Chapter Seven
Finnick stared at the woman sleeping next to him. He counted the freckles on her cheeks again, trying not to think. It was a vain attempt. There were only seven freckles, and there was quite a few more things to think about. He sometimes questioned himself and these thoughts. If what he was missing was so important then wouldn't he remember? Why was it so easy to forget in Katniss' presence.
Nevertheless, ever since he had overheard Haymitch and Katniss' conversation he couldn't help but feel that tug in his memories, as if there was a vast gaping hole that spread to his heart. He was missing something. No, he thought, someone. He should just go talk to Haymitch. Truth be told, he didn't really feel like dealing with the drunk man. He could talk to Hazelle. He gleaned that she had been in District Thirteen with him, and surely she could fill him in. Should I?
Everything was going so well. Mavis had settled in nicely, and Finnick had a sneaking suspicion that she was beginning to fill the hole that Prim's death had left in Katniss' heart. The girls could be seen playing together and learning together. Katniss was trying to teach Mavis to shoot, and Mavis had been patiently giving Katniss lessons in sewing. Sometimes they ran off together for hours at a time and refused to tell Finnick where they had been.
He sighed, frustrated. Things were going so well. Brining up the conversation he overheard would just be inviting drama into his life, and he really didn't want that. He carefully disentangled himself from Katniss (who had not yet allowed a repeat of that lovely day two weeks ago when they adopted Mavis, yet another source of his frustrations!) before quietly climbing out of bed and sneaking out of the room. He went to his rarely used room and sat and rummaged in his belongings for a moment, his hand lighting upon the empty metal tin that had once carried his face cream. For a moment he thought of his nurse, Trinia. He'd never called her, despite Katniss having a phone. It was too late to call, he thought, but then...people in the Capitol did stay up late. No, he decided after a moment. Tomorrow, he could call tomorrow.
Finnick sighed and stood up, stretching. He walked to the window and gazed down into the yard, noting how the cool night air hit him when he cracked open the window. He had a terrible longing for the sea. He saw his hammock swaying slightly in the breeze and smiled. Quietly he tip toed down the stairs and out the back door, flinching when the screen door creaked loudly as it closed. He sighed as he finally lay on his hammock, stretching slightly and staring up at the stars. If he closed his eyes he could almost hear the ocean, taste the salt in the air.
"Finnick?"
The quiet voice startled him, and Finnick nearly tumbled out of his hammock. "Mavis!" he chastised, glaring up at her.
"Sorry, sorry," she mumbled, waving her hands in appeasement. "What are you doing up? You're not very sneaky, you know."
Finnick rolled his eyes at her before sitting up and encouraging her to join him on the hammock. "Thinking. What are you doing up?"
"Thinking," she replied.
Finnick bumped her shoulder. "Bout what?"
Mavis looked up at the stars. "My parents." She surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye, and Finnick reached over and placed his hand over hers.
"I'm trying to remember my life."
Mavis turned to look at him. "You really don't remember anything do you?"
Finnick shook his head. Deciding to confide in her he told Mavis about the conversation he had overheard. "I don't know what it is. It's really frustrating. But if I can't remember, then could it really have been that important?"
Mavis smiled slightly. "I knew it," she said softly. "You are Finnick Odair after all." Finnick raised his brow at her. "Well, I didn't know at first. You, uh, well, you didn't look like yourself when you first got here. But lately it's been pretty obvious. Well, the name itself was a big clue, but it took a while for me to see the resemblance. I'd only ever seen you on the big screen during the Games, after all. And once, in District Thirteen."
"You were there?" he asked, surprised.
Mavis nodded. "All the orphans had to stay together. We had stricter schedules than the rest. I saw you in the Hospital Ward once." Finnick frowned, trying to remember. "Uh, word was you weren't quite, y'know...sane at the time."
Finnick looked away, slightly ashamed. "Guess some things are better left forgotten."
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The morning sun tried to wake Finnick, but he resisted, turning over and burying his face in his arm to block out the sun. He tossed and turned for a while, trying to get comfortable, and when he finally found himself sleepy again, he was rudely awakened by someone clearing their throat loudly.
"What?" Finnick groaned groggily. He frowned up at the person, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light.
"What're you doing out here?" The voice was unmistakeable.
"Sleeping, Haymitch. What are you doing out here?"
Haymitch was silent for a few moments, waiting for Finnick to sit up and acknowledge him. The older man took a swig of his drink before fixing Finnick with his stare. "Here to warn you."
For a moment fear seized him, but Finnick fought it down. "About what?"
"The end of your fairytale."
"What?"
Haymitch took another drink before replying. "Peeta's coming home. You got one week."
