Lovers in a Dangerous Time
by FanficAllergy & RoseFyre

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Chapter Six: After, In the Dark

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Last Time in Lovers in a Dangerous Time:

"My my, your manners certainly leave much to be desired. I'm certain darling Epiphany is having a field day with you. Oh, but no matter. When you see Mr. Odair next, please tell him that it's such a shame what happened with young Miss Cresta. It really could have been avoided, had he just followed the rules." Snow pauses, his smile, if anything, growing wider. "And Beetee, I've found your little worm. It seems like this little rebellion of yours has hit quite the snag, hasn't it? Well, I should be going. I have a country to run and a populace's fears to soothe." He wriggles his fingers at us. "Ta ta."

And the screen goes blank.

"Well, shit!" Haymitch swears from the back.

I couldn't have put it better myself.

oOo

It's late, and my bed is calling to me. But there's one more thing I need to do. Me and Ferebee Tibbets, our pilot to District Three, have been working off and on to get our hovercraft simulation program up and running. We're pretty close to completing it - just a few tweaks really - which means we can actually start training hovercraft pilots. I don't think I've seen Thirteen's military quite as excited. They're like little kids with a new toy. I wonder how long it will take until they break it.

We finish up, and I say goodbye to Tibbets, anxious to get back to my quarters and my spouses. It's been a day from hell and I can't wait to put the fucker behind me. What with that bastard Snow and my husband's bitch of a mother, I'm this close to socking the next person who pisses me off. And that's not even getting into the funeral, my brother getting married, making love to Peeta for the first time, and the bombings on Four and Twelve. Fuck, when you line them up like that, it's a wonder I didn't crack like an egg.

Slipping through the stacks of boxes, barrels, and other hangar detritus I spot a slim, muscled figure standing by the door of the hangar.

Finnick-fucking-Odair.

Great.

Just what I need right now: a useless pretty boy mucking things up. Well, fuck him. I don't have time for his shit. My eyes narrow and I stiffen my resolve. I'm not going to let him or anyone else keep me from my bed.

As I get closer, I see he's got about a two foot length of rope in his hands that he's tying and retying into a kaleidoscope of knots. His eyes are vacant, staring off into the distance, while his fingers form loops and kinks.

Good. I might be able to escape unimpeded.

"Odair," I say, nodding in acknowledgment.

"Hawthorne." And without so much as a pause he continues, "Do you think they'll be back tonight?" There's a hint of desperate longing in his voice. Pleading. Like he's begging me to give him some hope.

It gives me pause. I want to keep walking. Pretend I didn't hear him. But I can't. The manners my mother and Peeta have beaten into me won't let me ignore the man. "Which they?" I ask, even though I know full well who he's talking about. The rescue party to District Four. The one my brother and most of the rest of the Victors went on. The one Coin wouldn't let the pretty boy join.

Odair shoots me a look, as if he knows I'm playing dumb. "You know which one."

I shrug. "Yeah. I do."

"So when do you think they're going to be back?" He twirls the rope around into a new knot.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Do you see anybody else around I can ask?" There's a hint of amusement in his tone.

He's got a point. The hangar's deserted. Not even the maintenance crews are around right now. It's just the pretty boy and me. "You got a point," I concede somewhat grudgingly. "The answer is: probably not tonight."

Odair glances over at me, stricken. There's something in that look, in his sheer desperation, that makes me pity the man. And more, something deep within me that wants to give him comfort.

I blame Peeta.

With a sigh, I lean up against the wall next to him. Close enough to offer companionship, but not close enough to actually touch the man. "It's probably a good thing if they don't come back tonight."

His hands tug at a knot until it comes undone. "Why do you say that?"

"Because it means that they found survivors, that there's hope. That they're actually looking for people." I cast my mind back, remembering the catastrophe that killed Katniss's and my fathers. "You ever see a mine explosion?"

Odair arches an eyebrow. "Don't really have a lot of mines in Four."

I flush. Shit! Should've thought of that. "Ever see any kind of disaster?"

