A/N: In which Finnick has a confusing conversation with one elder aristocrat, training continues, and Sil very nearly has a heart attack at the archery range - no thanks to Finnick.
Vorazlov28: Lol, thank you! What a compliment! I'm having fun with making them fall in love with each other without even realizing it ;) They really are blind ducks haha. A very apt description.
junieyes: I adore that phrase 'ditsy air bauble', it's so perfect. And that particular plot twist will come around eventually, all in good time! As for how the other Victors aren't realizing Sil's act so far, I'm banking that on the idea that going back into the arena changes them all a little bit. Plus it's not easy to have your entire perception of a person turned upside down. And also I just have too much fun making them all suffer through their confusion. Lol. I update the story Tuesdays and Fridays! Thanks for your review!
liraashryver: Nope, there's more training chapters up ahead. I'll be covering the interviews and more training in depth, I'm just changing things around in this story because it's boring reading the same plot over and over again in every fanfiction, and I read too much Hunger Games fanfiction so I thought I'd do my own thing :) And I love Gemma too! He's in this chapter as well, kind of an extension of the last one.
remifoster1313: The scar will be revealed eventually! It's purpose of it in the plot itself is to make Finnick think a little harder about who Sil really is and where she got it, which he'll find out before the end. And thanks! Gemma is one of my favorites too. He's so much fun to write and his character kind of developed on its own, which is fitting for him. He's definitely smarter than he lets on, and as you've said, he knows just a little more than Sil realizes.
Brianna: Yeah, I didn't want to make Sil into a typical Career. She just doesn't fit into that category. I figured showcasing her intelligence through her games would make Finnick think a bit harder about the various parts of her. It's the first step in him connecting the dots - but it won't be the last. There will be many more hints in the future that will make him even more confused. As for Snow and Felix...well, that particular plot will continue to develop in the background for now, as the Quarter Quell takes precedence.
Mabeliguti: Yup, this is a long story! Lol. I just couldn't stop writing it. I've never written anything like this before, but I've had so much fun putting it all together! And there will be LOTS of drama. Just wait until after the Quell - you haven't seen anything yet.
More moments between Finnick and Sil up ahead! I think you'll all appreciate it ;)
Chapter Twenty One | And why is it that in the early mornings
"It was terrible to see a young and beautiful woman – a girl in all but name – still standing almost at the threshold of golden and fantastic dreams, which should have made her youth one long, perpetual holiday." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Finnick is still awake when the phone blasts through the silence of the living room. Truthfully, it is a very soft sound – a twinkling of notes that warn of an incoming message – but in the blurry quiet of early morning, the suddenness of the noise makes Finnick dart up from the couch with a startled inhalation. Who would be calling at this hour?
Apprehension fills him. It's rare to get private phone calls during the Games, and his first explanation is that perhaps Snow has set up extra clients for him before he enters the arena. A sickened feeling lurches through him at the thought. Snow has his own way of contacting him regarding clients, but Finnick never has any of those during the Games…usually. He stares at the phone for a long moment before striding purposefully forward.
When he answers it with a hesitant hello, the voice that responds is none other than the father of the woman he had just been thinking about.
"Finnick. I was hoping it was you," Gemma Cornelius says. His voice crackles slightly over the connection.
How strange, that the night Finnick watches Sil's first Hunger Games, her father contacts him. Phone calls into the Capitol are a rarity in and of itself, but he's not entirely surprised that the Cornelius family has the ability to make it happen. Gemma has the money to pay the extensive bill, though that doesn't mean they are safe to speak privately. The Capitol monitors all calls, especially ones concerning their Victors.
"Gemma?" Finnick asks in confusion.
He frowns and turns, glancing behind him at the television screen. It is paused at the scene when Sil becomes a Victor. The dead look in her eye is unfathomably strange, and yet so familiar. Every Victor looks like that after their Games, but Sil is clearly not like every other Victor.