Finnick felt as though he had been punched in the gut, all the air in his lungs coming out in a rush of disbelief. "A week?"
Haymitch nodded, turning away. "Say hi to the Mockingjay for me." Haymitch stumbled away, but before he was out of earshot he called back over his shoulder, "If you ever wanna find out who you are, come talk to me."
Finnick watched the man recede across the lawn, heading back to his own house. He flopped back on his hammock, disgruntled and with his heart palpitating. He couldn't catch a break, could he?
"Fuck," he hissed, jumping up. He should check on Katniss, he knew, but for once he didn't really want to see her. Instead he headed out to the forest, ignoring the early morning risers who were picking flowers near the entrance. He practically ran to the lake, barely hesitating to toss aside his shirt and pants before he dove in. The water was cold in the early morning, but he relished the feel of it. He dove down as deep as he could, opening his eyes to see the fish swimming away from him. Under the water his thoughts cleared, and he wasn't bogged down by the problems of the world above. Finnick stayed underwater until his lungs were ready to burst before he swam up, gasping for air. He repeated this again and again, swimming around the lake, working his muscles to exhaustion. He shouldn't be doing this, he had to work today, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
When next he came up the sun was higher in the sky, and he saw someone watching him. He stayed up, sucking in air, and squinting his eyes against the bright light. It took him a moment but finally he could see her clearly.
"Finnick," Katniss called, standing from the rock she was sitting on and walking toward the lake's edge. Finnick resisted the urge to turn away from her and instead swam towards Katniss. He was rising out of the water when Katniss shrilly announced, "You're naked!" Finnick raised his eyebrows at her before glancing down at himself. "Stop! Stop!" When Finnick refused to halt his progress, Katniss turned her back to him.
Finnick smiled slightly and shook his head. They shared a bed together every night and yet the sight of his nude body was too much for her. Finnick played nice and put his pants on before clearing his throat. "Katniss?"
"Are you decent?" she demanded.
"Yes."
She whirled on him. "You were gone this morning," she accused, striding towards him and poking him in the chest with her finger. "You didn't come back to bed last night at all."
She stood there, hands on her hip, foot tapping impatiently. Her cheeks were flushed, a slight sheen of sweat across her forehead, and her hair was waving away from her face in all directions. The sunlight glanced off her burn scars, something she had been extremely self conscious of, as they spread across her back, arms and legs, and yet she was beautiful. Her dark eyelashes that brushed her cheeks when she blinked, her deep grey eyes that sparkled when she laughed.
I could love her, Finnick thought.
"Well?" she said, glaring up at him.
Finnick bent down suddenly, his arms wrapping around her and pulling Katniss close to him. He kissed her passionately, one hand coming up to fist in her hair. She responded hesitantly at first but then enthusiastically. Katniss pressed against him and Finnick moaned, walking forward until she was trapped between him and the rock. If she wanted to stop him she would, he knew; and with that knowledge he let his hand slide under her shirt, pleasantly surprised to find that she wasn't wearing a bra. Katniss jumped when he traced the underside of her breast, pushing at him lightly, but quickly yielding.
Finnick moved from her mouth to her neck, searching for the spot that made her weak, and pleased to find it when he bit lightly on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. "Finnick," she moaned, her own hands fumbling around on his chest. Finnick sucked harder on her neck, nipping lightly, leaving a mark. His hands both went to cup her breasts, and he used his real hand to tweak her nipple. Katniss cried out, and for a moment Finnick glanced her face, worried he had hurt her, but it was a cry of pleasure. It was that moment, though, her face twisted in pleasure, that he saw someone else. Another woman's face. She still had brown hair and sun kissed skin, but she was different, older than Katniss.
Finnick pulled back with a jolt. When she noticed, Katniss opened her eyes to look at him, her cheeks flushed, with embarrassment or pleasure he wasn't sure. Who was that? he thought frantically. Sometimes he remembered other women, Capitol women, but this one had been different. Something tugged on his heart, and Finnick disentangled himself from Katniss, clutching at his aching chest.
Katniss made some noise beside him, but Finnick wasn't focused. He was wracking his mind, trying to remember the woman he suddenly recalled. "Who was she?" he mumbled.
"What?" Katniss asked, her arms crossed. Her cheeks were still pink, but now her eyes were angry and unsure.
Finnick noted the look and saw the damage he might do if he didn't handle the situation right. It was as though his mind and body knew what to do subconsciously, because suddenly he smiled at her, closing the distance between them again. "Sorry," he said huskily into her ear. He nibbled on it lightly and Katniss shivered. "You distracted me too much." His hands found their way to her hips. "Shall we continue where we left off?"
