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mrs-kmikaelson · 3 months ago

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Our Song and Dance⁶

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader, Katniss Everdeen x platonic!reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of forced prostitution, exploitation of minors, suicidal thoughts, war, violence, murder, mind games, religious references, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, and grief Words: 12.8K

Masterlist | Series Soundtrack

a/n: ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for! (greatest showman reference, not excluding my enbys y'all). here it is! this is the end! just for clarity, anything in present tense means r is thinking (as always), and there's an additional a/n at the bottom. love u guys!!

When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller. This wasn't your first time dwelling on that fact, but now you wondered if it'd be the last.

There was a saying your mother used to say, before your father died and she went mad. You reap what you sow. It was ironic how backwards it was in your life. First you were reaped, which then subsequently sowed the domino pieces to your fake life, all falling down to lead up to this moment.

Yes, backwards it was.

You'd barely gotten a wink of sleep before faraway booms were waking you up. You didn't flinch this time; you could tell they weren't close, but Finnick's hand on your shoulder still tightened, like he was reminding you that he was there if you so needed it.

"Mortal shells," Gale informed you, looking up at the basement's ceiling. "It's not ours. Peacekeepers must be shellin' the rebels outside of the city."

It surely didn't sound like it. Cressida must've came to the same conclusion because she soon piped up, "That's not outside the city."

Inside, then. They were inside the city.

That meant it was show time.

You separated yourself from Finnick without a word, going to prepare. In his mind, you must've just been so focused that you couldn't speak to him. In yours, it was that you were so unfocused that you wouldn't.

For the last eight years of your life, you'd been spinning stories with Finnick like there'd be no tomorrow, and now that was about to become a reality. That's why you couldn't speak to him. This was the last chapter, the last dance before the song came to a stop.

So you got ready, screwing arrowheads onto their shafts and strapping yourself with guns, moving slowly as if you were frozen in time with knowledge no one else had.

This was the end of your story.

This was the end of the song.

Music beat loudly in your ears, but it was quieted by the sound of beeping. Your eyes were drawn to a black box on the table in the corner, similar to the one you once watched Finnick from, now projecting a mandatory viewing. There was no fanfare this time, as if Snow was now realizing that there was no need to sugarcoat what was happening.

The rebels had already invaded the Capitol. If its citizen's didn't know the severity of the situation before, they sure did now.

Finnick lightly snorted behind you as Snow's face came onscreen, making you resist the urge to swat him and laugh. You wouldn't have been laughing at Snow, though—you were much too angry for that—just at the boy who still found the courage to laugh in such terrible times.

You'd miss that.

Snow began speaking right away. "To all Capitol citizens more than a half mile outside the city circle, I am announcing a mandatory evacuation." Your brows knitted together. What? A quick glance at Katniss told you that she was just as confused. "Come to my home," he beckoned. "I am promising you shelter and sanctuary. All refugees... come to my home. There, you will be provided with food, medicine, safety for your children... and you will have my solemn oath to protect you until my dying breath."

Cressida made a sarcastic quip that you didn't hear, like your head was underwater.

This doesn't feel right.

"Our enemy is not like us," he continued. "They do not share our values. They have never known our comfort and our sophistication."

Somewhere in all the muffledness you heard Finnick mutter, "No shit," but it barely registered. Your eyes were trained on the image as if it'd unravel and reveal something to you. You didn't know what there even was to reveal—everything was laid out in the open now.

So then why do I feel like something's hiding in plain sight?

"And they despise us for it. Make no mistake." Snow's voice was filled with certainty and a spite so sharp it could cut through flesh. "They are not coming to liberate us. They are coming to destroy our way of life. They are coming... to bury us." He put emphasis on his last words before the stream ended, his image cutting out with a flash.

What an interesting choice of words he used. Bury them. The people in 4 had been buried underneath rubble, so much so that you couldn't bury your own mother.

Katniss cut off your thoughts. "Is he still in the mansion?" You turned toward her, seeing her eyes already on you.

You had to clear your throat before you replied, "Yeah." You'd been in that God-awful room enough times to recognize it, even in your dreams.

She nodded absentmindedly. "Okay, where's that?"

Pointing to a map she pulled out, Cressida answered, "About five blocks away. We're right here, off the avenues." She pointed to another far-off spot. "Mansion's here."

You crossed your arms. That was a long distance. "What about the pods?" you questioned.

Cressida motioned to another part of the map. "Well, they'll probably deactivate the pods around here for the residents' safety."

"That could work." Katniss looked up at you, that same fire shining in her eyes that reminded you of her nickname. "We could get close enough."

That was the problem. You could get close enough—you could really do it.

But that felt too easy.

You didn't voice your doubts; Gale did. "Every Peacekeeper's gonna be waiting."

"Next to our faces on every billboard," Cressida cut in.

You shrugged. "Well, Snow's offering shelter to all the refugees." You could feel everyone's eyes dart to you, but you kept yours on Katniss. She understood your message right away. This was your shot.

You had to take it.

The two of you were in agreement and that's all that mattered. Nobody was going to stop you.

Katniss got up, and then after grabbing the last of your weapons, you were heading upstairs.

One shot. You had one shot.

The extravagancy of Tigris' shop was lost upon you as you threw on a large coat, listening to Cressida's directions. There would be thousands of refugees; all you had to do was join them and keep your head low.

