A/N: 03/15/2015
Guest: Thanks! I'm doing that now! :D
lalelu900: lol thank you. I will! ;)
OMFG: THANKS! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS NEXT INSTALLMENT! :D
IzzyBelle01: Wow, thank you! I've thought a lot about this story and I think I generally know what I'm going to do with it, so thanks for your encouragement! :)
Stephanne21: I know, I used to hate third person present tense too. But after I read a few fanfictions in that style by people who actually knew what they were doing, I came to like it to the point where I wanted to try. I'm glad you think I'm able to pull it off so well, especially since it's not usually your cup of tea ;) And yep, this is gonna be packed to the rafters with Capitol Finnick, so I hope you don't mind! (though really, who in their right mind doesn't like any type of Finnick?) But don't worry, I plan on letting everyone see the real Finnick too :) Thanks!
CelestialTitania: lol I love puns XD But anyway yeah, will do! I only hope that the next few chapters will be up to par with the first! Thanks! :)
LibraryGeeks: DON'T DIE! I'm continuing it RIGHT now, see?! Go read! D:
Guest: Continuing! :D
Reading Time: 21 mins, but I could be wrong because I was distracted when I timed it.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.
Chapter two: Smoke to Spark~
She inevitably sees him the next day.
She doesn't necessarily want to, but they're both tributes for the Quarter Quell and there's no getting around it. It may have been a bit easier to avoid him if they weren't living in the same building, but she thinks that with his constantly zeroing in on her (whether intentional or not) they could have been five buildings away from each other and it wouldn't have made a difference.
She tries to act nonchalant when she spies him in the cafeteria for breakfast.
He's talking to Johanna and Mags and Beetee, and she doesn't know why but she immediately starts hurrying towards the food line before he can notice her. It's silly, but she finds it harder to keep her gaze on the muscled back of Gloss in front of her than it is for her to constantly crane her neck and see what Finnick's doing. It's a struggle, but she does manage to lock her neck and keep it from turning as she moves about the line, picking and choosing from the protein-filled foods the Capitol has chosen for them today from the refrigerated stainless steel sinks along the never-ending length of the buffet counter.
She takes her tray full of food and steps out of the line, trying her absolute best to scan the crowds and empty seats without making it seem like she's avoiding locking gazes with Finnick in particular (even though she is), and her gaze rests on the familiar and comforting form of Peeta sitting at one of the tables on the far end of the room, talking with Haymitch. Feeling a sense of relief wash over her, she exhales and grips her tray and begins the trek to her fellow district partners, dodging and weaving through the various obstacles in her way and trying not to notice the pair of eyes that have suddenly settled themselves on her moving form as she does so.
She makes it to her destination without flaw, and carefully sets her tray down beside Peeta's as she seats herself next to him.
She isn't sure why at first, but she makes sure to slide in next to him as close as possible, their sides pressing together on the bench seat even though there is plenty of room, and though she knows that he finds it odd and somewhat awkward (they never touch unless they're training or on camera) he doesn't object, either. And it's only after she does it that she realizes; she's doing it because of him. Finnick. She's trying to prove to him that he's wrong about Peeta, that she loves him and touches him plenty, and that close contact is no big deal for her.
She doesn't know why she cares; she has nothing to prove to him. And yet at the same time, she does. She does have something to prove to him, which she supposes that in and of itself means that she doesn't. Or maybe she doesn't and really does. She doesn't know. Either way, she can feel quite clearly the pair of eyes staring smug holes into her back as she moves, and so she has no choice but to stay in the uncomfortable position she's put Peeta as well as herself in through the remainder of breakfast.
She expects (or rather, hopes) that the subtle action she's made will send him a clear message and steer him away from their table.
It doesn't.
If anything, it only makes him zero in on her even more, and before she's even aware of what's happening he's setting down his food tray and sitting next to Peeta on the other side of the bench.
"Hey, guys," he says, smiling to everyone at the table. "How's it hangin'?"
The way he says it, as though it's just another perfectly regular day and that they hadn't had one of the most awkward conversations in history the night before, infuriates her, but she knows by now that her anger is his whole reason for coming over in the first place, and she's not about to give him the satisfaction of accomplishing his petty goal of making her mad.
Haymitch watches from his seat across from them, obviously picking up on their tension and clearly being amused, and she doesn't hesitate to try and put him in his place with a well-executed glare. It doesn't work, but she feels a bit better at having subtly released some of her building irritation, and having Peeta answer Finnick's pointlessly polite questions in her stead doesn't hurt either.
