72.
Johanna's tribute dies in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia, just like Johanna knew she was going to. She knows she should be upset, but all she really feels is jealous. She sighs as she pushes away from her mentor station, running a hand through her short hair. She shrugs at Blight.
"I knew that little thing didn't stand a chance."
She catches Haymitch's eye as she stands to leave, "Get me when your kids kick it. Shouldn't be long now, right? You can buy me a drink."
"You're a bitch, you know that right?"
She smiles a tricky little smile and blows him a kiss over her shoulder as she stalks out of the room.
That night she gets her first message from President Snow, a heavy card embossed with the presidential seal with a beautifully written name and address, and she knows there is no turning back. She had already decided if he was going to use her like that, she was going to use her body as a weapon too. She always knew her own strengths, her own power, and she could use this somehow to get what she needed from those pieces of shit that thought everything was for sale.
But she got more than she bargained for. She had used their games against them: outsmarted them, made them all look stupid, not in control. And they couldn't have that, not in the Capitol.
So the man calls her a little slut, a little whore, as he demands she undress herself in front of him. When her anger makes her hands shake so badly she can barely unbutton her shirt, he thinks it is fear, and he laughs.
So when she is naked, and he holds down her hands, slaps her face, and reaches for her neck, she can't stop herself. She isn't fully aware of what she is doing before he is laid out in front of her with a broken arm and a crippling knee to the groin, and she is walking back to the training center in a thin sweater and her underwear, daring anyone she passes on the streets to say anything.
Snow's retaliation is swift and brutal, and her brother is gone within days, before the games are over, before she could see him again.
She didn't know she could hurt more, that there were still worse horrors out there, but she can, and there are. She wants to cry, but she can't. The false tears before her games the last tears she has shed.
She doesn't know what to do, but she knows she can't sit alone in her room in the training center. The silence is suffocating, and she has already broken everything that she could hurl against the walls. She wants to collapse on the floor amid the wreckage of all the pretty Capitol things, but every time she closes her eyes, she sees her brother's face.
She stumbles up to Haymitch's room, hoping that he might be able to get her drunk enough to forget, but he isn't there. She kicks the empty bottle she finds on the floor and curses him under her breath for not leaving her any.
She keeps walking. She has to get out of the training center; she has to be somewhere other than here. She passes someone in the hall, she isn't even sure who, but, when they dare to look at her, lobs a fuck you at them anyway.
She falls into the first bar she sees, the first place that lets slices of pumping music out to melt in the night air every time the door opens. There might have been a line, who knows, but it doesn't matter, not to her, those rules don't apply to her.
The place is crowded, hot, and loud, but she feels better in the crush of other people, with the thumping bass jostling any thoughts out of her mind.
She sidles up to the bar, and if the bartender is surprised to see her there, it is masked behind his strange yellow eyes and taut skin.
"What'll it be, Johanna?"
It still startles her to have complete strangers refer to her by name, but she covers it with a dark smile.
"Surprise me. Make it strong."
She flicks the garnish off the drink that is placed in front of her in disgust, and downs the whole thing in two long gulps, reveling in the harsh burn of the liquor against the back of her throat.
She pushes her way back through the people, the glow from the many television screens playing the Games dyeing everyone, even those with natural skin, a pale blue, and lets the music and the heat of the bodies and the alcohol fill her.
She is letting herself be moved by all the other people, eyes closed against the looks she is getting, when she feels someone grip her waist from behind, pulling her towards him. She spins quickly in the middle of the dance floor, arm raised to attack, but her arm is stopped in midair, and she finds herself looking into the famous green eyes of Finnick Odair.
He smiles at her seductively, still holding her arm above her head. "May I have this dance, Johanna?"
She glares at him, her body rigid between her arm and the floor, sizing him up, trying to figure out what he wants from her.
"I'm not as easy as you are Finnick," she says, emphasizing his name in return, "You are going to have to buy me a drink first. Probably more than one."
He just laughs and pulls her towards the bar. People part in front of them, gaping a little at sight of the two victors together, trying to play it cool even as they surreptitiously elbow each other.
It's crowded, but Finnick finds two seats and calls over to the bartender, who ignores everyone else to help them.
"Al!"
Johanna rolls her eyes at him. Of course Finnick knows the bartender's name.
"Al, get me one of your famous starbursts and," he says, turning generously towards Johanna, who is still glaring at him, "whatever she's having."
"You know the drill," she says to "Al", who had narrowed his eyes to see who "she" was and seemed surprised to see Johanna there.
"Right, a surprise," he answers.
