself that night, red raw marks raked across his smooth, smooth skin.

Soulmate. The word sticks in his mind, in his mouth, in the flat of his tongue, and he'd laugh if he could. What the fuck is a soulmate anyway?

Not this.

Not fucking this.