"Hurricanes count?"

"If I knew what a hurricane was, I'd tell you yes or no."

A hint of a smile flits across his lips, before he answers, "They're big storms. Huge. Winds so loud you can't even hear yourself think. You've seen thunderstorms, right?"

I nod.

"Imagine a thousand of the worst thunderstorms that you've ever experienced, and add in wind and rain so forceful that it's blinding. On the coast it's even worse. The whole sea just becomes alive. A surging, frothing monster that inches ever more inland, swallowing up everything in its grasp." His eyes go distant. "I've seen trees uprooted, houses collapse, and people be swept out to sea." He shakes himself out of it. "That's a hurricane."

The whole thing sounds pants-pissing scary, and I'm glad Twelve never got these 'hurricanes.' But instead of telling Odair that, I say, "Sounds like it'd work, yeah. So, after a mine explosion, they spend hours, even days, digging through the rubble, looking for survivors. It's when the rescuers stop, go home, that you know there's no hope." I stare out at the empty hangar. "Right now, there's hope."

We stand in silence for a moment, before Odair shifts and straightens. It's as if he's slipping on an old coat. An impression that's reinforced when he flashes me his patented smile and says, "Thanks. I'm touched you'd worry about ickle old me."

"Turn the charm off," I tell him without any heat. "I'm not interested."

The coat falls away. "Crap! Sorry. It's a defense mechanism. I'm not either. Interested, I mean. I don't like men. At least not in that way." He's babbling, almost like how Peeta babbles when he's nervous and is afraid of pissing me or Katniss off. It's kind of endearing. Not that I'd ever let Odair know that.

"That's news."

"What is?"

"That you don't like men. I'm damned sure you've hit on Peet and me more times than I can count."

His hands clench on the rope and he looks away from me. "Sorry."

I accept the apology with a nod. After a minute, I ask, "So why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Hit on people you don't have any interest in."

"Like I said, it's a defense mechanism. Something I learned to do to keep safe in the Capitol." His lips quirk. "Or at least, relatively safe. No one's ever really safe."

I've hated the Capitol for my whole life, but the more I hear from Odair the more I realize I don't really know anything about the Capitol. "What's it like in the Capitol?"

"I'm guessing you're not asking about the food."

I shake my head.

Once again his eyes grow distant. "The Capitol is like no place else I've ever been. It's shining and glittering and rotten to the core. Like an apple full of worms. Outwardly beautiful, but a writhing mass of evil within." He shudders. "I hate it."

"Then why'd you spend so much time there?"

The knots start up again. "You think I had a choice?" he asks, his voice incredulous. Without giving me time to respond, he soldiers on. "I was everyone's favorite toy. Their plaything. 'Ooh, look who's escorting me to so-and-so's dinner, it's Finnick Odair!'" His voice changes, mimicking the lilting Capitol accent. "'Look at me, look at me, look what I can afford! Look who I can afford to take me.' I was a thing, an ornament." The rope drops to the floor but his hands continue moving.

It takes me a few moments but I realize the motions are the same sign language Lavinia and Castor are teaching us. I don't understand every word, but I get enough. The picture he's painting - by voice, by hands - isn't pretty.

"I didn't have a choice. None of us Victors did. We all knew the same thing: if we didn't show those people a good time that there'd be consequences." He turns to me, the tendon in his jaw working. "And I'm not talking about a slap on the wrist or a fine. If we didn't smile and make our patrons happy, our family and friends would pay the price. When the tiniest complaint can spell certain death to your mother, your brother, your lover…" he swallows, his eyes hardening, "you learn to fake it."

I'm taken aback. My whole life, everything I've ever learned has taught me the Capitol is this shining city filled with people who have too much, people who profit off of the blood, sweat, and tears of the Districts. Most of them can be somewhat forgiven; they're oblivious, ignorant to their privilege, ignorant to our struggles. But the Victors, they should know better. So seeing ones like Cashmere, Finnick, even Haymitch, being feted and flattered - it's almost worse. They're traitors, turncoats. Odair's words shed a new light on my previous worldview. "You were slaves."

