Author's Note: I've decided to post this chapter as two separate parts. I couldn't find a good break in the current events of the story and it made the most sense to me, it is also the reason why this chapter isn't as lengthy. Also, I didn't want to breeze right through this chapter either, I feel if I uploaded the full chapter in it's entirety (the rest is currently being written) then it would feel like I was just skipping through. I really hope you enjoy this. I'm so happy to have passed the 50,000 word mark. Thanks for reading.
Deep down Finnick knew there was no salvaging what they had for that night. The first and only night he'd held Peeta as they slept, deeply in love with him the entire time. The smaller frame wrapped around his own, his heavy head resting on his own bare chest. He wished he hadn't fallen asleep so quickly. He wished he'd taken in the moment and appreciated it more, appreciate how beautiful it all was.
But he didn't.
He didn't believe Peeta when he said it was only for one night. He thought he'd stay, that they'd wake up together in the morning and he could begin something he'd never experience before.
There was no need to make threats. They both knew that. Finnick didn't hold the cards and Peeta made the decisions now, but he made them anyway.
"I'm not chasing you this time," He said as Peeta turned his back on him. "I mean it, Peeta. I'm sick of playing this game, I'm sick of this stupid drama. If you go back to him I never want to see you again. As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me."
What did he expect to happen? That after saying such a thing that the younger man would change his mind? He certainly didn't predict what would happen next. He watched him walk away through the snow, preying he would simply turn around and come back to bed.
Finnick felt like crying, but he wouldn't allow himself to. Instead his lip curled in anger as he seethed with every step the young man took. He gritted his teeth angrily and thought of everything he wanted to say to him, every horrible word, every nasty name he could think of.
That was until he caught a glimpse of the car tearing around the corner. It took him no longer than a split second to notice Peeta step foot onto the road, his head down, clearly unaware of where he was.
He felt time stop in that moment.
"Peeta!"
By the time his feet hit the pavement and he began running for the man, time had resumed and he watched in horror as Peeta looked up, squinting his eyes at the bright light that pierced them before the car struck him. The streets were so dark, the make of the car was ambiguous. Finnick continued to run as Peeta was lifted onto the car, rolling onto the windscreen, over the top and landing face first onto the road.
As he got closer and the car came to a screeching stop, Finnick's last words replayed in his own head and regret started to fill every fiber of his being as he quickly approached the young man on the road with a large patch of blood staining his blonde hair.
"Peeta!" Finnick yelled, hitting the road so quickly his knees scraped against the rough surface of concrete, likely drawing blood.
His eyes were closed. The right half of his face was scraped, bloodied and raw. Upon a quick glance, Finnick could already see the man's right leg was broken by the angle it bent.
"Peeta?" Finnick panicked, he placed two fingers on his neck and found a pulse immediately. A small flush of relief went through him before turning back to desperation. "Can you hear me? Open your eyes!"
No response.
A loud engine filled his ears, as did the sound of screeching tires. Finnick didn't bother sparing a second glance at the car that sped off, dented by a small body with a crack in the windscreen. All that mattered was Peeta's well being. He would worry about those responsible in due time.
His trembling hands moved to take Peeta's coat off. Finnick gasped as he felt the dislocated shoulder move while lifting his upper torso from the ground. He quickly, but carefully pulled the jacket off and wrapped it into a bundle, placing it underneath the man's head.
It suddenly occurred to him that they were all alone. The streets were empty. An eerie silence had found them and all Finnick could hear were the signs of his own ragged breathing. There was no one to call for help and no help was coming to find them.
He didn't have time to question his next course of action. He would have to leave Peeta alone to run back to his apartment and grab his cell phone.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to Peeta as he checked the man's head for further signs of injury. He found nothing more than a large gash above a big lump that had formed on the back of his head.
For a brief moment he considered picking him up. He had carried Peeta before, but not with a broken leg, dislocated shoulder and several other possible injuries that may have been waiting to be discovered. He decided it was best to leave him as still as possible.
"I'm so sorry, Peeta," Finnick said as he wrapped his arms around the man's middle and began dragging him onto the sidewalk as gently as possible, his eyes glued to the man's leg as the body dragged. "I promise I'll be back."
When his feet hit the pavement and Finnick began running, he thought about running up the four flights of stairs, running into his apartment, down the hall and to the bedroom where his phone sat connected to a charger. It would only take him a couple of minutes, but what if he missed something? A fatal injury? It was so dark and cold outside, with no light there was no way he could do a thorough enough examination with the basic medical training he'd received in the war. What if Peeta died of trauma to his head while he was upstairs finding his phone? What if his last words to him were laced with anger and death wishes?