"Fine," Peeta says, drawing the corners of his mouth inwards for a half-smile as he pokes around at the leafy greens on his tray.
"Well that's good," Finnick says, smiling down at his own food. He pauses a few moments, and she's not nearly stupid enough to try and spare a glance at him without getting caught, but she knows that he's not about to keep his mouth shut. "What about you, Katniss? How've you been?"
Her cheeks begin to redden the moment he's angled his head towards her, leaning over the table to look past Peeta as he does, and she knows that he's left the ball completely in her court. It's her decision now to choose how to respond, and he's counting on every one of her possible answers because she just knows that he probably spends his nights wondering how he can mess with her next. He's probably imagined this scenario a thousand times in his sick little mind, but she's not about to just roll over and play dead for someone like Finnick Odair.
"I don't know - I've been too busy getting annoyed by overly chatty womanizers lately."
Haymitch barks out a laugh, clearly enjoying himself, and Finnick stares at her with that same wide-eyed grin that he gave her last night, like he's shocked and pleased with her all at the same time. Regardless, it doesn't take him long to recover with a comeback of his own.
"Really? Which ones? Because if they're bothering you I can totally have a talk with them if you want."
Impressed but not intimidated, she's quick to play along. "Oh, you know; bronze hair, good build, likes to wield a trident..."
"Strikingly handsome?" He adds, quirking an eyebrow and stroking his chin.
"Oh, very," she says, scrunching her brows and nodding as though she agrees. "In fact, he's so fabulous, I often mistake him for a woman - all that glitter and Capitol charm."
He looks down and chuckles, highly amused at the direction their conversation is taking, and is back with a response a beat later. "You must have caught him at a bad angle, then, because I've heard his face is unlike anything you've ever seen."
"Really?" She asks, feigning interest as she rests her hand on her chin and leans forward to get a better look at him over Peeta. "And how is his face?"
"It was carved by angels."
"And what about his hair?"
"It was styled by angels."
"And his voice?"
"It sounds like angels."
"And what do angels sound like?"
He flashes a grin. "Like angels."
Peeta looks unsteadily between the two of them, obviously feeling awkward being in the middle of their unofficial argument. "Uh...I- I'm sorry, what's going on right now?"
"Stay out of this, Peeta."
"Okay."
"Why don't you just come out with it, Fire Girl?" Finnick goads, smirking in that annoying way that he does. "Let everyone know what's really on your mind?"
She contemplates his suggestion, and the smart thing to do (probably, anyway) would be to keep her mouth shut before rumors start to spread, but she's so fed up with his stupid face and infuriating attitude that she doesn't dwell on it long before she simply admits what she's really thinking. "Well I guess that basically what I'm trying to tell you is to stay away from me."
She carefully enunciates each of the key words so he'll understand (something he clearly seems to have trouble with) and judging by the look on his face that he gives her, like it's only just dawning on him that she's not playing hard to get and that she really just doesn't like him, she has that tiny sliver of hope that maybe he'll finally get it through his thick skull and back off for good. But again, it's wishful thinking.
He leans over Peeta's food tray, and by the way his eyes spark she can tell that she's already lost this battle, and he knows it, too. But it doesn't seem to be enough for him to merely know that he's won. In fact she knows it isn't, because she prepares herself for whatever clever words slip from his mouth in retort to her previous statement.
"And what I'm trying to tell you is," he starts, mocking her. "That all your efforts to keep me away from you, are going to fail."
Her expression doesn't change save for her clenching jaw and the slight pursing of her lips, but she's furious.
Never in all her years has she had to deal with someone so cocky, annoying, narcissistic, ignorant, ridiculous-
Deciding to quit before she gets ahead of herself, she abruptly slides out of the bench seat and stands, not bothering to take her tray as she storms off.
She knows that it probably only makes her seem even more childish to the other Victors, and that a slew of things are probably flying through Haymitch and Peeta's heads right now, but she's so angry at the moment that she doesn't really care. The others' perception of her couldn't be less of a priority to her as she stomps her way back to her room with no intention other than to be alone and cool down, and everyone she passes - stylist and Avox alike - can clearly see the storm raging after her in her wake, knowing ahead of time to stay out of her way. She's glad for this; she's mad, but she doesn't want to snap at anyone unnecessarily.
She makes it to her room without incident, and wastes no time in collapsing onto her bed and screaming into her pillow.
She really hates losing.
About an hour later, she's doing okay again.
She's hungry, but too stubborn to go back into the cafeteria after her little 'episode', and her anger has (for the most part) subsided to the point where she can be civil and think logically again. She's embarrassed about her behavior, but again her stubbornness covers it up by reminding her of just how annoying he had been, and that he deserved to be left hanging in the middle of a conversation for once in his Capitol-perfect life.