"Forgive me," Gemma says, "Yes, it's me. I do hope I didn't wake you up?"
"No, I was already awake. Watching previous Games." The brief explanation does not go over Gemma's head.
"Ah, of course. You must find Silver's Games quite confusing, don't you? She was a different person back then." Gemma chuckles, and Finnick is once more left with the odd impression that the older man knows a lot more than he is actually saying.
He'd like to ask Gemma about the questions spinning round his head. Why has Sil changed so much? Is there a specific reason? Why does she hide herself away and dumb herself down?
Instead, Finnick merely hedges, "It's definitely strange…" And he hesitates, partly because he's not sure what to say, but mostly because he does – and he's not sure it's a good conversation to have during a dubious late night call that is undoubtedly being recorded.
"I know this call isn't private," Gemma says a moment later, as if reading Finnick's mind. "I didn't want to put you in this position, but suddenly I find that I have nowhere else to turn to. I fear for my daughter."
His eyebrows shoot up. "What's wrong with her? She seemed fine this morning."
Worry shoots through him and he begins to think back. Had Sil really seemed fine? Something has been off about her for days now, but the moments between her bright personality and this strange new one are only that: moments. And yet…
Watching Sil's Games have not answered any of his questions. It's only caused more to form, catapulting through those moments between her and making him wonder, in so many ways, what he's missing. Because clearly he's missing something, and he knows instinctively that it is important.
Gemma chuckles blandly. "Oh, she's perfectly fine, Finnick." Then, a calculating pause, and Gemma sighs, "I only wish she could get over what happened to her mother – she blames herself, you see. I think the Games are wearing on her."
Finnick is already out of his depth with the suddenness of this call. Now that they are on the topic of Sil's mother, he is even more so. He remembers only a brief mention of her mother in all the time he has spent with Sil. Something about rebellious activities in the Cornelius family. He wishes he could recall the exact wording that Sil had used, but his brain is fuzzy with exhaustion and confusion, and the words fall away before he can grasp them.
"…Her mother?" he asks carefully, walking back over to the couch to sit down. He's got a feeling he should get comfortable.
Far away in District 1, Gemma perks up with a smirk. His eyes twinkle mischievously as they fly over his daughter's painted bedroom to study the black birds that swoop over the ceiling.
"Oh yes," he says. "Her mother, bless her soul…she was taken to the Capitol several months before Sil won her Games. The president suspected that she was helping a small group of rebels in District 1. She was executed. I didn't even have a clue what she was up to until they came to take her away."
Finnick furrows his brow. He finds it difficult to believe that Gemma wouldn't know what his own wife was doing. Gemma seems to be aware of everything. He is eternally in the loop.
"Sil has never been quite the same since then," Gemma is saying, "That was about the time she exchanged her studies for all those parties and such things. Ghastly, if you ask me, but what can a father do except support his daughter? It seems to make her happy."
There is an indulgent sort of tone to Gemma's voice, yet something seems off. Finnick is very perceptive. Again, and not for the last time, he is struck with the suspicion that Gemma is trying to tell him something more.
"Well, you know how it goes," Gemma murmurs a moment later, sounding as if he is commiserating with the past. "Her mother adored her gowns and parties, you know." He pauses, then offhandedly adds, "Like mother, like daughter."
Finnick raises an eyebrow. Like mother, like daughter? That almost sounded like a code for something. Maybe he's over thinking. That does tend to happen when one is exhausted. But Gemma has always confused him in a way. What do people always say? You get wiser as you get older? Well, it seems to be Gemma's mantra.
"In any case, I called because I was hoping you'd continue looking after my daughter. I know, what with the Games – "
"I'll look after her," Finnick cuts in, sounding strangely determined. Of course he's going to look after Sil. According to the Capitol, they're engaged. They're…they're somehow important. He's not sure how, or why, but they are.