"I, uh..."
"I like hearing you moan my name," he told her, pressing against her.
But suddenly Katniss moaned, pushing back against him. "Stop." He looked at her with dark eyes, not understanding. "I don't want your show," she told him, pushing his chest until he let her go. "You're going to be late for work," she said icily, turning heel and walking away.
Finnick stared after her, deflating. Show, she had said. What she meant was that she didn't want the prostitute he had been. Angrily he punched the rock, wincing when he felt his knuckles scrape along the hard surface. What the hell was going on? He looked at the position of the sun in the sky and swore. He was already late.
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Finnick stayed late at work but headed to Hazelle's house before he went home. When he didn't find her there he went to the Town Hall as directed and found her sitting behind the welcome desk.
"Finnick," she greeted warmly.
"Hi Hazelle," he greeted quickly. "I was wondering if we had any sort of record of the Hunger Games?"
Hazelle frowned at him. She looked as if she wanted to say something, hesitating with her mouth slightly open. Finally she settled on, "Are you sure you want to see?" Finnick nodded and she sighed. "We were required to keep copies of the Hunger Games. Do you want them all or are you looking for a specific one?"
"Oh." He hadn't thought of that. "I'd like my Games," he said, nodding. "Could I have Katniss' too?"
Hazelle frowned but agreed. She disappeared into the back and Finnick waited anxiously. She returned with four cases. "You were the Sixty-Fifth Hunger Games. Katniss was the Seventy-Fourth. You were both in the Seventy-Fifth Games, but they were never completed," she said wryly. She hesitated again. "I know you have a lot of questions about who you are," she said slowly. "The Hunger Games are terrible things. They change a person. I don't want you to think you are some sort of monster after watching these."
Hazelle handed the cases over. "What's this one?" he asked, inspecting the box on the bottom.
"You can choose to watch this one or not," she said. Hazelle placed her hand over his. "I know you are so lost. I know you have questions about who you are and what happened. But I've never seen you or Katniss so happy. Just don't forget that."
Finnick leaned forward and kissed Hazelle's forehead. She blushed prettily and he said earnestly, "Thank you."
Finnick walked home slowly, staring at the little cases he was holding. They seemed innocent enough, merely written with the number of which Hunger Games it was, but Finnick felt a great weight settle on him. Hazelle knew things, and she was giving him an opportunity to discover what he was missing. He knew he couldn't watch these at the house, not with Katniss and Mavis there. He would go to Haymitch's house tonight, when they were asleep.
Greasy Sae was in the kitchen cooking when Finnick went inside. Katniss and Mavis were helping to slice some vegetables, and while Mavis and Sae greeted him, Finnick noted with a frown how Katniss refused to look at him.
"Set the table," Sae requested. Finnick nodded, surreptitiously hiding the videos behind him.
"Back in a moment," he said, jumping up the stairs two at a time and quickly stashing the movies in his room. He returned downstairs to set the table, noting Poppy playing with some yarn in the living room. He sat at the counter then, watching the women finish cooking.
Dinner was a quiet affair, the silence broken only by Poppy's questions and stories, with Mavis and Sae appropriately responding. Katniss still didn't look at him and Finnick found himself growing more and more frustrated. Was she embarrassed or upset? Did it have to do with what happened at the lake today, or was she still mad about how he had left last night? Finnick toyed with his dinner mostly, too nervous to eat, and trying to force Katniss into meeting his eyes. At last everyone finished, and Katniss jumped up, rushing to the kitchen to put her plate away. Normally she would have helped with the dishes, but tonight she headed straight up to her room, closing her door.
Finnick growled, running a hand through his hair.
"What happened?" Mavis asked him as she soaped the pots and pans.
"I don't know," he admitted angrily. Mavis raised her eyebrow at him in disbelief. "I don't know which one it is," he corrected. "I know she's mad at me for some reason, but I don't know which."
Mavis nodded. "Just let her cool off," she soothed.
Finnick remained silent, hurriedly drying the dishes and putting them away so that he could leave. "I'll be back late," he told Mavis, running to his room to collect his things.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her forehead slightly wrinkled in concern.
"Haymitch's house," Finnick responded, pausing at the door. "Don't tell Katniss okay?"
Mavis frowned but nodded and Finnick took off, practically sprinting to Haymitch's house down the way. He banged noisily on the door and heard a gruff response, but continued to knock until Haymitch wobbled to the door and opened, practically falling on top of Finnick.
The younger man helped Haymitch stand and let himself inside, kicking away empty bottles and shuddering at the mess that was the Abernathy household. "Come to talk?" Haymitch asked, taking another swig of whatever poison he had chosen tonight.