The drink that is placed in front of her is clear as water with a deep red layer underneath. She picks up the long toothpick that is laid across the top of the glass and slowly pulls the cherry that was skewered in the middle of it off with her teeth, keeping her eyes locked on Finnick.
He looks right back at her, amused.
"What do you want Pretty Boy?" she asks, slowly stirring the layers of her drink together.
"I thought I already made that clear," he says, smiling, "a dance."
"We didn't get much of a chance to talk on your Victory Tour, and it's always good to get to know your fellow victors better." He pauses.
"Besides, I didn't know this was your type of thing. Wanted to see what you got. If you could keep up," he says, giving her a sideways glance.
"I don't have a 'thing,'" she spits back at him. "And of course I can keep up with you."
"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting to see you here anyway."
"Wait, what are you doing here?" she asks suddenly. "In the Capitol I mean. Ford is mentoring this year." And when she looks at him this time, there is no game to her look, just the question.
He looks at her probingly. "I try to get in at least one trip to the Capitol a year." His voice is flat.
"I heard that Aquila Celes had to get surgery 2 days ago," he says slowly after a pause, still looking at her, "I heard they couldn't save his testicle."
The name sets her teeth on edge and she takes a long sip of her drink, but she can't help but smile at the last part.
"I hadn't heard that," she says, brown eyes wide and innocent. "But I am sure someone paid for it." And her eyes cloud over again.
Finnick nods and drains his drink, then orders them another round. The music is still pumping and people keep jostling into them, but they are quiet and alone in the middle of the noise.
"How's..." Johanna scours her memory, dredges up a snatch of a Capitol news report she must have passed somewhere, "Vega?" She has to make sure.
"Better than Aquila," he says, answering her unasked question. "But I guess you haven't heard that I have moved on."
And they both turn to their drinks, not wanting to let the other see the pain and pity in their eyes.
"What happened to that dance?" she says finally, and she pulls him off of his seat, towards the dance floor.
They push back through the crowds and people make space for them in the middle of the room. They are always going to be on display, especially when they are together.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she says, getting a good look at him for the first time, "are you not even wearing a shirt under that suit? You can't be serious."
She shakes her head, but she smiles at him, a real smile.
He spins her around then pulls her to him, pressing her whole body against his and pushing his leg between hers. His hand is firmly on the bare skin of her lower back, and they move liquidly together.
"Like you're one to talk," he murmurs into her ear, "your shirt appears to be missing its back."
She throws back her head and laughs, and she realizes she likes this person, might be enjoying herself. Making a scene, sure, but with a partner in crime.
They move together effortlessly, flowing with the music. He pushes her up higher on his leg, and she gasps a little as he dips her back, sweeping her in a circle before she arches back up, his touch electric on the back of her neck. She snaps back to his neck and whispers to him between the clenched teeth of her frozen smile.
"I am going to kill him you know."
And he looks at her, eyes hard, the eyes of a warrior, "Not if I get there first."
The Games end the next day, long after Johanna and Finnick stumbled out of the bar into the flash of a tabloid reporter's camera, after she walked back to the training center lost in thought about the truth of Finnick's persona, after she realized that she was never going to be anything other than what she was now. There was no "better."
Dom is bringing his third victor home to District 2 and seems uncomplicatedly pleased, but Johanna finds herself wondering if it is just that everyone else is as good an actor as she is.
She is on edge, she wants to go home, to lose herself in the trees. Maybe then she will be able to cry. Maybe then she will stop feeling so hollow inside. But she has to stay and wait until the Capitol stitches its newest victor back together again and parades him out like the desperate prize pony he doesn't know he is.
She propels herself down to the training room, wrapping her hands in tape as she goes, not bothering to put a shirt on over her sports bra.
She feels slightly better after a couple hours with the punching bags.
She is sitting alone on the floor of the cavernous room, sweat spiking her short hair up in tufts, her dirty tape covered hand clutching a water bottle, when Finnick walks into the room, footsteps echoing in the emptiness.
"Been looking everywhere for you," he says when he is in front of her. "C'mon, clean yourself up, we're going out."
"Out," she says between breaths, raising an eyebrow at him. She wonders exactly when they started doing things together.
She extends a hand to him, and he grabs it, pulling her onto her feet.
"I take it you have to stick around for the banquet too?"
"I have a hot date," he says with his trademark smile.
They make their way back to her room, passing the empty rooms where the District 7 tributes had stayed, are going to stay.
"I see you did some redecorating," he says sitting on the bed after following her into the room.
"Huh?"
She is in the bathroom, stepping out of her shorts and wondering if she should be concerned about how frosted the glass door really is when she realizes that he means all the things that she destroyed.
"Oh, right, yeah. Some things needed to be… removed."