Gemma pauses, and slowly muses. "You can't imagine how grateful I am to hear it. She can be quite a handful. She's always gotten her fire from her mother, but you've handled yourself well so far. I wonder, out of curiosity of course, how do you deal with her when she's angry?"
It feels so strange and weirdly intrusive to be talking about Sil like this, and with her father no less. Finnick shifts a little, unsure as to where all these questions are coming from. Is this really the point of Gemma's call? To ask him to look after Sil, as he's already been doing for the last few months?
"…I've…well, I've never really seen her angry. There was only one time." The answer is belated but truthful.
But Gemma immediately laughs. "Only once? Dear me, Finnick, you clearly haven't learned to read her quite yet."
Finnick pauses and frowns, brow furrowing. He's never heard Gemma say 'dear me' before. Those have always been Sil's words. Sil says that. Sil uses her pet names. Sil –
"Wait, are you saying that Sil's ridiculous speech patterns are some weird expression of her anger – "
"Well, it's quite late, Finnick," Gemma says suddenly, acting as if he hadn't heard the question at all. "Did you finish Silver's Games? They're quite extraordinary, aren't they? She can be quite cunning, when she puts her mind to it. Makes you wonder what else she's capable of." Gemma chuckles. "I suppose I should stop now. I do apologize; it's a father's duty to be proud of his daughter's accomplishments."
Gemma pauses one last time before adding, "I'm glad you've finally accepted your feelings for my daughter. She needs someone to keep her safe, especially considering what she is."
Finnick hurriedly repeats, "What she is?" He's so confused.
But Gemma only laughs and explains, "A Victor. Of course. I shall bid you goodnight, Finnick. It was truly enlightening to speak with you."
And then, before Finnick can ask what the hell Gemma is talking about, the connection dies.
He stares at the phone for several long minutes that seem to drag out into an eternity. His brain is spinning. Actually the whole room is.
Her mother was a rebel.
Silver Lamprey Cornelius died the day her mother did. In her place, the damper, foppish Sil took root.
Why?
She has intelligence. She has wit. She has strength. Why hide that all away? Why pretend to be stupid, foolish, and weak?
And why did Gemma sound like he'd been trying to tell Finnick something – something that he didn't want anyone else to hear? What is beneath that mask she wears? How far will he have to go to unravel this particular mystery?
Who, exactly, is Silver Lamprey Cornelius?
Mags finds him in the early light of morning. It seems that he hasn't moved since the late night telephone call. The television is still paused on Sil's face. She's wearing the Victor's crown and staring into the camera with gaunt eyes that haunt Finnick every time he looks up. As it is, when Mags enters the living quarters at quarter to six, Finnick's face is turned down into his hands and he's leaning forward on the couch, curled in on himself. It is clear that this strange version of Silver Lamprey Cornelius is not the only one who is haunted.
Finnick looks up when Mags steps in. The older woman takes one look at him and her eyes sadden. He looks horrendous. Having gotten no sleep at all, there are gray shadows beneath his eyes and his skin looks sallow and pale. There is no sign of the bronzed charmer that the Capitol knows so well. No – this is just Finnick Odair, the man that Mags has known since he was a child. Depraved, hungry, afraid.
She sits next to him silently and waits for him to unravel.
"…I don't know what to think, Mags," he whispers a few moments later, and she places a weathered hand on his shoulder. "She's an entirely different person. Look at her!"
He gestures to the haunted face that peers at them through the screen, and looks away before that gaze can pin him to the floor.
"Did you see her at training yesterday? She took Brutus down in seconds."
Mags sighs. She lifts her hands and starts gesturing in an almost nonsensical way, but Finnick understands. He always understands what she's trying to say.
"That's what I just said – she's like a different person," he says with a heavy sigh, and collapses back onto the couch. Mags huffs and shakes her head. He has misunderstood something. She gestures again.
Finnick stares at her with a raised eyebrow.