A bloody, smeared hand print was left on the doorknob as Finnick pushed his way through the apartment door. Sure enough his phone was where he left it. He quickly bundled up the quilt on the bed with his free hand as he ran back out of the bedroom, back through his apartment and out the door. He ran back down the stairs two at a time, frantically dialing 911, desperate to have help come and save the man he loved.
The operator connected his call the second Finnick pushed past the large entry way door. He explained what happened to Peeta before giving his address as he found himself face to face with the bleeding man lying on the sidewalk.
"Please. Open your eyes," Finnick asked softly. He paused for a moment, holding his breath and ignoring the operator's questions that emitted from the phone. "Let me see your eyes." He gripped Peeta's good hand tightly in both of his own as he covered him with the blanket, "Please, please, please…"
He knelt down next to him, Peeta's hand felt cold to the touch, icy and stiff. In that moment, that cruel, horrible moment, Finnick knew Peeta would soon be dead. Even if his pulse was still beating, there would be no saving the innocent young man by the time help came.
"Don't leave me," Finnick muttered, lifting his head up and moving to Peeta's full lips, "I'm not done with you yet."
Finnick listened to the night air blow softly, terrified at the absence of loud siren's piercing the quiet night. The only person in the world that meant something to him lay unmoving on the sidewalk, his face bruised and bloody, too young to be torn away from a life he'd barely lived, a life Finnick knew he could enrich.
He recalled the day his life almost ended, the surge of fear and darkness, the feeling of terror he felt as he took what he thought was his last breath. How he wished for someone to reassure him, tell him he would be okay. Maybe it may not have been as traumatizing had someone been there to tell him those things.
"Your brother is going to be so pissed off at me," Finnick said softly as his hands secured the jacket resting beneath the injured man's head. "You'll be fine."
He heard the words come out of his mouth and cringed at how dead and lifeless they sounded. He knew he didn't believe them to be true, but he didn't have any other choice. Even if it was a lie, it was the least he could do. They both knew how to pretend.
The cold hand that lay flat in both his own began to twitch before squeezing lightly. Finnick immediately looked into the half open blue eyes noticing the left was bloodshot and bruised. "Peeta?" he asked with an instant sigh of fleeting relief. Finnick knew he had to do whatever it took to keep the man from losing consciousness again. "You have to stay awake, okay? Help is on the way, just stay awake."
Peeta looked dazed. Finnick could already tell the man could not feel the full extent of his injuries. "I got hit…" was all he could say in a mangled, broken voice.
Finnick could see the blood in his teeth as he spoke but it wasn't his immediate concern. He checked the blue eyes before holding three fingers out in front of them, terrified of a head injury. "How many fingers am I holding out?"
"Three," Peeta muttered as he twitched his arm and winced at the pain, "I guess I deserved it huh?"
The older stilled at the cold comment for a moment before his hands went down to the shorter legs that lied on the snow filled footpath, feeling around the calf and upper thigh, "Can you feel this?"
Peeta winced again, "Yes," he murmured in a pained, agonized cry. "It hurts, god damnit, Finnick…"
"I'm sorry," he replied softly, as he returned to lie on the ice cold footpath with the hurt man. He gently curved by his side and held his hand while his free arm covered his torso. "The ambulance is coming," he said as Peeta began shivering and the blood in his bruised and damaged face continued to spread. "Keep your eyes open, shouldn't be too much longer."
Peeta nodded slowly as he squeezed the warm hand. The snow had begun to fall harder and he wondered how long it would be until they were both covered in it. He admired the way snowflakes clung to Finnick's bronze hair. "I wish you knew me a year ago," he sighed quietly as he shook beneath the quilt. "Before my parents died. You would have really liked me."
Finnick felt the remainder of his tears sting his eyes, "I like you just fine now."
He shook his own head as he heard the faint sound of an ambulance siren approach in the distance. "I don't really like me."
Finnick sat in the waiting room of the intensive care unit. His green eyes darted between the large wall clock above the nurse's station and the two large white doors off to the right. The doors led to a hallway which led to room 27 where Peeta slept awaiting an MRI.
He caught a glimpse of himself in a mounted dome mirror high on the wall above him. He sat slumped in a chair, his feet bare and biting, his black sweat pants and grey shirt blotched with Peeta's dried blood. He didn't allow himself the right to feel degraded or disgusted by his appearance. It was the least important worry in the world to him at that moment.