She rushes through her shower, uncomfortable that Finnick Odair is in her room. Not that she would ever let him know that.
She comes out wrapped in a towel to find Finnick lying flat on her bed, eyes closed, hands behind his head. She can't help staring at him a little. He really is beautiful, even in just a grey t-shirt and soft, dark blue pants tucked into his untied boots.
He opens his eyes to catch her looking at him, but she just gives him a look and says, "Really? You just put your boots on my bed? I sleep there you know."
"Oh, like you're afraid of getting dirty, Johanna."
"Screw you Pretty Boy. It's about the principle." But a little smile plays on her lips, and he doesn't move.
"Eyes closed at least," she says as she turns around, drops her towel, and pulls on tight black pants trimmed with leather and a loose white t-shirt. She turns around, scrubbing her hair with the towel, to find Finnick with his sea green eyes wide open.
He gives her a crooked grin as he swings his feet to the ground and stands.
"Ready?"
"Yeah. Perv."
She runs a quick hand through her hair and grabs the strip of leather with three smooth wood beads off of the dresser, wrapping it around her wrist.
Finnick looks questioningly at her.
"Token. Brother." She shrugs, and he nods.
"So, where are we going?" she asks him to push the thoughts that are coming out of her mind.
"Oh I thought I would show you around a little. Maybe do a little shopping. They have some beautiful things here you know. Beautiful furniture."
She knows that it's her "talent", but she hates how everyone in the country just knows things about her. She wonders when it is going to stop feeling strange.
So they walk around the Capitol, attracting more than a few admirers, mostly for Finnick. She watches him as his face changes almost imperceptibly, becoming smoother somehow, and his voice picks up the purring edge she remembers from television. He effortlessly flirts with the women and quite a few men who approach him, and he just as easily dodges their advances to send them on their way, not quite knowing what happened, but giddy nonetheless. She looks at him with new respect and understanding in her eyes.
They do go into a couple of the stores around the square, and it infuriates her anew, the wealth that is concentrated in the Capitol while the districts starve. She manages to keep herself to just a few nasty quips to the shopkeepers while Finnick smiles at them like she is an unruly child that is just so adorably willful. She wonders if she can slap him without attracting a Peacekeeper.
He keeps up a bright and steady banter while they wander the busy streets, telling her stories about District 4, Mags, Annie, his sister. Always happy, funny stories.
She keeps up with him even as she wonders what it is they are doing.
They keep walking away from the busy town center until other people get thinner and thinner on the ground and the stores and homes get shabbier. He looks around carefully, his talk finally slowing and quieting as he walks down an abandoned looking alley.
He slips into a dingy store, dragging her after him by her hand, and quickly walks though the whole thing, past a bored looking clerk who doesn't look up or in any way acknowledge their existence, out the back door, across another alley blocked from the main road by a fence, and into the basement of an unfinished building across the street.
"Finnick," Johanna hisses, "if you are trying to kill me and abandon my body in a decrepit building, I should probably let you know that I am kind of famous. Someone will probably figure it out. Also, I have been known to fight back."
Finnick just keeps his tight grip on her hand and fishes a tiny but very bright flashlight out of his pocket, illuminating the dark hallway.
"Come on, we're a little late."
"Late?" But she stumbles a little in the darkness as he pulls her along and has to hold back her questions to concentrate on walking.
He stops suddenly at one of the doors and she crashes into him.
"Finnick, what the hell are we doing he–" But she is stopped mid-question because the door swings open to reveal Haymitch sitting in the middle of the room in a pool of light, glass of white liquor in front of him.
"Uh huh," she says as she walks into the room, "as if this makes me feel better. If you guys are looking for some double team action, that is going to cost extra. And when did you start using a glass?" She pivots to face Haymitch.
"Special occasion." Haymitch says as he produces two more glasses out from somewhere and places them on the table.
"You're sure about this, right," Haymitch directs at Finnick, "because she seems like a pain in the ass."
"I'm sure," Finnick smiles as he pulls a chair up to the table and sits. "She grows on you."
"Right."
"Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on here?" Johanna is still standing, staring the two men down. "And why I have been dragged to the Rape Palace in order for it to happen?"
"Right," Haymitch starts, "well, the building isn't finished so there isn't any surveillance, which is the reason for this particular locale. As for the other question, Finnick and I have decided to include you in a little group that exists for like-minded individuals."
"Okay," she says slowly, but she sits in the chair that Haymitch kicks out for her, "and why exactly is that? You guys don't know anything about me. Why would I even want to?"
"Oh sweetheart," Haymitch laughs as he pours the three glasses full and places one in front of each of them, "I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. I am you."
And he throws back his glass in one long gulp before he starts talking.