"…She is a different person," he translates. With a helpless, aggravated sigh, he mutters, "That's what I just said – "
Mags lets out a grunting noise that is meant to capture his attention. He turns to her and she waves her fingers into the shape of wings, which flutter through the air like a hummingbird's. Mags gives him a serious look, but he still doesn't understand.
Still, confusion dominates his expression. He stares at the older woman like she's got two heads. "Just what are you trying to say, Mags?"
"Ah, you two are awake, fantastic," the District 4 Escort says as she ambles into the room. Her sudden presence crashes their conversation away like waves disrupting sandy patterns on a beach, and Mags sighs.
"Breakfast is in an hour. You desperately need a shave, Finnick. It's a big day today! Let's hop to it!" the escort exclaims with a grin.
As always, the Hunger Games seem to get in the way of absolutely everything. Mags leans back as she watches Finnick run his fingers through his messy hair. He stands up a moment later, gives Mags a pained smile, and saunters off to take a shower. All thoughts of their conversation, of the epiphanies that might have taken place, meander away from him like smoke through his fingers. Mags just shakes her head and frowns.
Finnick has built this image of Sil in his head. Constructed her into this ridiculous, thoughtless Victor who couldn't possibly be the woman she actually is beneath the surface. Reconstructing his view of her will take more than a few subtle hints. Mags only hopes that when he does realize what's really going on, he won't hold it against the woman he has clearly fallen in love with. He might be able to successfully hide his feelings from the other Victors – and himself, too, it seems – but Mags sees him for what and who he is. She sees the affection he has for Sil clear as day.
Mags has been around for a long time. She knows a mask when she sees one. And she also knows what love looks like when it is blinded by ideals precariously perched, one after the other, onto a high cliff just waiting to fall.
Everything must fall eventually. The question is, will the ocean that opens up beneath that cliff welcome the crashing tempest, or blow it out to sea?
Sil is already at the training center by the time Finnick arrives, thirty minutes late. She's sitting off to the side, cross legged in front of the edible plants section. To Finnick's great surprise, Wiress and Beetee are with her.
As he approaches, he hears her rambling on about desert plants and how they never seem to showcase them during training. ("It's positively absurd, don't you think?")
He watches her for a moment, thinking back on the conversation he'd had with her father early that morning. The picture is incomplete. It always is, with her. Every time he thinks he's got her pegged, she does or says something that makes him take two steps back. Except this time, Gemma Cornelius is to blame for his confusion. As well as Mags.
He's not sure what she meant when she fluttered her fingers like that, but he puts it out of his mind because he's too exhausted to think about it. His head hurts and he knows he looks pretty awful due to his sleepless night. When Sil turns her head and sees him, her mouth drops open.
"Gracious, but you look dreadful," she says. Beetee and Wiress look his way too, but their reactions are much…well, much more subtle. Sil has never had an aptitude for subtlety, he thinks dryly.
He gives her an indulgent smile and drawls, "Thanks, sugar. Don't think anyone's ever said I look awful before."
She rolls her eyes childishly.
"Yes, I'm sure it's of great surprise to you," she retorts lightly, and turns back to the edible plants, plucking one up and holding it demurely to her nose. A moment later, she wrinkles it, and Finnick stares. The conversation with Gemma seems so far away now. Silver has her secrets. She's not what she appears. But suddenly he suspects he's been over thinking. She couldn't possibly have a rebellious bone in her body.
The week has gone so quickly, it seems. Despite it only being a matter of days since arriving in the Capitol, the important interviews are tomorrow night and the Games after that, and this delicate little Victor is about to be tossed right into them. He promised her father he'd look out for her, and he'll try, but once they enter the arena…well, all bets are off, so to speak. Looking after her will most likely be more of a burden than anything else, but he'll continue to play his part. If he doesn't, she'll be eaten alive out there.