A knock comes at the door, and she sighs, knowing it's going to be either Haymitch or Peeta - only they would know to leave her alone for this long without coming to check on her. She gets up from her bed and walks over to the door, momentarily getting her head together before tightening her grip on the knob and opening the door. She begins to smile, the slightest of changes to the muscles in her mouth, but any attempts at such welcoming actions halt when her gaze falls upon not Peeta or Haymitch, but the broad form of none other than Finnick Odair.
She fixes him with a glare and unceremoniously slams the door in his face, and she's suddenly glad that she didn't waste time on something like smiling, but she doesn't get to slam the door - he shoves his arm in front of the jamb and past her shoulder and into her room, and they're suddenly staring at each other through the considerable amount of space he's created with his crushed limb.
"Woah, there! Now that wasn't very polite! Aren't you gonna invite me in?" He asks, smiling and lifting his eyebrows in what she can only assume is meant to be an innocent manner.
But unlike the Capitol girls he's so used to courting, she knows better than to assume he's anything of the sort. She doesn't respond, instead choosing to answer by pushing all of her weight against the door; to try and push him out or tear his arm off, she doesn't know, but she's fully prepared to cut off his circulation if she has to.
"Aww, come on!" He tries again, and she can tell he's struggling to keep the painful strain out of his voice. "I just wanna talk!"
She stops trying to push against the door and pauses to look at him, deciding. In the end, she releases her hold on his arm and opens the door back up, but makes it a point to stand in the middle of the doorway to make it clear that he's not welcome.
"Fine, but you're not coming in. What do you want?"
He tilts his neck and rotates his shoulder, wiggling his fingers as he gets the feeling back into them.
"Phew. Man, you sure can pack a punch," he remarks, looking at the indents on his bicep caused by the corner of the door being smashed into it.
"What do you want, Odair?" She asks, patience quickly dwindling.
"I just want to apologize," he says, and for a moment she's taken aback. "At least I did until you wouldn't let me in the door."
He looks over to his right at a couple of Capitol natives walking by, one of which she recognizes to be one of Cinna's helpers, and makes sure to raise his voice as he says, "I'M SORRY, FIRE GIRL, BUT I'M NOT THAT KINKY! GAGS AND DUCT TAPE?! PHEW!"
Her eyes widen and her face floods with heat so fast that she doesn't give it a second thought; she grabs Finnick by his arm and yanks him inside.
She swiftly shuts the door before the onlookers can question her motives, and her previously settled anger flares up in the short second it takes her to whirl around and face him.
"Now was that so hard?" He asks, tilting his head and holding his hands out.
"What the hell is your problem?!" She hisses, ready to tackle him to the floor and start beating the life out of him.
"I told you," he says. "You wouldn't let me in. But now you have. Problem solved."
She's so angry that she's almost certain her hair is standing on end. "You son of a...how could you...what is your...URGH, you're such a...dog!"
"Well I'm not gonna lie," he smirks. "You do make me pant."
She twists her face into an expression of disgust, and with nothing worthy to battle his perverted comment coming to mind, she grunts in frustration and turns away.
"Gosh! If I throw you a stick will you go away?"
He looks up at the ceiling, thinking about it. "Yyyyyyyes. But only for as long as it takes me to find it. Then I'll just be coming right back here so you can throw it again."
She looks at him as though he's retarded, and because of his utter stupidity she can't think of anything else to say except, "Ugh..."
She walks past him and over to the table resting against the wall by the foot of her bed, the small desk lamp the only thing giving light in the cell-like room. She puts her hands on either side of the table and leans over, heaving a giant sigh to try and get rid of her fiery whirlpool of emotions and calm herself down. Finnick is silent behind her, and for once, she's thankful.
"...What is wrong with you?" She asks finally, anger and irritation draining into exhaustion and sarcasm. "What on Earth went through your head to make you think that I would want anything to do with you? Please, enlighten me."
She isn't completely sure why since she can't see him, but she knows that he's smiling smugly at her invitation to elaborate. And incidentally, she also knows that she's just put herself in an unwanted situation.
"Okay, then," he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice. "I will."
She almost laughs, but she's too smart to be comfortable around him now that they're alone and she's too aware of the fact that he's coming closer. She casually straightens her back and turns around to face him with her poker face, but he's already too close for her to ever feel comfortable and in control backed against a table. He smiles down at her, eyes drifting downwards across her face until they rest on her lips, and in her steadily rising panic and discomfort she opens her mouth to throw him off.