She wished you good luck, and then you found yourself hugging this girl you'd barely known for more than a few days. But she gave you trust when you needed it, and you wouldn't ever forget it.

You knew you weren't gonna see any of these people ever again, so you might as well say goodbye.

You were halfway through thanking Tigris when Peeta's voice suddenly sounded. "Katniss, let me come with you, okay?" You saw her face fall out of the corner of your eye.

He wasn't asking; he was begging.

"I can be a good distraction. They- they know my face—"

She firmly cut him off. "No, I'm not losing you again."

"What if Peacekeepers are searching the houses?"��Gale spoke up. Whether it was out of spite or concern, you couldn't tell. "And if he's captured—"

He barely got to finish his sentence before Peeta was hurriedly interrupting him. "Then give me a nightlock pill, okay? I'm not going back."

You inhaled a sharp breath. Unconsciously, your hand went to the side pocket you'd tucked your pill in. Peeta's words had reignited a fear in you that you thought you'd expelled, bringing back memories you didn't want to have at that specific moment.

Please- please, I don't want to play anymore.

You didn't know you had closed your eyes until you reopened them to Gale handing Peeta his nightlock pill. Katniss went to unlock his cuffs, and that's when you looked away, getting the feeling you were intruding on something private.

Instead your eyes went to the very person you were avoiding. You met Finnick's blue eyes easily. Pretty blue eyes the colour of the ocean, your favourite colour.

Your favourite person.

A smile crept onto your face without your knowing. This was exactly why you were supposed to be avoiding him, but as you watched your best friend with the boy she loved, disregarding everything just to say goodbye, you couldn't help but want to do the same. You knew you already said goodbye to him, but you were already running out of time; why waste what little of it you had left?

One last time, you told yourself, just one last time to drown in his ocean.

You made your way over to him across the room, and before you could even get a word out, he said, "I want to come with you, too." You opened your mouth to protest— "But I'm not gonna ask you to."

You furrowed your brows. "Wha—"

Finnick lazily draped an arm over your shoulder, yet at the same time there was nothing lazy about the action at all. That, coupled with him brushing strands of hair out of your face, made you go silent. He was quiet, too, just staring at you.

The way he was looking at you reminded you of the way he examined his surroundings in the Quell, trying to remember where everything was.

It was like he was trying to commit your face to memory.

After a moment, he explained, "I know you won't let me." Of course, you wouldn't.

You weren't gonna let him watch you die.

You sighed, "I'm sorry—"

With his voice as soft as silk, he chided, "Don't be sorry." His lips quirked upward while he caressed your hair. "Just come back to me in one piece so we can have that talk?"

You tried your best to reciprocate his smile. "I will." Liar.

Terrified that he'd see through your façade, you pulled him in, wounding your arms around him tightly. He held you just as tight. Only when your face was no longer in his view did you screw your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

You'd stay like this forever if you could.

But you couldn't.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, which meant your time was up. You had to go now.

Slowly, you unwrapped your arms from Finnick's body, wanting to hold onto him for as long you could. By the time you fully let go, you felt like something was missing. And there was.

Finnick Odair would always hold your heart in his hands.

You flashed him one last smile before you turned around. You wouldn't say you loved him before you left, and perhaps you'd regret that, but if you heard him say it back, you didn't know if you'd have the willpower to leave.

Déjà vu crashed into you like a tidal wave. You lived this moment before, saying goodbye then turning your back and walking away.

I'll see you at midnight?

Yeah, I'll see you at midnight.

You didn't see him at midnight. But you came back. It wasn't the same you that came back, but you did, eventually.

You came back before.

This time, you wouldn't.

You and Katniss set off, finding the crowd immediately. It was a sea of people, impossible to miss. You joined them easily; if you were tentative, you'd get caught, so you had to march with them like you belonged.

There were dozens of Peacekeepers lining the sides of the path. When you glanced up, you found even more on the balconies of buildings, which quickly made you duck your head back down.

If you so much as removed your hood, they could identify you. And you refused to die before Snow did first.

The two of you were silent as you moved forward. There was that feeling in your chest again, the feeling that you were supposed to be saying something, but if anybody recognized your voice, you'd both be as good as dead. Katniss must've felt that pressure, too, but she didn't speak up about it, either.

On a whim, you glanced up ahead of you. You immediately regretted it when a child's eyes locked on yours.

Shit.

She was clutching onto a woman's shoulder—her mother's, you assumed. You prayed that she was too young to recognize you or too tired to make the connection, but then her head lifted up and you knew it didn't matter.

She recognized you.

You glanced away from the kid before looking back. Her gaze didn't move but neither did her mouth.

She recognized you, but she wasn't going to say anything.

You were about to breathe a sigh of relief before Katniss tapped your arm, motioning ahead. Your eyes travelled to where she was gesturing, and you could've sworn your heart stopped.

Peacekeepers.

They were checking people. You wouldn't get past them and you both knew it, so you swiftly turned around without another word. Except they were behind you, too, sweeping through the crowd.

Fuck.

You turned forward again, your heart and your mind racing in tandem to find a way out of this. You don't know what you could've possibly come up with.

You don't even think you were breathing.

Your fingers were inching their way to the gun on your hip just as a hand went to your shoulder. But before either of you could do anything, a loud boom sounded, sending you to the ground.