"Silver was just telling us about her plans for after the Games," Beetee says as Finnick sits down. He gives Sil a raised look, appearing contemplative. Plutarch spoke to him about the rebellion and the plan for the Games, but surely he hadn't spoken with Sil? He can't imagine what kind of help she would be. Watching her first Games had been illuminating, but still, this is a rebellion. It's on a whole different level.
"…Oh? That's assuming, of course, that you'll still be alive," he says, and almost flinches once the words are out of his mouth. It had been cruel to say. He hadn't meant for it to sound like it had. But Finnick has always been realistic. The Hunger Games are a bloodbath of death, and Plutarch made no mention of speaking with Sil about the plans. She doesn't know that the others are planning on making it to District 13. Why would she?
But Sil just laughs, eyes twinkling with something that makes him pause. Intelligence. It flashes through her gaze like lightening, before dulling back down into nonexistence, as if it had never been there to begin with. He watches her musingly.
"Dear me, Finnick," she drawls, the edge of her mouth jerking up, "Don't be so dreadfully morbid all the time. I've survived the Games once before. I can certainly do it again."
Gemma words come crashing back into his mind before he can rein them in.
Dear me, Finnick…you clearly haven't learned to read her quite yet…
She is so confusing.
With a sigh, Finnick brushes the words away and says instead, "By the way, sugar, we should probably figure out what we're going to say at the interviews tomorrow. They're definitely going to ask about our engagement." He adds in a wink just for the hell of it, but flirting takes tremendous effort when one is exhausted and grumpy.
She seems to be aware of the weakness behind the attempt, and gives him a gentle smile. The sight of it makes him stare, rather caught off guard by the sweet expression on her face. Has she ever looked at him that way before? He decides he likes it.
With a growing smirk, Finnick edges closer to her. His thigh bumps against hers and leans over her, raising a hand to brush his knuckles over her cheekbones. She tilts her head back to watch him, eyes dropping just a little as if she is overcome by his presence. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Beetee shift uncomfortably, but his focus is primarily on Sil. He sort of wants to kiss her, and so he leans in –
But Sil just smirks and brushes her lips over his jaw, whispering, "You're acting has certainly improved, my love, but there's no need to pretend right now…unless you truly were struck by my beauty?" With a soft laugh, she adds, "I can't say I blame you."
The spell shatters. He raises an eyebrow, tries not to shiver at the contact of her mouth on his jaw, and asks in a surprisingly clear voice, "My acting has never been bad. Just what are you implying?"
To his surprise, Sil's smirk deepens. She rarely smirks. She looks suddenly smart, like she's peeled back a layer of herself without warning. It makes her look ridiculously attractive…and that scares him.
"Acting can be so tedious, darling. I recommend you don't attempt it when you're half asleep," she winks, and darts back, leaving Finnick hovering over empty space as she stands up.
He grumbles and flops back. "I bet Katniss will wake me up. Her ice queen attitude is like a bucket of cold water." He stands up too, and Sil waves him away.
As he saunters across the room toward the Girl on Fire, Sil stares after him. So many hints linger between them, yet he had not caught onto them. Idly, she wonders if he ever will, or if she will have to spell it out for him before the end arrives.
For such a perceptive man, Finnick Odair can be so blind.
"It's fascinating to watch love blossom, don't you think?" Wiress asks Beetee as they watch Sil sigh and turn to a different station with hardly even a goodbye. Beetee chuckles.
"It seems strange that neither of them notice," he replies, and turns back to the station.
Wiress shrugs. "What's obvious to those around you is most often invisible to the person it effects." Truer words have never been spoken.
The day slowly trickles by. Sil visits various stations, but stays away from anything involving weaponry. Until, of course, Katniss approaches her with a bow.
She's in the middle of painting her arm into the table when the girl from 12 glances over Sil's shoulder and says, "You're pretty good."
Sil stiffens just a little, surprised by the sudden voice and even more so at the fact that it is the Girl on Fire. With raised eyebrows, Sil looks up at Katniss and says, "Thank you."
