Fraying

There was no light to wake her, so Katniss couldn't be sure that she was rousing with the morning. Her eyes cracked open through the puffiness of sleep, the world around her blurry. She laid still until she gained her bearings, allowed her other senses to process her location. It was easier without the constant mix of drugs running through her veins- she could feel starchy sheets, the pain in her neck, soft flesh beneath her fingers.

The pungent smell of disinfectant was familiar now, and signaled hospital room. But the presence of another, the odd position she'd adopted, and the strangeness of the angle meant that she wasn't in her small, solitary compartment. Katniss reached out, fingers exploring what she couldn't see yet. The softness of the flesh quickly gave way to the feeling of hair. Someone else's hair. And then the pillow they were laying on.

The discovery yielded no panic. Dully, her mind picked through who could be beneath her. Gale? No, their positions would have been reversed- he hadn't been injured. So... Peeta, then. Hadn't Gale said that Peeta was resting? Or- was he up and about? It could be Peeta, but vague disappointment coiled in her chest at the thought.

So it was time to get up, since there was no more information to glean through touching. Katniss moved, pushing her other arm beneath her to raise her head. A groan escaped her lips as the stiffness flared at the top of her spine and curled around her neck. Apparently, sleeping half on a chair and half on a bed wasn't the best idea she'd had.

Once upright and rocked back onto the chair, she rubbed her eyes to clear them of sleep-haze in order to see just on whom her palm was resting. Colors resolved into shapes, outlines sharpened into features- and as Finnick became clearer her memories of the previous night came back. A smile crept onto her lips, and when her eyes met his she realized he was awake.

"... Hi," she greeted a little lamely. Finnick smiled back at her.

"Hi."

He looked comfortable despite the needles still hooked into his arm and she was filled with a soft warmth. "Sorry about falling asleep on you," she murmured gently, a statement that he brushed off with an almost-frantic shake of his head. Finnick moved to take her hand in his. The motion was languid; it was dawning on Katniss that he didn't seem altogether there. Sleep had led to little improvement, then. She let him envelope her palm with his, still smiling.

"I'm glad you stayed," he whispered, voice thick and fervent with sincerity. She soothed his distress by rubbing her thumb along with the edge of his wrist.

"Happy to help, Odair."

That worked, and he settled back against the pillows. "I guess it's my turn to call you sleeping beauty."

"Seems fair," she offered reasonably.

"What is that, by the way?"

"What is...?"

"Sleeping beauty?"

Katniss made to explain it, then she realized she wasn't quite sure herself. "It's- something my father used to say. When Prim or myself would wake up late, he'd laugh and- call us that." Her throat caught on the words. She fell silent. In her tiredness the previous day, the phrase must have slipped out for familiarity's sake. It had felt natural in the moment of refuge from the constant ache that was her life. A remnant of a happy time.

Finnick observed her carefully with more life in his eyes than she had seen in him since the arena. But he made no move to comfort or apologize- like the night of the Jabberjays, he favored resoluteness and Katniss allowed the gratitude to fill her.

"I saw her," he offered suddenly. At her look of conclusion, he clarified, "Prim. Your sister- I saw her. She works with patients and- she gave me that." His tone was dipping back to haziness, his hand languidly pointing at the nightstand. She turned- there were only a few objects. A glass, and a length of frayed string looped into a half-knot. Neither one seemed very important, but Katniss nodded anyway.

"Ah," she replied for lack of anything better to say. If Finnick noticed her attempt at placating, he didn't comment.

"The string. It's good. It's really good. It helps me think. I'll show you, some time."

Katniss had no idea what to say to that, so she settled on a shaky, "Thank you." It was enough- Finnick's smile didn't falter and he squeezed her hand. But after he did, he suddenly flinched back, hand spasming while he tried to bury himself in the pillows and away from her. Katniss' heart picked up its pace, thrumming threadily in her throat. Driven by instinct, she leaned in sharply.

"Finnick?"

He stared through her, like she was nothing but a lingering phantom he couldn't see. She waited, poised in a way hunting had taught her- still and quiet enough to avoid spooking easily startled prey. The idea that Finnick was prey rankled her but there was nothing else to fall back on, so she held the position until the ghost of life flickered back into his features.

"Yeah?" He finally asked, like nothing had happened. Gale's words came back to her- he was mentally preset once to the best of his knowledge. But he had also admitted that he hadn't paid too much attention, which gave room for hope to take seed.

She could ask him about his little episode, or if she should stop touching him altogether, or even what he meant by his string of apologies the other night. But Katniss had a feeling that nothing would come out of those, save for perhaps further trauma on Finnick's part. So she tried to find something neutral- and fruitful.

"Do you remember anything?"