People were shouting everywhere all at once, mixing in with the music so you couldn't hear a thing. Your ears rang but you could still hear someone bellow, "It's the rebels!"

You glanced backward, and their yell was proven correct. A mob of rebels marched forward in a line, shooting at every guard in white they saw.

Another explosion reverberated through the battlefield, making you cup your ears. You couldn't hold back the pained cry that left you.

You looked forward, your eyes finding the same little girl from earlier, her yellow coat now tainted with dirt. She was kneeling above her mother's body, screaming. Tears sparked in your eyes.

That girl's mother was dead.

But you couldn't end up like her.

Quickly, you gathered your bearing, ushering Katniss up. "Come on!" She was stagnant, but as soon as you pulled her up, she was back from wherever she'd gone to. And then the two of you were running.

You jumped behind a barricade, only stopping momentarily. There was a Peacekeeper lying on the ground in front of you. Good, you thought. You could use his gun.

You untangled the rifle from his hands, kicking him down when he started moving. Then you were running forward again.

You ran like never before, stopping only to check that Katniss was still with you. Explosions went off on your way, shaking the ground. Some were too close, but you kept running.

Whether it was your sheer will or the adrenaline pumping through your body, you couldn't stop, not when you were so close. The gate was in your view now. You pushed through the crowd, not caring if your hood fell off in the process. There was too much chaos for anyone to notice.

The people were restless, a robotic voice trying and failing to pacify them. You were so busy climbing up a tank, trying to get a better a look at the palace, that you barely caught it. The gates will open momentarily, it was saying. The children will be received first. Stay calm. Bring your children forward.

That... that didn't sound right.

No, it did. It did sound right. It was right to bring the children forward first.

And that's exactly why it sounded wrong.

President Snow had never cared about children—why would he start now? It was puzzling; it didn't make any sense. But you couldn't make sense of it. You're forgetting why you're here, Y/N.

You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back to your objectives and not watch as the Peacekeepers lifted children from their parents' arms, but then something else caught your attention.

Whirring.

Your eyes shot to the sky where there was a lone hovercraft flying, Panem's emblem painted onto the wings. Not one of yours.

The hovercraft flew by. You don't know what you could've possibly expected, but you certainly didn't expect for it to drop parachutes in its wake.

"Gifts from the Capitol!" someone cheered.

The pit in your stomach returned, no matter how hard you'd just tried to get rid of it. The parachutes fell like they were in slow motion. You couldn't tell if they were truly moving so slowly or if was just you.

The world seemed to stop. The dance seemed to stop. And then everything clicked.

But you were too late.

Your eyes widened. "No—"

BOOM.

You were thrown through the air, landing somewhere hard. The wind was knocked out of you. At first, you were choking on nothing until you finally gained the ability to wheeze. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

This time, you couldn't hear anything. No screams, no more shooting. No more music at all.

The music came to a screeching halt. The record didn't skip. It just stopped.

It occurred to you then that the fucking needle must've just scratched the vinyl, because the music restarted. But it wasn't the same.

You shot upward, coughing your lungs away and waving dust out of your face. You stumbled as you got up—that was a misstep.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing—

Katniss.

Where's Katniss?

Frantically, your eyes darted everywhere. She wasn't beside you. She wasn't in front of you. You spun around, dancing, and she wasn't behind you either.

You wanted to scream her name, but you didn't. She's fine, you reassured yourself. She had to be fine—she was right next to you when the bombs went off. You just had to find her.

Your eyes scanned the scene in front of you, just now really looking at it. Bodies littered the ground, medics and Peacekeepers alike rushing to the wounded. So many wounded. You'd never seen so many bodies in one place.

You looked for a woman in a blue cloak among them. You didn't find her. But you did find someone else that was oddly familiar.

A blonde. A young blonde in a medic's uniform.

You know, I used to be jealous of you.

Jealous of me?

No, that couldn't be—

You have a family that really loves you, that beautiful sister of yours.

You blinked as if it'd make her disappear, but when you opened your eyes, she was still there, not a figment of your imagination at all. She was there.

And then she wasn't.

You had just opened your mouth, but the words died in your throat. "Prim—"

It all happened faster than you could register it.

You saw the flames first. Light travelled faster than sound. Then you heard it—the explosion. And then you felt it. You felt it more forcefully than any of the other ones, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then you felt nothing.

The last time you awoke in the Capitol, you could feel that something bad was about to happen to you. Dread flowed through your veins like it was blood, infecting every part of you. It was as if a dark cloud hung over your head, a voice in your ear telling you to keep your eyes closed for as long as you could, to enjoy the rest while you still had it.

This time, your eyes fluttered open on their own accord. Your eyelids weren't as heavy. Your body wasn't as sore. But there was a still a weight on your chest.

The dread was still there.

Then the memories flooded back to you.

Bombs. And Primrose Everdeen.

No. You had to have been hallucinating.

With that thought, you blinked, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings. The lights were fluorescent, but they weren't blinding like typical hospital lights—and there was an incessant beeping noise, but it wasn't very loud. You gathered that this wasn't a hospital room; it was more like a triage centre.

There was a shuffling to your right that you directed your attention to. It was a blonde woman tending to a sleeping brunette's wounds. You blinked again, and then you realized that brunette was Katniss.

You let out a sigh of relief. She was okay.

Your eyes then immediately flickered to the other presence in the room. Haymitch stood between yours and Katniss' beds. He was already looking at you.

