Spoilers: Major spoilers up to early events in Catching Fire.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I promise I'm only borrowing them for a little while.
A/N: I've always enjoyed AUs were the rebellion never occurred and the Games continued, since, in some ways, it seems to put Katniss and Peeta in even more impossible situations than the rebellion did. For quite a while, I've wanted to explore what that might look like through another character's eyes, and the bits and pieces I'd had in mind finally worked into a full fic.
Warning: This is not a happy alternate future, and a number of disturbing topics are implied, in line with those mentioned in the canon universe, particularly in regard to how Finnick is treated by the Capitol. If you're sensitive to that, or sensitive to dark emotions, please have care before you read. I'd rather you didn't read it at all than be bothered by it. Thank you.
As always, I also thank my Lord Jesus Christ for his incredible mercy and grace and his many blessings. I would be utterly lost without him.
Masquerade
Heads turned the moment Finnick entered the room.
Of course they did. They always did.
He grinned back automatically, waving and winking at the ones who seemed like they'd have enough money to buy "time" with him.
Time.
That was the term some of his handlers used – lest they offend their own delicate sensibilities by calling it what it really was. Finnick didn't have the luxury of euphemisms the way they did, but it was easier, sometimes, to pretend, even in his own head.
Especially in his own head.
One of the nearby women giggled, so he blew a kiss to her. He'd learned long ago how important it was to win over his "admirers" from the beginning. It made things easier and gave him a little more influence over them. (Not much, of course, but anything was better than nothing.)
He kept the grin firmly in place as he walked farther into the room...into The Exchange, as it had come to be called, where prospective patrons could mingle with the Victors whose tributes they wanted to sponsor.
The Exchange itself looked like one of the high-end nightclubs that were so popular in the Capitol, with walls that were painted a bright, electric blue, paired with a reflective, black floor and gold furniture. The waiters and waitresses were dressed to match the décor, and they bustled from table to table, carrying drinks and appetizers to the seated guests.
It was busy tonight, about as busy as it got, but with the 85th Hunger Games just a couple days away, that wasn't a surprise.
Finnick continued on, walking past the first few tables and stopping to speak with the people there who'd had "time" with him before, pouring on the charm just in case they had him in their plans once again.
He didn't even have to think about it anymore.
He'd worn the same mask for twenty years, after all, and some days, it felt like it was fused to his skin, like he'd never be able to take it off because it was a part of him now. Those days were easier than the days when that mask felt paper thin, cracked and brittle, fractured and broken. When that happened, when he felt the mask slipping, it seemed like he was just a hair's breadth from offending the wrong person and losing the few, precious people he still had left in life.
This wasn't one of those nights, thankfully.
He reached Four's assigned booth a few minutes later and slid into his seat, still feeling a number of eyes following him as he went.
He'd hoped, once, that they would get bored of him eventually. But they hadn't yet, and he was almost in his mid-thirties – not that he looked it.
They would never let him look it, he knew.
A few years ago, there'd been an incident with a woman from Four whose daughter had been one of his tributes. Despite the training she'd gotten, and the promise she'd shown, the girl had died in the first hour of the Games. It happened sometimes. Skill didn't always translate into victory because sheer luck still had a say in the outcome. (The girl had tripped over a rock at the end of the bloodbath, and seeing an opportunity, the boy tribute from One had forgone the usual alliance and made an easy kill.)
Finnick had tried to explain that to the mother when he'd returned with the girl's silver coffin in tow, but she hadn't wanted to hear it. Instead, she'd blamed Finnick, claiming that her daughter had been enamored with him and that her "crush" was the only reason she had volunteered for the Games in the first place
Three months later, that woman had hidden at the train station with a bait knife and jumped him when he got home from one of his regular visits to the Capitol.
In the end, only his quick reflexes and some nearby peacekeepers had saved his life.
If he'd been anyone else, the attack would have left him with some nasty scars, including one near his right eye (that had been her first target). But he wasn't anyone else, and they'd sent him to the Capitol's best doctors immediately afterwards, working until the scars were nothing but a memory.