She trails off, not quite knowing what else to say or what Katniss even wants with her. Katniss has never just come up to her and started randomly spewing words, after all. She is far too stoic for that – and besides, that's Sil's job.
Katniss doesn't seem to know what to say either. She pauses, then gestures to her bow and haltingly mutters, "…Erm. I was thinking about practicing."
This time, Sil's surprise is colored by amusement as well. Her eyebrows rise further and she hums, "Is that so?"
Katniss scowls, probably because it sounds like Sil is mocking her. "Yes," she snaps, and grumbles, "I was wondering if you wanted to join me."
Sil's immediate reaction is to turn into the foppish, dainty woman she's been pretending to be for the last seven years, but then she remembers that that attitude isn't going to help her here. Haymitch must've spoken to Katniss about allying with her, because otherwise the girl wouldn't have randomly appeared out of nowhere. This is likely to be the only chance Sil will get when it comes to Katniss, so at the last moment, she changes course…sort of. She still has appearances to keep up, after all.
With a simper, Sil replies, "I'm pleased you've finally realized what an influential friend I could be. Lead the way, darling."
She sets her paintbrush down and Katniss turns on her heel, no doubt already regretting the spur of the moment decision. But it's far too late for that, and Sil smirks as she follows Katniss to the archery range not far away. No one seems to take much notice of them, which is just as well. After the spectacle she made of Brutus the other day, she'd rather not be in the spotlight.
"Here," Katniss shoves a bow into her arms. "Try that on for size."
It's long metal, but extremely light. Sil lifts it. The weapon feels foreign in her hands. She's been trained to fight during her first Games, but the majority of training she's had came after she had won. Mr. Dorsey isn't an undercover agent for nothing, nor did Coin point her to him for no reason. The soundproof walls beneath his shop make a very good area to practice, as well as a decent place to set up camp and plan. Still…she's never learned how to use a bow. She's a little wary of it, and raises her eyebrow dryly.
"What, exactly, am I measuring?" she asks, jutting her hip out and taking a quiver of arrows that Katniss hands her. The Girl on Fire rolls her eyes.
"Your arm. Here – just let me do it," she mutters after a moment of annoyed deliberation, and steps forward to grab Sil's wrist. She pulls it out and places the bow against it, looking at the length for a moment before clucking her tongue and reaching for a different bow. This one is shorter by several inches, and a few ounces heavier.
"You're not doing this because you want to, are you?" Sil wonders with a chuckle. Katniss turns away and eyes the target across the railing with a dark look. It seems that Sil has struck her mark – a different sort of target.
Instead of responding to her question, Katniss gruffly mutters, "Fit the bow into your arm like this, and notch the arrow like this – "
"Yes, yes. Haymitch can be strangely persuasive, I suppose," Sil just says with a laugh. She takes her stance and copies Katniss, but it's clear that she's got it wrong.
Katniss glowers at her. "How do you know that this was Haymitch's idea?" she asks, glancing down at her form with a critical eye.
Sil opens her mouth to answer, but to her great surprise, someone else gets the chance first.
"Katniss, it's not exactly a secret that you're anti-social and have a severe disposition on your good days," Finnick's smooth voice cuts in. The lilt in his words makes it very clear that he is smirking. He glances at Sil and tsks.
"Allow me to fix your form, sugar," he says, and steps right up behind her before she even registers his words. His body heat invades her senses – as does his scent and his touch, when he curls his fingers around her arms.
"I'm a bit curious as to why Haymitch wanted you two to be friendly, to be honest," Finnick murmurs quietly into Sil's ear. She holds her breath and tries not to think about how close he is…but it doesn't work. Ignoring Finnick Odair is about as effective as hiding from the desert sun in the middle of a safari.
He lifts her elbows up, curling his arms around hers and gently guiding her aim. His hot breath pools over her neck. He's too close. She's frozen to the spot. She can feel him pressing up against her, the hard muscles of his chest flat over her back.