You didn't greet him; the two of you were past that. "Is it—"

"Yes." He seemed to understand without any explanation. Your eyes fell shut for a moment then, taking it in, and he let you.

The war was over.

You won.

But this didn't feel like winning.

When you opened your eyes, Haymitch seemed to already know what you were thinking. That's what you liked about him: no nonsense, no bullshit, no trying to sugarcoat something that was so clearly sour. Just straight to the point.

"It was over after the Capitol dropped those bombs to defend the Palace. Rebels took it right after." He paused, eyes glossing over with a look you knew all too well. "Everybody felt it—Peacekeepers, Palace guards... kids. It was, uh... it was over after that."

You could remember that. The children reaching up in the air, trying to grab what they thought were gifts from their beloved Capitol. Bombs exploded in their faces. You wondered if they were strong enough to kill on impact.

You hoped they were.

Children crying for their parents. Parents crying for their children. All of the sounds melded together eventually.

But you won. You won, didn't you?

Didn't you?

He changed topics. You think it was too hard for him to talk about, too, and that was almost absurd. You never thought you'd see the day that Haymitch Abernathy shied away from anything, yet here you were.

"Your injuries are minor," he told you. "Damage is superficial. You got off unscathed." Did you? "They wanted to take you right to the Palace, but I figured you'd want to change your own clothes."

He said it casually, but the implication was there. That made you crack a smile, or at least the best smile you could give. "Thanks, H."

He nodded in acknowledgement but otherwise didn't mention it. The victors didn't talk about those sorts of things, not up until recently. You knew what happened to him, to his family, his girlfriend. And he always knew what was happening to you, but it was never spoken out loud. The things that happened in the dark were never meant to be brought under the spotlight.

So Finnick brought out the sun. And now, every secret, every body, and every monster under the bed was out in the open for everyone to see.

You just never thought the sun would burn so much.

Your gaze travelled over to the blonde woman, still at work, applying some type of ointment to Katniss' neck. She hadn't said a word.

You suddenly realized that you were staring at Carine Everdeen.

You looked back to Haymitch, then Carine, then back at him, a question lying silently in your eyes. You opened your mouth, but you didn't need to. Haymitch just nodded, a solemn countenance overtaking his face. At his confirmation, you felt yourself physically deflate.

You weren't hallucinating.

Prim was dead.

You sat there with that information for a bit, unknowing of what to do with it. Katniss' innocent little sister was dead, caught in the crossfire of a fight she should've never had to live through.

Katniss only ever volunteered to spare her sister.

And now she was dead, anyway.

She deserved to be acknowledged. You didn't know what to say, but she deserved the effort. Prim deserved the world.

Your voice was just barely above a whisper, hoarse from either the lack of use or remorse, perhaps both. "Mrs. Everdeen?"

Her hands paused mid-movement. She slowly turned around to look at you. Only, she wasn't looking at you. She wasn't really there.

You could count the number of times you spoke to Carine on one hand. It'd only ever been in passing, a hello here and there. She wasn't close with Katniss, therefore, she wasn't close with you. But right now, it didn't matter how close you were at all.

Somehow, everyone felt so faraway.

You swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

She was silent, but you could see every word she wasn't speaking in her eyes. Sadness, regret, anger, devastation. Grief. For a second, you could see her come back, but she was gone just as quickly as she reappeared.

"Me, too."

The ride from the triage centre to the Palace was all a blur. Somewhere in between everything, you got dressed into your own clothes, not the ones from 13. You briefly wondered how they got ahold of them.

Katniss was still there, sleeping. Maybe she woke up by now. You just needed to get out of there. Haymitch had told you that Finnick was en route, and you asked him to help you get out before he got there, to just tell him that they'd taken you to the Palace right away like they originally planned.

You didn't know why you did that, but you just knew you couldn't talk to him. Not yet.

They gave you a random room then left you there after you asked them to. You were sure they weren't supposed to do that, probably on Coin's orders, but the glare you sent them must've been real bad because they went scurrying out like mice.

You exhaled when they closed the door, finally alone. For a second, you felt like you could breathe again. And then you caught a glimpse of the bed and it was back to feeling like you were suffocating.

Crimson red sheets, gold accents. A ginormous velvet head board. A huge comforter that would likely warm you up— God, you were still so cold.

But you'd lied on a bed just like that before. And you were just as cold then, even with the warm body lying right next to you.

You cupped your mouth, knees buckling, but your other trembling hand grasped onto the chair right in front of you. You held onto that crest for dear life, simultaneously holding back a sob.

Calm down, Y/N. Just stop.

You were trying— you were fucking trying. But then your eyes zeroed in on items on the table in front of you. They blended in with the rest of the extravagant decor of this room, but once you saw them, it was all you could see.

A crown.

And a vase of fucking roses.

You screamed, letting go of the chair and throwing the vase the ground, not caring if any of the shards hit you. The crown was next. Then you were tumbling down to the ground, too.

The dam in your eyes broke, tears flooding down your cheeks with no sign of stopping. Sobs wracked through your body.

It hurt. It fucking hurt. Not your legs. Not your back. Not your ears. Your heart. You clawed at your chest relentlessly, pleading for the pain to go away.

"Please," you cried. "Please make it stop." You don't know who you were crying to. You hadn't prayed in ages— you didn't even know what you believed in anymore. All you knew was that you were on your knees, begging for any God to listen.