Finnick bends and picks up the rope. "We all were." A loop. "Most of Panem still is."

If there's one thing my spouses have taught me, it's to be honest. To admit my mistakes. "I'm sorry I misjudged you."

"You're not the first person to do that." A ghost of a smile. "In fact, I like it when people misjudge me. Makes my job easier."

"Job?" Peeta's beaten enough tact into me not to call him a whore. "You mean being a spy?"

Finnick seems to understand what I don't say. "People tell you secrets in the afterglow from sex," he explains. "But it isn't just about sex; if it were, people wouldn't pay Snow thousands of coin for the privilege. It's about release. Sex is a part of it to be sure, but if you're charming, harmless, and know how to ask the right questions, people will spill their deepest secrets to you and walk away with a smile on their lips and a spring in their step."

"Huh. Good to know, I guess."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but with a little effort and a little styling, I could turn you into a pretty decent spy."

"Peeta'd be better."

"Your husband is already a fabulous spy. Your wife…" he trails off.

"You can say it." Katniss's honesty and inability to deceive is the one of the things I love about her. She is who she is. No games, no tricks, just her. It's refreshing.

"Let's just say, if I were forced to use her, I'd keep her in the dark about what her real mission was."

"Probably smart."

"I'm not trying to insult your wife. I like your wife. But I mean, I don't like like your wife."

"You can stop now." I say the words without any real heat, but the warning is there.

Finnick looks at me, tilting his head. "You're an odd man, Hawthorne."

"Gale." After our conversation, the distance doesn't feel right.

A smile, a real one, glides over his lips. "You're an odd man, Gale."

"I'll take that as a compliment." I pause, looking at him, noticing the dark circles underneath his sea green eyes. "You should get some sleep."

His hands pause for a brief second and he stares blankly at me for a few long moments. "Would you be able to sleep if you were in my shoes? Uncertain if Katniss and Peeta were alive or dead? Knowing that it's your fault that they were in danger in the first place?"

I wince inwardly. "Probably not."

"Then why do you think I can?"

"I didn't say that you could. Just that you should." I pause and take a breath. "My brother's out there, you know. Looking for survivors. If they're there, if they can be found, Rory'll find them. He's good at that."

Finnick's quiet for several long minutes, and I let him, just standing next to him. "Thanks."

I nod. No words need to be said.

"Tell me a story."

"Story?"

"Yeah. A story. If you're going to stand here, you have to distract me."

I laugh a bit at the audacity, then start in on one of the old folk tales from District Twelve about two feuding families and the star-crossed lovers who ended up uniting the clans. About a third of the way through, some of the tension bleeds out of Finnick's shoulders and his hands slow while tying knots.

I get another third of the way in before Cashmere and Gloss join us. They don't bother saying anything, just stand next to Finnick, offering up their silent support from one Victor to another.

As soon as I finish, Cashmere turns to the bronze-haired man. "Come on, let's go."

Finnick eyes her askance.

"You're sleeping with us tonight."

His eyebrows rise, half-flirtatious and half-amused.

"Knock it off," Gloss snaps. "You think we'd let you sleep by yourself tonight? You've got another think coming." His voice softens. "Annie and Mags are our friends, too."

Finnick's Adam's apple bobs up and down as he blinks rapidly, as if trying to force back threatening tears. "I don't think I can sleep." It's the same thing he said to me not half an hour before.

Cashmere reaches into her pocket and fishes out a vial of small blue pills. "That's what this is for. The docs swear it'll keep away the nightmares, too."

I don't ask why she has them. I don't need to.

Her icy blue eyes turn to me, but they aren't cold like when we first met. "You can go now. We've got him."

Gloss reaches out and clasps me once, briefly, on the shoulder. "Thanks."

I nod and push off from the wall. It's time to finally go to bed.

oOo

The door to our quarters slides open with a hiss. I tiptoe inside, my combat boots dangling from my fingers to lessen the noise. I'm not worried about waking up my son - Rain can sleep through anything, including klaxons. But both Katniss and Peeta are light sleepers.