"Come to watch," Finnick responded, showing him the movies.
"Well be my guest," Haymitch said grumpily, waving his arm in the direction of where his neglected television was. Finnick headed in the direction of what he assumed was the living room, instantly spotting the enormous TV. He had to push aside papers and bottles to get to the disc player, but soon he had opened his own Hunger Games and popped it in, scraping some more things off the couch to make room for himself. He was surprised when Haymitch sat next to him, handing him a bottle of booze. Hesitantly Finnick took it though he didn't yet drink it.
There was an opening sequence, a brief intro about the rebellion and Treaty of Treason that was hauntingly familiar to Finnick, and then a man with emerald green hair was smiling at him.
"Caesar," Finnick said aloud. Haymitch grunted his agreement.
Caesar welcomed everyone to the Games before the Reaping was shown. Finnick vaguely recalled the Tributes from District One and Two, and he held his breath, waiting for them to show his own District and Reaping. Unlike the first two districts, the children from Four didn't volunteer. However, when the girl was called she proudly walked to the stage, smiling lightly. Then his own name was called, and suddenly Finnick was watching a close up of himself, albeit a very young looking self. For a moment Finnick saw fear pass across his face, but it was so brief that he was almost sure he imagined it. The next moment he was swaggering up to the stage, blowing kisses at some of the girls.
He watched the other Tributes from the other Districts be called, noting how as the numbers progressed the children looked smaller and more malnourished. Finnick started to feel sick.
He watched the Opening Ceremony in disinterest, though he felt as though he could not fast forward through the interviews. These were the children he had killed, he knew, and he owed it to them to hear what they thought.
The start of the Games, as they were all standing on their podiums seemed infinite to Finnick. He clenched the forgotten bottle tightly, his heart racing. Finally the buzzer sounded and most of the kids raced to the Cornucopia, and Finnick watched in horror as many were slaughtered. He caught sight of himself stabbing someone with a knife before joining up with the Tributes from One and Two. His fellow tribute, Cecelia, joined them, though she was clutching at her bleeding arm.
"I don't understand," Finnick said, eyes not leaving the screen. "Why aren't we killing each other?"
"Career Tributes," Haymitch explained. "One, Two and Four usually band together in the beginning, hunting off the other Tributes before turning on each other. Bred to be killers and trained that way until they are no longer eligible to participate in the Games."
Finnick felt sick. "District Four, were we also..."
Haymitch took a swig before answering. "Not as much. You still get trained, but it's not your sole focus as a kid in Four. Part of the time is training, the other half is an apprenticeship for the field you'll be working in."
"The other Districts don't even have a chance," Finnick muttered.
Haymitch clinked their bottles together, startling Finnick. "Better drink up Odair. It just gets worse from here."
Haymitch wasn't lying. He watched himself, along with his allies, pick off the other Tributes one by one. He saw himself kill a young girl from Seven, and a boy from Ten. They didn't look to be more than twelve.
Finnick was halfway through his bottle of liquor when he watched the female Career from Two kill Cecelia in her sleep. She snuck up in the night and slit her throat, hand over her mouth to quiet the noise. In the morning he saw himself throw a fit and leave. Shortly thereafter he noticed that the Games seemed to be focused on him, and Caesar commenting on how the Capitol was enamored. The fourth day in Finnick received a trident. It was glorious, and he watched himself wield it with practiced ease. He watched himself weave a net from some leaves and vines of the nearby trees then easily capture and kill the remaining Tributes. It was disgusting how easily he seemed to kill them, and Finnick wanted to crawl out of his own skin.
"Humans are meant to survive," Haymitch told him as they watched Finnick being air lifted out of the arena, not a scratch on him. "They'll fight to the death to keep alive. Do things they never would have even thought of. You're not evil, Finnick, you're human."
Finnick watched with glazed eyes as he was welcomed back to the stage with Caesar, dressed in a sea green top meant to match his eyes, the top half left undone so that the Capitol could easily see the defined muscles of his chest. He nearly threw his bottle at the screen, absolutely abhorred with how he acted. Nonchalant, flirty, happy. He had just killed children, for fuck's sake, and here he was acting like nothing had happened.
Haymitch interrupted his train of thought. "It's all an act," he explained. "Always was. You do what you have to survive, and the Capitol wanted a Playboy out of you, so that's what you were made into."
Finnick glanced at him. "How do you..." Haymitch knew exactly what he was thinking all the time. It was unnerving.
"Been around a long time, kid. Mentored a lot of tributes. Hell, I had to deal with Katniss over there. It ain't hard to get into someone's head after a while."