"You don't know anything about me."
"I know you don't love Peeta."
She freezes, and though she knows she should argue with him (for both Peeta's safety and hers) she finds her mouth unable to open. Instead, she merely stares at him with wide eyes, and he wastes no time in continuing down his list because apparently he already knew he was right.
"I know you'd sooner start a rebellion than let anything happen to your sister. I know you've got enough fire in you to burn this whole Godforsaken city to ashes. I know you need someone of equal or greater value to sail through this life with who you can't walk all over. I know you had something going on with that 'cousin' of yours..."
She's aware of the fact that he's coming closer and closer with each fact he writes off, but it's not until she's leaning backwards over the table with her arms back and her hands pressed into the smooth wood that she realizes just how dire her situation is. His hands rest on the edges of the table at her sides, caging her much like he had done the night before. He doesn't touch her - in fact, she thinks that this is just about as close as anyone could get to a person without touching them – but to her it's the closest form of intimacy she's ever experienced with a stranger and she doesn't like it. If anything it scares her, and he knows it. He leans closer, because he knows he can, and his face blurs and disappears from her line of sight as he angles it down towards her left shoulder.
"But most of all," he says, lowering his voice to a whisper as he begins inhaling and tracing his nose up the length of her neck. "I know that no matter how much you act like you don't like it-" He pauses once he's reached the shell of her ear, and she absently wishes she hadn't worn a braid today. "You want me to touch you."
Want; the word leaves through his mouth in a single breath that fans across the side of her face and neck, heating the already flushed skin as she releases a shaky breath of her own.
Her knees grow weak and it's suddenly an exact re-play of the night before, except her head's too muddled and her heart's beating too fast for her to be angry enough to shove him away. His hands leave the desk and slide up the sides of her hips like liquid serpents, with fluid motions and sure movements that only he could pull off, and he breathes out another gust of heat across her jaw as he moves downward, his nose just brushing against the invisible hairs on her skin. She stands between him and the table, rigid as a steel rod as he moves, slow and steady, taking his time, and she desperately wishes the only clock in her room wasn't on the wall behind her because she's afraid they've been in here for hours, far too long for any pair of decent people to be alone in a room together.
She wants to snap out of it, to come to her senses and tell him not no but hell no, but Finnick is a professional, heartthrob to the Capitol and loved by all – and she's nearly powerless against the years of experience he's surely attained from dealing with so many different women.
It's when he becomes more brazen that she's able to regain control of herself; he pushes her against the table and slips a hand under her shirt, and it's then that she's able to deal with the situation the way she wants to - she shoves him off of her, grabs him by the collar and drags him to the door, swinging it open and throwing him outside.
"Was I moving too fast for you?" He asks once he's regained his footing and turned around to face her.
She doesn't respond, hoping her silence will be answer for him enough, but he ignores her hint and tries again with something a bit more direct. He moves forward as though expecting to be let back inside, and he's so sudden with it that he almost succeeds – she catches him at just the last second and forces him back to the other side of the line separating her plush purple carpet from the red-colored floors coating the hall outside, holding him by his collar to make sure he doesn't do it again. He looks down at her with a look that clearly implies his thoughts on the matter of her dominating him out of her room, and it's just enough to make her tear her grip away from his shirt.
"Come on, Fire Girl," he says, eyes glinting. "Don't tell me you're not thinking about what coulda happened back there just now?"
She stares up at him with a steely expression, briefly glancing down and noticing the firm wrinkles in the cloth around his collar where she'd had her hand fisted just seconds ago, knowing her eyes are probably giving away more than her face ever could at the moment, and he stares right back, grinning down at her like a lovesick madman because he knows he's right. And he is; she does think about it – about what would happen if she drug him back inside and shut the door – and they both know it flashes clearly across her mind as she teeters on the threshold of her room and he stands outside in the hallway.
They stay like that for a few long seconds, and she can tell by the way he looks at her that he expects her to let him win, to give in and let him back inside so he can teach her all the things she has no knowledge of. But she doesn't. In fact, she does the one thing he probably least expects her to do.
She shuts the door.
A/N: Was that suitable? I'm fairly happy with it but if you feel like it doesn't fit the tone of the last chapter or just wasn't as good for some reason, don't hesitate to let me know. I have a general idea of where I'm taking this, but I really don't know exactly what I'm going to do with it other than it won't be more than 4-5 chapters.
Anyway, thanks for reading, and don't forget to review; I love reading your thoughts! :D
'Til next time!