The Capitol wouldn't stand for anything else. Only they could break their toys.
An hysterical laugh threatened to bubble up in Finnick's throat at the thought, but he tamped it back down with the ease of long practice.
He let his eyes wander instead, trying to gauge the mood of the crowd and knowing it wouldn't be long before someone was sitting across from him, ready to talk sponsorship. He always had a good turnout at these things, though the numbers had dropped a little over the years. Popular though he was, he wasn't the only Capitol favorite anymore.
He'd shared that dubious honor with the "Star-Crossed Lovers" since they'd won the 74th.
His gaze flitted automatically to their booth a short distance across the room. They were there already, and a potential sponsor – a middle-aged woman with skin dyed a light shade of blue – was seated across from them.
Katniss was snuggled into Peeta's side, her head resting on his shoulder. He had his right arm wrapped around her waist, and his left hand was twined with hers on the table, allowing the gold wedding bands on their ring fingers to shine brightly, even in the relatively dim light of The Exchange.
Peeta said something, and Katniss laughed, then kissed him on the cheek. He turned to meet her, and the next kiss became something longer and more passionate, as though they'd forgotten that they had an audience. But of course they hadn't, and they prolonged the kiss even more when the woman across from them gave a heartfelt sigh at the romance of it all.
Finnick snorted softly.
The Star-Crossed Lovers had been playing the Game for over a decade now, and they'd learned how to play it well.
He hadn't bought into their love story in the arena, at least, not on the girl's part, and they'd certainly made a few, early missteps. But they'd adapted – out of necessity, he knew – and these days, they put on a convincing act...convincing enough that even Finnick sometimes wondered if real love had grown up between them, somewhere behind the grand gestures and declarations they often made in front of the cameras.
But he wasn't sure. He'd never been allowed to have much contact with them. After their Victory Tour, Snow had kept the Capitol's newest celebrities – and even their mentor – isolated, claiming that there had been threats made against them, supposedly from sore losers in District Two.
Those same "threats" had served as a handy excuse for tightening security in other areas, with Victors gradually being banned from communicating with each other outside of a few, extremely well monitored areas in the Capitol – all for their safety, of course.
Plutarch and the other Capitol rebels hadn't faced quite the same restrictions, but their access had been limited, and over time, it had forced their burgeoning rebellion farther underground. Any future progress had slowed to a crawl as well, since getting just the simplest message to the other members now took days or weeks.
So, despite Haymitch's continued involvement in their efforts – what little the older Victor could manage while under such close scrutiny – Finnick couldn't say that he really knew the Star-Crossed Lovers.
But some things...well, like any Victor, he could read between the lines.
Peeta had proposed to Katniss at the end of their Victory Tour, and President Snow had insisted on hosting a grand wedding at his mansion. After their lengthy honeymoon, they'd been offered a permanent residence in the Capitol. They'd graciously declined.
A few months later, Katniss's littlest cousin, Posy Hawthorn, died unexpectedly. The official cause of death – according to the Medical Examiner that the Capitol had generously provided – was food poisoning.
Katniss and Peeta had moved to the Capitol immediately after her funeral.
President Snow had expressed his condolences, along with his hopes that the happy couple would soon be blessed with a child of their own. Months passed, and no joyous news came.
Then Peeta Mellark's oldest brother died in an accident involving one of the ovens in the Mellark bakery.
A few months later, the Star-Crossed Lovers announced that they were expecting their first child.
They had a daughter.
Three years later, when the Capitol began clamoring for the adorable little girl to have a brother or sister, Katniss Everdeen's oldest cousin, Gale Hawthorn, was seriously injured in a mining accident. How fortunate, President Snow had said, that he wasn't killed. Mining was such a dangerous business.
Katniss and Peeta's son was born that next year.
At first, they had kept their children out of the public eye as much as possible. Then, Haymitch had almost broken his neck falling down a flight of stairs in his home when he'd "tripped."