Finnick stopped the video after that, unable to watch his return home or the Victory Tour. The two men sat there for a while, staring a the screen, paused on Finnick's youthful face smoldering at the Capitol citizens.
After some time Haymitch got up and switched the movies in, putting in Katniss's games. "Maybe it will help you understand her better," he said, plopping back down on the couch and pressing play on the remote as if it were any old day and they weren't about to watch more children slaughter each other.
Finnick was shocked to see himself on stage at the District Four Reaping, though he was ashamed to admit that he didn't remember the Tributes from his District. When Rue from Eleven was Reaped Finnick felt a sadness wash over him, though he couldn't quite remember why. Obviously she died, but why was he so saddened by it?
At last it was District Twelve, and Finnick held his breath, waiting for Katniss' name to be called. But it wasn't. That's right, he thought. She volunteered for Prim. It was almost more than he could bear, seeing Katniss so desperately trying to save her sister when he knew in the end it would amount to nothing. He watched as a young man pulled Prim away from Katniss and he was struck. He knew him.
"Gale," Haymitch provided.
"Hazelle's son," Finnick recalled. "He doesn't live here anymore."
"No. Damn near broke her heart too, him not coming back," Haymitch said off handedly. Finnick glanced at him, but the man was staring resolutely at the screen.
"What's the deal with Gale and Katniss?"
Haymitch snorted. "Unrequited love."
"On whose part?"
"His. Poor guy is so obviously in love with her, and yet she can't see beyond her sister's needs. All for the better, though, those two didn't along very well towards the end."
"What happened?"
Haymitch took another long drink before he replied. "She blames him for Prim's death."
"Oh." Finnick remembered now, Katniss telling him how Prim had died in the bombings. She hadn't mentioned Gale's role in it, but he wasn't about to ask her. "Why?"
"Him and Beetee were the ones that came up with the scheme. 'Course, the didn't intend for it to kill their own people, but Coin didn't care about it at all. Anything to get what she wanted. Oh, you'll want to watch this."
Finnick turned his attention back to the screen where- "She's on fire!" he cried, jumping up.
Haymitch laughed loudly. "That was the reaction of half the Capitol, still gets me every time."
Finnick glared at the man before turning his attention back to the television. Now that they had a close up, Finnick could see that Katniss wasn't on fire. "That's Peeta," he stated. He remembered the boy now, little fragments of memory flying back to him. "Ugh, did I kiss him?"
"CPR in the Quarter Quell. You saved his life," Haymitch informed.
Finnick grimaced. He didn't like the way Peeta looked at Katniss, the way he held her hand and stood so close. "Were they an act too?" he asked bitterly.
Haymitch shrugged. "Peeta's in love with her. Who knows with Katniss. She does what she has to do to survive."
Finnick said nothing, but instead watched as the interviews played. Then the Games began, and finally he understood. It was easy to see that Peeta was in love with Katniss, desperate to do anything it took to make sure she survived. Katniss, however, did what she had to, exactly as Haymitch said. It still didn't sting his pride any less when she got cozy with Peeta, and even kissed him.
He finally remembered why he was so sad about Rue, and Finnick finished his bottle of booze to dull the pain. By now he could barely see straight, but still he watched. He watched as they were chased by mutts, as Katniss had to shoot Cato's hand to save Peeta, and how they almost died together. He felt something akin to jealousy surge within him. It was irrational, he knew, but Peeta had shared some pretty intense experiences with Katniss, and he couldn't even remember the time they had spent together in District Thirteen.
Haymitch was snoring heavily by the end of the video, Finnick brooding about all he had seen. Suddenly sleeping man suddenly jolted awake, holding a knife to Finnick's.
"Whoa!" Finnick screamed. "Haymitch stop!"
It took Haymitch a moment but suddenly he snapped into focus, stuffing the knife back under the couch cushions. "Sorry, habit." He stretched then. "Enough for tonight. You can come back tomorrow."
Haymitch promptly passed out on the couch, and so Finnick let himself out. He let the starlight guide him back home, then quietly entered the house. He walked up the stairs, glancing at Katniss' room and starting to walk away before doing a double take. The door was part way open, inviting him in. Smiling, Finnick quickly brushed his teeth before slipping inside the room. Katniss was sleeping fretfully on the bed, stuck in some sort of nightmare. She was crying Prim's name, and Finnick rushed over, slipping into bed beside her.
"I'm here. Sorry I'm late," he soothed, taking Katniss in his arms and kissing her softly.
Katniss sighed against him instantly relaxing. Her eyes fluttered open, and she took in his visage for a moment before snuggling closer. "Finnick," she sighed quietly, face burrowed in his chest. "I love you."