But nobody answered.

You might've sat on the floor of that room for hours—you truly didn't know. You cried until you didn't have tears anymore, until you were numb. You just sat there after that, staring at the ground, at the crown you threw.

So much power that a single object had over you. It was a mask. A contract. A lie. A trick painted in gold. Your legacy.

It was your fucking poison.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they said.

They didn't know the half of it.

After a while, you got sick of staring at it, forcing yourself up and immediately turning to the door. You were exhausted, sure, and you'd sleep eventually, but not on that bed.

You turned the knob on the door and shut it behind you, knowing it was unlikely that you'd return to it. You made your way through the Palace like it was second nature; you knew this place well. Dozens of parties and faux appearances would do that to you.

The Palace only held poor memories for you. Here, your life as a marionette began, and you hadn't known anything different since. What person would want to stay in a place like that, a place that symbolized the moment their life changed forever?

Getting reaped might've been when your life went downhill, but your life became Snow's the second you stepped into his home.

You found yourself pulling the French doors to the backyard open, wanting to feel a cold that didn't come from your own body. The ground was covered in a blanket of white that crunched beneath your feet. Only a thin jacket protected you from the air sharply licking your skin, but you welcomed the feeling.

You didn't know what you were doing, but when you saw two men guarding the Rose Garden, you couldn't help but be pulled to it, like you still had strings attached to your limbs.

You were just reaching the doors when one of the guards stepped in front of them, his hand out. "Sorry, Princess. Can't let you pass."

His statement caused you to intake a deep breath, whether it was from the actual statement itself or the name that so happened to spill from his lips. You had half a mind to argue with him—you weren't sure if you were in your right mind at all—until a familiar voice ordered, "Let her in."

You turned your head, seeing Paylor stood on the steps you had just walked down.

If you were in a better state of mind, you might've smiled.

"On my authority. She has a right to anything behind that door."

You didn't smile, but you settled for a nod. You weren't sure if your eyes translated correctly, but when she nodded back, you knew she received your message.

You weren't just thanking her for this.

Without another thought, you turned back to the garden. The guards opened the glass doors for you, letting you in. Immediately, your nostrils were flooded with the rich scent of earth. Green plants and bushes were everywhere, the most vibrant colour of green you'd ever seen in your life. You wondered if light hit differently in the Capitol, allowing people to see colours you didn't have back home.

Then you thought back to how people here had ignored the black tendrils engulfing the city for so long, and you realized that: yes, light must have hit differently here. It was impossible to ignore the darkness otherwise.

White roses were everywhere. It made you sick, but you stopped the bile from rising. There were so many. You used to wonder why Snow seemed so obsessed with flowers, why he wore them on his person at all times, but you supposed it was no secret anymore.

Help cover the scent of blood from sores in his mouth that will never heal.

Your eyes were trained on one of the roses when a voice cut through your daze. "That's a nice one."

Instantly, every part of your body stiffened, but you ignored every instinct screaming at you to spin around. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

"The colours are lovely, of course. But nothing says perfection like white."

Your jaw locked, and you made good effort to relax it before you turned around. Seeing him there with that smile on his face nearly made you crumble, but you stood tall, echoing, "Ironic, isn't it? How a man so tainted tries to fool the world with an illusion of purity."

His grin only widened. "I was hoping you would find your way here. I knew you would." You wanted to slap the grin off his face and strangle him until the smugness in his voice disappeared. Your hands clenched by your sides, and judging by the way his eyes twinkled, he saw.

He sat down on a ledge, musing, "You always were my greatest achievement."

The words were being spat from your mouth before you could stop them. "I am not your anything."

He tilted his head just ever so slightly, staring at you with pools of condescension as if telling you that wasn't true. It wasn't true, and he knew you knew it.

"I have a feeling your visit will be brief, so let's not waste our time, shall we?" You hated the way the word our rolled off his tongue, but you didn't show it on your face.

Snow cut himself off with a cough, bringing his handkerchief to his mouth. When he lowered it, it was spotted in blood. "Please offer my condolences to Ms. Everdeen about her sister." He tutted to himself. "So wasteful. So unnecessary."

You scoffed a humourless chuckle. "Really?"

"Why, yes, dear," he replied, shaking his head for effect. "Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue an official surrender when they released those parachutes."

A scowl crawled onto your face. "What the hell are you on about? You released those parachutes."

"You really think I gave the order?" He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes peering into your soul. You didn't once look away. "We both know I'm not above killing children. But I am not wasteful." He stressed the word like it was disgraceful to him. "I take life for... specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children— none at all—"

He was cut off by another cough. It did little to disturb you; you were already disgusted from the moment he began talking. Every word he spoke was careful and calculated. Listening to him explain his rhyme and reason wasn't something you were interested in. What reason could he possibly have for what he'd done?

He took the lives of everyone he met. Every person you cared about had fallen victim to his schemes. Katniss. Johanna. Peeta. Finnick. He took your mother's life— he took your life.

There was nothing he could say to ever make you understand his perspective.

Once he stopped coughing and looked back up at you, the smile was right back on his face like it never left. "I must concede, it was a masterful move on Coin's part," he admitted. The second he uttered Coin's name, you tensed even more than you thought possible. Humour laced through his voice. "The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children to hold back the rebels... it turned the last of my guards against me. There was no resistance left inside the Capitol or the mansion." He leaned forward again, like he was letting you in on a little secret. "Do you know it aired live? There's a... particular savvy in that, isn't there?"