The children had been seen far more often since then, joining their father on his weekly baking show and appearing with their mother every time she launched a new fashion line. Everyone in the Capitol agreed that they were delightful children, the perfect mix of their parents – one with blonde hair and gray eyes, the other with brown hair and blue eyes. Already, Finnick's clients tittered, it was plain to see that they've both inherited their father's silver tongue and their mother's blunt honesty.
It was the perfect storybook ending to their whirlwind romance…though no one ever let them forget that "happily ever after" might not last for long. Though they lived in the Capitol, both Katniss and Peeta retained their District Twelve citizenship, and by extension, so did their children. Both their son and their daughter would have to return to District Twelve for the Reaping when they were old enough, and there was already talk about how they'd fair in the Games if their names were drawn.
Finnick knew it was a matter of when not if.
The Victors from District Twelve were sure to lose at least one child – maybe even both children to the Games, if Snow could find a somewhat believable way to explain the "coincidence" of them both being Reaped. If one of them survived, either because they'd become a Victor or because they'd been the lucky one who hadn't been Reaped, that wouldn't be the end. No, given their status as an already beloved celebrity, that child would have to bend to the Capitol's whims, just like their parents, or risk putting their loved ones in danger.
It was enough to give Finnick a fresh set of nightmares, especially when he thought about the copper-haired, freckled, little boy Annie had dreamed of since they'd exchanged wedding vows in a small, hidden cove a few years ago, just the two of them.
On her worst days now, Annie believed that little boy was real.
He wasn't, even if Finnick longed for that future himself. But they were careful – very, very, very careful – because it was just too dangerous not to be. He shuddered to think of the ways they could be punished if their relationship ever became public knowledge. And a baby...any child of theirs would face the same fate as the children of the Star-Crossed Lovers.
(In his nightmares, Finnick saw that copper-haired, freckled little boy reaching up to grab a blood-stained, silver trident, an exact replica of his father's... Finnick always woke up in a cold sweat when he had that dream, and if he startled Annie too, then he would tell her that it was just a nightmare about his time in the Capitol so she wouldn't ask him too many questions. It would only make her feel guilty if she knew the truth. He'd let her run her fingers through his hair for a while, until she fell asleep again, but sleep never returned for him on those nights.)
Mercifully, Finnick was drawn from his thoughts when the blue-skinned woman who'd been at the District Twelve booth finally stood up, smiling and promising both Victors a large amount of money towards their tributes.
Katniss and Peeta thanked her profusely for her generosity, and another sponsor appeared – a man this time, with green hair and an abundance of gold jewelry.
They wasted no time picking up the act again, with Katniss feeding Peeta from the plate of food in front of them. Peeta paused between bites to kiss her fingers. It looked like something out of one of those ridiculous Capitol soap operas that some of Finnick's clients raved about, but the man clearly loved it, watching their every move with rapt attention.
It was a flawless act. Storybook perfection.
Until, just above he din of The Exchange, Finnick heard the man ask about their children.
As closely as the man was watching them, Finnick supposed it was still possible to miss it if you weren't looking for it: the tightening of Katniss and Peeta's expressions, the dimming of their smiles, the desperation hidden behind their carefully crafted masks...the same sort of desperation Finnick saw in the mirror every day.
That was oddly comforting somehow, Finnick thought.
It was comforting because something darker lurked behind that desperation. Something harder. Sharper.
The sound of footsteps made him turn as his first sponsor of the night arrived – a woman who was also a regular client. (She strolled up to the booth and sat down like she owned it. She may as well have. Finnick, too, for that matter, considering the money she'd spent on him over the years.)
Finnick glanced at the Star-Crossed Lovers once more, and this time, he saw the grief and the rage smoldering in their eyes.
He turned back to the woman in front of him and gave her his best smile.
Something that smoldered long enough was bound to ignite eventually.
He'd be ready when it did.
Fin
A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!
Take care and God bless!
Ani-maniac494 :)