He laughed hoarsely, and she saw a hint of the boy of the sea she'd only really known for such a little while. "I'm not crazy, Everdeen. I know things- no matter what they say I know things."

His jumbled words were at odds with his even tone, but she believed him. Though the bracelet cutting into her own wrist read mentally disoriented, when push came to shove she'd have to trust that she was still capable. And that meant he must have been too.

"Alright then, Odair, tell me the things you know." They shared a furtive a grin.

"Well I know my name, and what things are called. I know that we're somewhere that's not anywhere I've ever been. I know secrets- a lot of secrets. I know that your eyes are grey and sometimes they cloud over when you think no one's looking." By the end, his voice had gained strength and he was no longer looking past her but through to her center. She shivered, then made a motion that indicated under other circumstances she'd hit him playfully.

"Cute, bet that goes over well in-" Before she could cause any more damage she cut herself off. "What do you remember after the arena?"

Glum sobriety overtook his features. While he still looked present, that tenuous spark of life was gone. "Not too much. There was... fighting. I think I was fighting Enobaria? Yes, her... but it was over pretty fast. She went down, I got Peeta and told him to meet you and-" He screwed up his features, hunting through the tangled timeline. "I... was going to bring him but... I think that's when Chaff got me. In the head- I couldn't see but I'm pretty sure the electrocution gave him a heart attack. I thought I was-"

Katniss would have stopped him if he hadn't stopped himself. They both knew he had to keep going, but he was fraying at the ends and if they didn't step carefully he'd unravel. Pain made its heavy home in her chest while she waited out the silence.

"I woke up here. I didn't know where it was- someone told me, but they said they were saying it again. I can't really keep it in my head-"

"-Thirteen. District Thirteen."

He looked at her like she had grown another head before he nodded. "Thirteen. Thirteen, Thirteen, Thirteen. I asked for- Johanna but she..." His lips moved to finish the sentence but sound had left him. Katniss leaned in, asking permission with her eyes before placing her hand against his head. He leaned into the touch, though part of her was expecting him to break away after long.

"The Capitol has her. And then I asked about Annie and they wouldn't say but I know what that means. I know that- she's- not here. But I got you out. So it's okay, everything's going to be okay. You'll be okay because you're here and that's how it's supposed to be."

Supposed to be. Her body was reacting before her mind caught up with it- muscles tightened, jaw pinched together, eyes blazed. She withdrew, feeling almost burnt, and for a moment she wondered why her chest was heaving violently.

He knew. There were large chunks missing of the picture; namely, what in the world was really going on. But the Capitol wouldn't interrupt their own Games to rescue the tributes they themselves placed in the arena. Whoever had masterminded their escape had Finnick on their side, or at least filled in on their plans.

Anger, hot and dark and sticky, unfurled in her stomach. Its black fingers rooted in her fleshy insides and her physical senses became secondary to the maelstrom of her thoughts. She wanted to hit him, really hit him and not just flail at her target and hope to get lucky. Wipe that arrogant surety from his features-

-But there was no arrogance there. When she looked at him, there was only confusion and pain that ran from his skin to his bones. Grief was an iron jacket on his frame, the only thing cutting through it was a vague, fuzzy hope.

The fight bled from her leaving only tiredness in its wake. There wasn't just that nebulous plan to think about: there were the other tributes, hostages, that hadn't escaped. So consumed with trying to orient herself, she hadn't considered who hadn't made it out. Being mad at a pawn for being a pawn was useless and painful.

Finnick was looking at her owlishly. Her mind conjured the fleeting image of him being swallowed the by the sheets and pillows of his bed. She glanced down at her lap.

"I'm sorry." The cliché was heavy and stupid on her tongue, but he wasn't versed in her silence like Gale- it needed to be said. Later, when she had a chance to let the anger seep away into some dark place where it couldn't hurt them, she'd show him what sorrow and empathy felt like. For now, this would have to do.

"It's going to be okay," he mumbled- reassuring her or himself or trying to find something to hang onto she couldn't say. Like her apology, it was clumsy, but just as necessary. So she echoed him: "It's going to be okay."

The lie cut into her already tender heart. Katniss dug her fingers into the tight plastic bracelet around her wrist before pushing back the chair and standing up. Finnick seemed to startle and flail, but she couldn't bring herself to touch him again. Her rage threatened to burn her; she walked out without a word, the strongest she felt since she woke up.

The was only one thing she was sure of: she needed answers. Real ones.

A/N: Well this is horribly late. The semester is starting to reach its end so I've been buried under papers and exams- I tried to get this out last Monday, and then this Monday, and when that failed I tried to write a double chapter but obviously none of that worked out. My apologies- hopefully I'll be better about things as summer comes up.

Thank you all for sticking with this story, leaving such wonderful reviews, and basically being the best audience an author could hope to have! You're all wonderful!