You were afraid that, if he kept talking, you wouldn't be able to hold back the bile in your throat. He's crazy. This was Coriolanus Snow, a man who rose to the top by knocking down anything or anyone that stood in his way. You couldn't trust a word that came out of his mouth.

Yet you were still compelled to listen to him.

The moment you met Coin flashed behind your eyes as you blinked. You felt the sensation of shaking her hand all over again. Every encounter you ever had with her ran through your mind.

You thought back to when you were in 2 and her and Commander Lyme disagreed.

You've been underground a long time, Madam Coin. This isn't like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.

Then there is no sacrifice too great.

Snow pulled you out of your trance. "I'm sure she wasn't gunning for that Everdeen girl, but... these things happen in war." It was as if he could see the gears in your head spinning out of control.

Spinning, spinning, spinning—

"My failure was in being so slow to grasp Coin's plan," he proclaimed. "She let the Capitol and the districts destroy one another, then she stepped in to take power with 13's arsenal. Oh, make no mistake." He chuckled. "She intends to take my place now."

Your skin was crawling. You felt the urge to rip it off.

Something about his smile became more harrowing, like he was placing down his final piece on the chess board. "But I've been watching you. And you watching me." You dug your nails into your skin. "I'm afraid we've both been played for fools."

No.

"You're lying." You didn't even sound convincing to yourself.

He tutted once more. "Y/N, my dear, I may have done many things, but have I ever once lied to you?"

You were gonna be sick. You turned around before he could see the tears gathering in your eyes.

This was over.

You went for the door, but just as you were about to knock on it and alert the guards, Snow stopped you in your tracks. "I see so much of myself in you, Y/N."

You felt your lips tremble, but not a single tear raced down your cheek. You didn't allow it.

Slowly, you turned around, your voice quiet but firm. "I am nothing like you," you avowed—to him and to yourself.

You didn't spend another second wasting your time looking at him, going to knock on the door as he broke into a fit of coughing. That coughing transformed into laughter.

Snow laughed maniacally as you left the garden and didn't stop. You could hear him laughing as you powered through his backyard, echoing in the empty space.

And even when you were back inside the Palace, his laugh still followed you.

You found a random hallway in the mansion, the first one that didn't remind you of anything, and you immediately went to the wall closest to you, leaning your forehead against it and inhaling a shaky breath.

Get your shit together, you scolded.

You already broke down once today. You didn't deserve another breakdown— no, you couldn't afford another breakdown. You needed time to think.

Did you believe Snow? Was this just his last way of fucking with you before he died, trying to get the last laugh by absolving himself of the blame? He had to know that he'd reached the end of the line, that he'd be dying at your hands.

He lost, and you won. The war was over—all that was left to do was kill him.

Katniss' voice suddenly rang through your head. This isn't right, she'd said, mourning the possibility of innocent life being lost before it even happened. You remembered your response to that, too.

It's fire catching, Everdeen.

A shiver ran through your body. Was this what fire catching looked like? Children dying. Hundreds of people with their lives forever altered—hundreds of people injured or killed by those bombs going off. Fire caught onto them.

This didn't feel like a win. Mulling over Snow's accusations in your head, it all made sense. There were no victors in an arena. You deluded yourself into thinking this was anything other than a game while Coin was playing her winning card.

You remembered what it was like in the arena, surviving off of ruthlessness, uncaring of what'd happen to anyone else as long as it meant you got to win.

But this wasn't meant to be a game.

I see so much of myself in you, Y/N.

You didn't want to be like that anymore. You didn't want to play anymore.

"Y/N?"

You turned around, being met with the Girl on Fire standing across from you on the other side of the hallway. That was the name Caesar gave her from her first Tribute Parade, but you no longer found it appropriate.

The Girl on Fire was the girl who volunteered in place of her sister.

The woman that stood in front of you now had her sister killed by the very thing that once defined her.

You made it a point to never call her that again.

Katniss Everdeen was her name. She was The Mockingjay. And somehow, she became your best friend. So then and there, as you stared at one another, you knew that you had to tell her what Snow said, regardless of what you believed.

Softly, you told her, "We have to talk."

Yet no matter how soft your voice was, you don't think anything could have ever softened the blow.

Katniss took you to her room, and there, you told her everything. When you were done explaining, she looked so empty but so full of so many emotions at the same time.

Do you believe it? she asked you.

I don't know, you responded. I don't know.

You sat there with her and gave her time to absorb it, not saying another word. The two of you sat there in silence until Gale came and fetched you, saying that Coin wanted to speak with you both.

You got up and left the room but closed the door on your way out. She wanted to talk to him—she needed to.

You were there waiting for her when she was done, and you pretended you didn't watch Gale leave the room with tears in his eyes.

Side by side, you walked to Snow's cabinet room with you leading the way. No one told you it'd be there, but you had a strong suspicion that that'd be Coin's choice. When you found two armed guards in front of the double doors, you were proven correct—and you didn't know why that unnverved you so much.

About 20 feet away from the doors, you held your arm out in front of Katniss, effectively stopping her. You had sat in silence with her for who knew how long, but now was one of those moments when you felt like you had to say something, and you were gonna take it before you got within earshot of those guards.

