Walls

Prim's screams pierced the veil of Katniss' reality.

She sat bolt upright, even though it had been years since any nightmares managed to take that kind of root in her. Even the nights without Peeta before and after their first Games would end in her laying in bed, eyes wide and glued to the ceiling while she tried to tame her wild heartbeat. But here, where time slipped and slid every which way, there was no way to distinguish between hallucinations and truth in the ambiguous limbo of awareness.

Her hands felt heavy. They looked normal, when she managed to bring her gaze to them, but there was something in them. Some strange material known only in the Capitol that made them impossible to move, and at the same time caused them to tingle painfully. Electrical shocks, invisible barbed wire, it had to be something.

It had to be something.

She realized belatedly that her breathing was ragged and noisy and it would be obvious to anyone awake that she was too. But the world around her hadn't resolved into recognizable outlines yet, so she couldn't be sure. Nor could she care, not when her sister was keening in pure, undiluted agony in the labyrinth of Katniss' memory. There were no words, not that Katniss could discern at any rate, but that did more to shatter her heart than any plea of help! ever could.

If there was ever a time that her body would dissolve into the jungle floor, this was it. She had no will to fight, no strength to keep her head above water, and if these Games wanted to take her they had a few precious seconds left before the fog of sleep and abject terror lifted and her mind awoke once more.

Shadows came first. What in the world could they be- black lines on the ground? They tripped over roots and plants and settled against her almost scab-free legs. Things, creatures- no. Just shadows. They became familiar gradually; a tree branch, the leaf of a fern. And the objects that cast them too were suddenly real again.

Then the people. First Peeta- always Peeta first- not a foot away from her. His features were drawn and tight, and it was such a departure from his previous openness that Katniss felt a sting prick her throat. He was on his side, arms wrapped around each other and good leg bent at the knee. Her heavy, immovable hand wasn't as weighted as she had thought, and she reached out to cover the distance, stopping halfway and laying her palm against the ground.

Beetee was close by Peeta, looking uncomfortable even in sleep. But Katniss wasn't familiar with the moods and postures of this man, not like how she was versed in Peeta's, so it could be that he was damaged enough by now to never be comfortable. Not here, not outside- maybe not even in death.

Stop. Her mind would not be clear if death stalked her thoughts, so she brushed the thought away and glanced at Joanna Mason. The woman was surprisingly unguarded, arms askew, one leg straight and one bent over it. Her face wasn't so hard in the artificial moonlight, but there were deep, dark bags under her eyes that Katniss had never noticed before.

At first, she thought that Joanna looked unafraid, but that wasn't quite right. Because despite the way she didn't keep her arms tucked or legs taut, there was still an all too familiar heaviness that settled in every joint, every muscle, every twitch of her eyelids. There was no fear but there was also no courage.

Resigned.

That was the word she was searching for.

Katniss wasn't sure if there was a reason she'd saved Finnick for last, but every rational, coherent thought abandoned her when she saw him- outline first, then shades of darkness that were his clothes, his skin, his face.

He was awake.

He was awake and he was staring at her. The whites of his eyes stood out starkly against the beguilingly gentle night. There were traces of red in them that she knew existed but couldn't see from this distance, and as she lost herself in his gaze she realized that she should probably say something.

"Finnick-" she meant to start, but before she could progress past the F sound he held his fingers to his lips. Katniss quieted, but her body wouldn't cooperate beyond that and she couldn't bring herself to move towards him.

But his must have been working better, because without any further ado he was on his hands and knees, tripping over his limbs as he crawled to her side. The last foot of space was bridged by her arm- she grabbed onto his elbow and that was it. Whatever had been damming her up inside burst in a frenzy of color and silence. She grabbed onto his waist, burying her head against his chest as a dry, tacit sobs wracked her frame.

Finnick didn't hesitate. His hands were soft under their roughness and his movements were sure. Natural. He wrapped one hand around her shoulder and held around the ribs with his other. The post had them bending at awkward angles, but any pain had no chance of being felt- it was drowned out by Prim's screaming, even though the Jabberjays were behind that invisible wall that she'd never, even on pains of death, cross again.

He didn't rub her back like she would have for Prim or Gale or Peeta. He didn't whisper reassurances in her ear, he didn't bury his nose in her hair. But there was a warmth that radiated from him so strongly that Katniss was nearly dazzled. That flippant smile she remembered wasn't so flippant anymore. The uncaring way he held his shoulders was burdened, and that charm wasn't charm- it was a singular radiance that only Finnick Odair possessed. More identifiable than a footstep or a fingerprint.

She clutched him tighter, the idea of space between them absolutely terrifying.

They sat that way for a long time, completely silent as their insides screamed and wailed. The echoes of her loved ones' cries were loud enough to give her a splitting headache, but the entire time Finnick had her enveloped in his arms- like he could swallow anything and everything that she was. Like he could siphon the bad away, like he was large enough to contain it.

Don't leave, she prayed without speaking. He must have understood.

Other things began to invade the space of grief and pain she'd forged- the feel of his chest pressed against her cheek. The sound of his breathing in her ear, the awareness of his arms. His legs, his waist- a person was being built in the maelstrom of her world, piece by piece.

Katniss welcomed it.

There was no jungle here, there was no beach. There was no other person, there was no muttation. There was darkness, but in a way that in another lifetime it might have been pleasant. And there was him. He comprised all the space that wasn't her, and some of it that was. Even as her panic ebbed and her pain receded under the dawning rationality, her death grip on his arms did not loosen. His didn't either.

Now she could feel what was intrinsically his. There was a difference between her trembling his, and it finally struck her that Finnick was shaking too. His movements weren't as instinctive as hers- she realized from the tightness of his muscles that he was actively repressing the tremors that should have been tearing him apart.

Heat stabbed her square in the chest, instantaneous and all-consuming. Finnick, too, must be haunted by the Jabberjays' echoed cries. And by the very real, visceral memory of Mags' final moments. Yet here he was, holding her in a vice-grip that she could barely ask for, at her side when she herself had no idea what she could have- let alone, what she wanted. When her anchor was sleeping not five feet from her and she didn't even know if his was still alive.

When they were both going to die.

But the thought of death didn't scare her all that much anymore. After all, Finnick was resigned to the same fate as she, and here he was- becoming the parts of her world that she couldn't fill.

"We can't," she whispered the words grating in her throat. Finnick nodded and tightened his grip.

"I know."

"Please."

Katniss didn't know what she was begging for, but the rest of the night found her in his grip. He sat with her until the artificial rays of the sun breeched the horizon. And though apologies piled up on her tongue, they didn't spill from her lips. Kept back by the invisible walls of the arena that kept her heart in place, and separated from nearly every person that she knew.

She didn't question how Finnick wound up behind them with her.

A/N: The reviews you guys have been leaving are just so incredibly lovely! I'm so so happy that you guys are enjoying it so far! I'll admit I was pretty nervous about that chapter, but it means the world to me that you guys like what I've done so far.

Please continue reviewing! It helps me know that I'm taking this story in the right direction :)

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Just for clarification- this chapter takes place the night after the Jabberjays wedge.