His lips are by her ear, and when he softly whispers, "Breathe, sugar," Sil thinks he's being completely unfair. He sounds like sin, all low and intoxicating and sultry, as if they've spent the day in bed and he's calling her back into his arms after a short reprieve. She shudders and takes a shallow breath, trying to reign in the desire that pulses through her veins. God, but it's raw. Unfettered and wild.
Finnick brushes his mouth against her ear and chuckles lowly. It's more of a rumble than any other sound, and it makes him seem wild too.
"Let's try that again," he murmurs, shifting his leg between hers as he covers her fingers with his. At once, he has taken control of her bow, and she is so bewildered by his proximity that she allows it. She wants to ask him why his thigh is pushed against hers (and why it's never been before), but her answer comes seconds later as he gently guides her legs farther apart. She's never known herself to have a terribly dirty mind, but she'd be damned if she doesn't get filthy thoughts at this moment.
One hand drifts down to her stomach, which quivers beneath his touch. He splays his fingers over her abdomen and whispers, "Deep breath."
She breathes, feeling his hand rise with the movement of her lungs. His fingers are so hot they could burn her. They might just, she thinks, if they linger in this position any longer. But the thought of breaking his hold on her has her drowning with an agony she cannot understand. Only she knows that she has never wanted to be as close to anyone as she does to Finnick Odair.
"That's good," he whispers, and her filthy thoughts return at full force. How can she stop herself, when his voice is like sex itself? He knows the effect he has on women, but is he aware of what he's doing to her now?
His fingers drift back up, slowly tickling over her stomach before lifting off and returning to her hand. He curls his grip around her and pulls the bow back, smirking as he presses his body fully against hers. He'll pretend like it's the bow's fault and not merely the fact that he suddenly wants to turn her around and kiss her until her lips are bruised and her skin is flushed.
The arrow is released. Katniss, who has been watching everything with thinly veiled disgust, rolls her eyes and turns back to the targets. Finnick and Sil hardly even notice her. They are too wrapped up in each other…both literally, and more.
"This is beginning to feel like a romance novel," Sil whispers as she studies where the arrow is sticking out of the target. Without his help, she probably wouldn't have hit the mark so near to the bullseye on her first try.
Behind her, Finnick shifts a little, but doesn't move from his close position. His arms are still around hers, and their fingers are still entwined on the bow. His breath is still hot, his voice is still sultry, and when he speaks, Sil still wants to give into the desires that are roiling beneath her skin.
"Lucky you. Not every girl could be my flame," He murmurs, and suddenly moves his arms. She thinks with disappointment that he means to pull away, but to her great surprise, Finnick merely tosses the bow onto the mat and gathers her up against him. Still pressed to her back, he holds her in a way he's never done before. His heart is threatening to beat out of his chest, but he can't even imagine letting her go.
It's been a tumultuous day so far. What with the little sleep he's gotten and the confusing conversations he's had, all Finnick wants to do is return to District 4. On days like this, when his nightmares or his thoughts keep him up, he'd usually spend the day at the beach; sit in the sand, feel the pleasant beat of the sun warming his skin…it is home. Yet for some reason, he is feeling a similar intimacy right now, wrapped up in Sil.
"Flames tend to burn, you know," she whispers after a long moment. Her voice is shaky. She's swept up in two conflicting emotions: shock, and delight. She wishes she could say which one is more poignant, but she can't. Perhaps her shock is her delight. Perhaps she is merely being overly sentimental.
After a short moment, Finnick turns his head into hers and says throatily, "Maybe I like fire."
She pauses. The delight overcomes the shock. The rest of the training room seems to have disappeared. She cannot remember what she'd been doing minutes before. She cannot remember what she will be doing minutes later. The only thing she is aware of is the way she fits so snugly into his arms, as if they are the arms that were meant to hold her.