You stepped in front of her slightly so you could look at her, and for a moment, you lost your footing. It wasn't like you saw Katniss anything other than indifferent often, but this look struck you to the core.

Perhaps it was the thin line of her lips. Maybe it was the emptiness in her eyes, no emotion in sight. Or maybe it was how you felt like you were staring into a mirror.

But she deserved so much better than being you.

Katniss Everdeen deserved the justice you never had.

You didn't know how to say all of this, nor did you know if she was in the headspace to listen, so you made sure she was looking at you when you spoke. "Do what you have to do," you whispered.

She stared at you for a few seconds, empty, but in all the darkness of her eyes you could see a faint light shine. Clarity.

She understood.

She gave you a small nod, and then you were moving out of the way, finishing your walk to the conference room. You might've been vague, but you knew your point was received. Whatever she wanted to do from this point forward, you'd stand by it.

The ball was in her court now.

The men in front of the doors gave you short nods of acknowledgement before stoically opening the doors. When they did, you weren't met only with Coin. This was a room full of victors.

And even though you suspected they hadn't been chatty before you entered, they were now radio silent.

Your eyes immediately locked with Finnick's, and you would've exhaled if you weren't under the microscope. He's okay. He's okay, and you knew that already, Y/N. You knew he was okay, but being told that wasn't the same as seeing him in person.

You didn't think you'd get to see those blue eyes again.

But you were.

Finnick flashed you a soft smile. It wasn't his classic Finnick smile, the one he'd throw at cameras and crowds. He was visibly exhausted, but he still found it in himself to smile at you.

It was the least you could do to smile back, even if it wasn't as dazzling as his.

"What's this?" the brunette beside you questioned, knocking you out of your trance. Her voice was cold and detached, but you noticed something now that wasn't there before. Deep underneath that ice was red, hot anger.

From Coin's response, you doubted she caught it. "The remaining victors." She gestured to the table. "Won't you join us?" Behind her, Johanna held out her arms, too, a mocking smile on her face that would've made you laugh if you weren't so tired.

You followed Katniss' lead, taking the last two seats at the table while also taking a cursory glance of the room. Beetee, Enobaria, Haymitch, Johanna, Finnick, Peeta, and Annie. You frowned. She was supposed to be on her honeymoon, not back in the Capitol—probably never back in the Capitol. But she glanced at you and you smiled, anyway.

"I have invited you all here for several reasons, but first, I have an announcement." Both Coin's words and her tone of made you look back at her, but then something else caught your attention.

Even under the glare of all the chandeliers in the room, you could still see the glint in her eye.

"I have taken the burden and the honour of declaring myself interim President of Panem."

Oh, you could've laughed. Even though there wasn't a single thing funny about it.

You settled for narrowing your eyes; meanwhile, Haymitch scoffed. "Interim? Exactly how long is that interim?"

Coin's hands remained clasped on the table, and she didn't flinch. "We have no way of knowing for certain. But it's clear that the people are far too emotional right now to make a rational decision." Her voice was calm and collected, if not condescending. "We'll plan an election when the time is right."

You hummed, and even though she undoubtedly heard you, she ignored it.

"But I have called you here for a far more important vote." She finally look her hands off the table, leaning back. "A symbolic vote."

Everyone in this room is a symbol in some way, you thought, but you held your tongue. Symbols didn't mean much to people who had been turned into nothing more than just that, but the thought must've escaped her.

"This afternoon, we will execute Snow. Hundreds of his accomplices also await their deaths. Capitol officials, Peacekeepers, torturers, Gamemakers. But the danger is, once we begin, the rebels will not stop calling for retribution." Dread crept into your stomach. Whatever she was going to propose, you wouldn't like it. "Thirst for blood is a difficult urge to satisfy. So... I offer an alternative plan. Majority of five may approve it— no one may abstain." She gave you a pointed glance. "The proposal is this. In lieu of these barbaric executions, we hold a symbolic Hunger Games."

Somehow, the room got quieter.

You fought to keep your face impassive—though, you were unknowing if you succeeded. You could only hope that the years of pretending paid off.

In lieu? What the hell did that mean? She wanted to spare a horde of evil people in exchange for the lives of innocents? That didn't make any sense.

But then you realized, powerful people. It'd be sparing powerful people.

Johanna broke the silence with a laugh. It bounced off the decorated walls like rubber. "You wanna have another Hunger Games with— the Capitol's children?"

Peeta monotoned, "You're joking."

"Not in the slightest," Coin responded.

You glanced at Katniss. She was mute, just staring staring straight at Coin. They all might've thought she was in shock, grieving, but you knew the truth.

It was all falling into place for her.

Finnick let out a scoff. "Is this Plutarch's idea?"

If you didn't know any better, you would've thought the look on Coin's face was offense and not pride. "It was mine." There was another scoff in the room, probably from Haymitch that time. "It balances the need for revenge... with the least loss of human life."

The least loss of valuable of human life.

"You may cast your votes—"

"No," Peeta cut her off immediately, voting first. "No, obviously not. This is crazy."

"I think it's more than fair," Jo chimed in. "Snow's got a granddaugter. I say yes." You didn't judge her for that answer, even if you didn't agree with it. All of you had felt pain at the hands of the Capitol, but you couldn't possibly imagine condemning anyone else to the same fate.