If he were a religious man, Finnick would have preyed for Peeta to be okay, that his scans would reveal no sign of trauma or bleeding. He'd been sure to check for signs of paralysis with the small amount of medical knowledge he'd retained from his time in the service, but he wasn't a doctor. All he could do was hope. It's what Peeta had spent so much time doing for him, he at least owed the man the same consideration.
Finnick rose from the uncomfortable chair and crossed the almost empty room, filled with one or two fellow worried loved ones. He approached the large white doors that kept him isolated in the large waiting room and away from the man he was so worried. He was banished by the doctors, nurses and Noah Mellark who he had met for the first time that night.
He sternly looked through the large windows in the door, waiting, hoping for a response to the many questions he was dying to know the answers to.
The clock read 2:35am when Noah emerged from the hall, out into the open waiting room. Once again, Finnick rose from his seat to be greeted by the very unhappy expression taking a toll on the man's face. As he approached, he couldn't help but notice the striking similarities between the younger man he always found to be quite beautiful and his older brother who looked anything but in the state he was in.
"Is he okay?" Finnick asked, his voice scratchy and broken with worry. "How is he?"
Noah ran a trembling hand over the back of his own neck, completely depleted of any energy, running primarily on adrenaline. "They're running a scan on him right now. If everything is in check the doctor said he won't need surgery. I'm hoping it's just bumps, bruises and broken bones. We'll find out more when they're finished."
Picturing Peeta laying alone in a large MRI machine, scared, cold and frightened made Finnick want to cry, that was until he looked into the blue eyes of his brother. Suddenly, he didn't feel like he had the right to display such sadness in the presence of the man who had already lost his parents and almost his sibling.
"Who did this?" Noah croaked, his hands turning into fists. Whether intentional or subconsciously, Finnick didn't know.
"I don't know," Finnick muttered, holding onto the relief that Peeta was no longer in a serious condition. "They took off."
"Shit," he spat with disgust. "They left him there like a fucking dog. He's 19 for fuck sake!"
"I was there," Finnick said softly. For a moment he considered offering his arm to rest on the man's shoulder before quickly deciding not to.
He had put himself on Noah's radar. Blue eyes glared at him angrily, focusing all anger on him now. "What the hell was he even doing in the street at midnight?! How the hell were you there exactly anyway, Finnick?!"
The question was not unexpected, but it still took him off guard. "We were fighting… Peeta wasn't looking and the car just shot around the corner-"
"-You were fighting?!" Noah snapped, his voice grew slowly louder with each passing sentence. "What in the hell were you fighting about?! In must have been pretty big to land my brother in the emergency room!"
"I-" he found himself stuttering, the answers were there but almost impossible to verbalize. "It was about… us…"
Noah noticed the way the man spoke. Although the same age as himself, Finnick sounded as hurt and confused as a weak child, a boy offering a poor explanation to an angry parent. Despite his urge to unleash his frustrations on him, he knew Finnick wasn't driving the car that hurt his brother, he also knew his responsibility was to lie in Peeta's best interest. He had failed.
"I don't know what is going on between you two," he sighed, running a tired hand through his blonde hair, "I know enough about you to know he's got no control around you. You're screwing with his head-"
"-I'm not anymore," Finnick interrupted, crossing his arms across his stained shirt, "I screwed him around. I knew what he wanted and I didn't know what I did."
He hated the look Noah gave him, but noticed it softened sympathetically as he continued. "It doesn't matter anyway."
"Why?" Noah asked, removing his thick jacket and folding it across his arm. He finally noticed the blood covered shirt that clung to the man. Despite everything, the man protected Peeta when he couldn't.
Finnick eyed the entrance to the ICU again and nodded in the direction, "It's too late. He doesn't care that I love him now."
Noah handed the man his jacket. His angry expression never faltered as Finnick accepted it and put it on. "I want you to know that if Peeta wasn't here, I'd beat the living shit out of you right now."
He nodded, "Yeah, I know."
"You say you love him than you were supposed to keep him safe." He checked the clock behind them before turning his back. "I've got to get back to him. I'll keep you posted."
"I want to see him," Finnick said desperately. "Please, Noah. I need to say goodbye to him. I can't leave it the way we did."
Noah turned and nodded, "Okay. But not now."
With that final exchange, Noah left to return to his brother's side. Finnick wrapped the jacket around himself tightly, hating himself more with each passing moment.