Yes…she's definitely getting overly sentimental, but she can't even think about stopping. She peers up at him, turning her head to catch his gaze. Perhaps she hadn't realized how close he would be; perhaps she had. It matters not. What matters is that he is suddenly not close enough.
She stares at him with her wide green eyes that are now half lidded with all her desires, and can't help herself from whispering, "Maybe I do too."
Kiss me, she wants to add. But she doesn't, because that is about the time when the world comes crashing back into them and the mesmerizing spell between them fractures away like splinters cracking through wood.
"Are you two finished yet?" Katniss asks impatiently as she notches another arrow. She lets it fly with hardly a glance at the target, yet it still hits bullseye with minimal effort. Sil turns quickly away and clears her throat. When Finnick takes a step back, she immediately feels lost without his warm body against hers.
"…I'll leave Sil in your capable hands," Finnick says after a few moments spent looking at the woman he'd just been holding rather provocatively. The words are slightly drawled, as if he's mocking Katniss, or perhaps even Sil, but hardly even realizes it. The minute he leaves them to their own devices, Sil deflates and releases the breath she's been holding deep within her chest.
His proximity really has done a number on her, and she's confused as to whether she feels lust or something stronger. Her one consolation is that Katniss doesn't care what she feels, and therefore doesn't bother commenting any further.
She spends fifteen more minutes with the Girl on Fire before it's clear that Katniss isn't going out of her way to accommodate her. Either the girl doubts Haymitch very much or she's still reeling with disgust after Finnick's move. Sil isn't overly concerned about the brush off. She knows that Finnick is already going to team up with them, and wherever Finnick goes, so does she. He's already said as much anyhow.
Eventually, she heads over to the knot tying station, where Mags has been sitting all afternoon. The old woman looks up and smiles warmly as Sil approaches, patting the bench beside her before delving back into the hook she's tying together. It's a lovely creation, complete with feathers that dangle down and disguise the metal.
Without anyone there to translate for her, Sil merely sits quietly and watches. Until, of course, Mags reaches for a new hook and puts it into Sil's palm silently.
The message is obvious, but Sil falters with an embarrassed, "I'm not very good at this."
Mags just waves the words away with a shake of her head. She shifts closer, leaning over to reach for a cord of leather. She takes a new hook for herself and begins to show Sil how to tie the cord around it and how to attach the feathers into place. Sil, ever the artist, catches on quickly, but her final attempt looks very sloppy in comparison. Still, she's pleased. It's good enough for actual use.
"You're a good teacher," Sil compliments, reaching for another hook. As she's hovering over the various embellishments, she happens to look up. Her eyes naturally alight on Finnick's form, and she stares for a moment too long, utterly captivated with the sight of him. He is glorious.
He's at the trident station, of course. In his element, he exudes a confidence that surpasses even his normal self assurance. He's flinging trident after trident at the target, hitting each one with deadly accuracy as if he's some kind of sea god. He's worked up quite a sweat, and Sil wonders how long he's been there. Her mind flashes back to what happened at the archery range, and she decides that Mags isn't the only good teacher around.
She leans back, feather in hand, and glances over at Mags. The old woman is smiling at her with a mischievous expression. When she glances over at Finnick, Sil immediately blushes.
How much has the old woman noticed from this station? It overlooks the rest of the training room perfectly. Had she seen Finnick's embrace at the archery range? Her blush deepens. Of course other people had seen it. This isn't exactly a private place.
But Mags just smiles wider and pats a hand over Sil's hair. The blond curtain falls down her back pristinely. Evon had insisted on using his new fangled iron on it that morning, treating her like he would treat a doll. She had humored him. Lord knows she won't be doted over for much longer.
This time, Mags doesn't draw any hearts with her fingers, but the knowing gleam in her eye tells Sil all she needs to know.
Her feelings for Finnick – perhaps, even, his feelings for her – are not as secret as they like to believe.