Especially Katniss.

As the door closes and my eyes adjust to the dim, I note a figure sitting on the loveseat next to our bed. From the roundness of their body, I realize I shouldn't have worried. Katniss is awake. Our son is cradled in her arms, probably for his final feeding before going down for the night.

Her head turns and her voice drifts over to me. "You're late." It's a statement of fact, not condemnation. She gets up and places our son into my arms. "Put him down, will you? I need to pee."

That's my wife. So many of the other girls I've dated have tried to play coy, or even pretend they don't possess bodily functions. While Katniss just comes right out and says it. I love it. I love her.

While Katniss uses the restroom, I put Rain into his crib, settling Posy's doll near him. I suppose I should call it Rain's doll, but to me, it will always belong to my baby sister.

I run my fingers over Rain's cap of blond curls. He's growing up so fast. It seems like every time I blink, he's reached another milestone or cut another tooth. I don't want to miss my son's childhood, but I know in war, you don't always get what you want.

Unbidden, my eyes drift over to Peeta. The smooth paleness of his shaved head gleams in the dim light. I can't stop the low punch of guilt in my stomach. It's my fault he's hurt. It's my fault we're even in Thirteen. It's my fault there's a revolution. Everything is my fault.

Thin arms slip around my waist and Katniss rests her head against my side. "Are you ready to go to sleep?"

I shake my head until I realize she probably can't see it and say, "Can I just sit and hold you for a little bit?"

She leads me back to the loveseat and pushes me down before crawling into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck.

I breathe in her sweet simple scent. Thirteen's soap, with a hint of breast milk, and just a whisper of pine beneath it all. I've missed this. I've missed her. So I tell her.

Her arms tighten. "Missed you too. I'm sorry about yelling at you earlier."

"I'm not. I've missed that too."

She punches me lightly on the shoulder.

"And that."

The palm of my right hand splays over the swell of her belly where our second son lies. "I've missed you too." I feel the flutter of movement, as if our son has heard my words and is acknowledging them. A wash of contentment spreads through me. I'm home. Really and truly home.

My hands slide up her back to cup the base of her neck, drawing her head down to mine. "But most of all, I've missed this."

The press of my lips against hers is like a breath of fresh spring air. It's sweet and gentle and filled with promise. Kissing Katniss is comfortable. There's none of the worry or fight for dominance that there sometimes is with Peeta. I know who's in control, and it's not me.

As if the thought leads to the action, she reaches up to cup my face, taking control of the kiss. A little swipe of her tongue across my lips and my mouth opens to her. She tastes of mint and freedom, and I think, not for the first time, I'd give my life for this woman.

We surface for air and she rests her forehead against mine. "Do you want to tell me what's bothering you?" she asks without any preamble.

I shake my head. "I just want to hold you."

From the bed, Peeta's sleep-filled voice filters over. "Are you coming to bed?" He turns and stretches, revealing his naked chest. "Or are we sleeping on the couch tonight?"

It's not teasing. It's a legitimate question. And I know if Katniss and me don't move to the bed soon, he'll get up and join us, dragging the blanket behind him like a toddler.

I can't help it; I laugh with the joy of being home. Even though this day has gone on forever, at least I know it's going to end right.

oOo

AN:
Written: 1/26/18
Revised: 2/19/18

The title of this chapter comes from the anime Macross Plus and it was used as the end song for each OAV episode. For those of us who remember that long distant time, the first 3 OAVs came out quickly and then ended on a horrible cliffhanger where we had to wait for over a year for the next part. So that song will always hold a place in FanficAllergy's heart as one of the most evil songs in existence. It's also by one of her favorite artists, Yoko Kanno.

We're finally done with the day that never ends! And now Gale's eyes are opened up to what's really going on with Finnick, so he can finally get over his dislike. Thank goodness!

Nothing was randomized in this chapter.

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