Capitol children or not, they were still children. They weren't symbols; they were human. And you refused to join any line of thinking that said otherwise.

"So do I," Enobaria said, her red lips curving into a smile that made you remember when those lips were once coated in blood. "Let them have a taste of it."

"You guys, this way of thinking is what started these uprisings." Peeta's voice was incredulous.

Annie spoke up. "I vote no. With Peeta." Despite the decision in her tone, she cast a worried glance your way right after. Why haven't you said anything? her eyes read.

You looked away from them.

"No," Beetee voted. "We need to stop viewing each other as enemies."

Finally, the voice you were waiting for sparked. "You have to be kidding me right now." Finnick had a baffled smile on his face, and you had a feeling he was going to start saying a few choice words.

And you didn't know why just yet, but you couldn't let him.

Before he could get his vote in, you blurted, "Yes." His head immediately snapped to yours, and you felt instant regret when his eyes met yours. In the swirls of all the blue, you could see betrayal.

The bile that you worked so hard to suppress earlier was back rising, but you wouldn't let it leave. He had to understand. You had to make him understand.

You kept your eyes on his, no matter how sick it made you feel, pleading to him silently. His own words echoed through your head.

Please just trust me.

Trust you to do what?

I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.

You did. You trusted him, even when you didn't understand it at all, and now you were just begging him to return the favour.

You closed your for a brief second. Please just trust me, Finnick.

"Yes." Your eyes flew wide open to see him already looking at you. He maintained your stare before looking back to Coin. "You've got my yes, too."

He said yes. But really, he was saying so much more than that.

I trust you.

Coin nodded, disclosing, "It's down to Katniss and Haymitch." Majority of five. Only one of them had to say yes for her plan to take off, and you already knew which one of them it'd be.

Coin's eyes narrowed while Katniss remained expressionless, and in that moment, it was clear that The Hunger Games wasn't the one Coin was proposing. It was this, and President Coin was the Gamemaker and engineer behind it all. This was a game of cat and mouse.

Only Coin wasn't the cat.

After a beat of silence, Katniss finally spoke. "I get to kill Snow," she dictated.

A few pairs of eyes flitted to you, but you only focused on one of them. Coin glanced at you, and when you didn't object, she obliged, "Of course."

The room was back to silence, but your mind was anything but. What you heard were strings, brass, percussion, and a whole orchestra of instruments. A cacophony of noise and voices singing about a necklace of hope, only getting louder, and louder, and louder, and louder—

And then the beat dropped.

"Then I vote yes." That's five. For the first time since you entered the room, there was a crack in Katniss' voice. "For Prim."

That was nearly a warning, but if Coin caught the edge to her voice, she didn't say anything about it. You think she was so consumed by satisfaction that she wouldn't have been able to notice, anyway.

She turned her attention to Haymitch if not just to stay true to her words. No one may abstain. "Haymitch?"

Katniss and Haymitch shared a gaze for a few seconds, and then he looked to you, and to Finnick, before he was looking back to Coin. He didn't agree with this, but he still lied, "I'm with the, uh, Mockingjay."

Coin nodded, poorly stifling a smile. You wondered how anyone could smile at the news of a slaughter. "That carries the vote. Excellent. We'll announce The Games tonight after the execution."

And that was it. She got what she wanted. She won.

But as you glanced at Katniss to see the emptiness returning to her eyes, you had a feeling that wouldn't last very long.

Stylists brought you to your room and did your hair for you, taking the locks and forming them into the braided updo that the people had grown to love. It was a crown—that's why they liked it so much. You would've preferred to leave your hair as it was, but you compromised that you'd do the hair if they didn't make you wear that ridiculous costume.

Cinna was an impeccable designer, but if you could go forever without wearing that suit, it'd still be too soon.

On your way into your room, the stylists ignored the broken glass on the floor, stepping over it and sending each other looks that they thought were discreet. They weren't.

When they saw the crown lying on the floor, too, they didn't dare ask you to wear it.

They left soon after little small talk, though you didn't think they blamed you. You looked like shit before they got to fixing you up, making you look like you'd actually slept.

Your lips were no longer pale, coated in lipstick that didn't look like lipstick. You supposed the "natural" element was part of the Princess façade. They did something that made your cheeks look less hollow and more rosy, and they concealed the bags under your eyes pretty nicely.

Now, you looked like the Princess.

But she doesn't exist, a voice reminded you. She's not you.

You tilted your head at the woman in the mirror. She wasn't your reflection; she was a mirage. You didn't see yourself in any of it, but you didn't see yourself before they added all the glamour, either.

Who are you, Y/N?

You swore to yourself you'd find out.

After slipping on your coat, you left the room, promising never to see it again. You were walking to the front when you saw a woman in five inch heels and silvers tassles exiting a room, a big blonde wig on her head with sharp silver ticks pinned into it that looked like they could stab her if she fell the wrong way.

She glanced to the side and saw you before you could greet her, beating you to it. "Oh, Y/N!" A big grin came to her face as she marched her way over to you, heels clicking against the floor adamantly. You think she would've skipped if she could've.

Her arms wrapped themselves around your frame before you could even think about protesting. "How lovely it is to see you!" she exclaimed.

Your humour trumped your discomfort, making you laugh and reciprocate the hug. "Hi, Effie." When she pulled away, you were quick to cut to the chase, knowing she'd talk your ear off for ages if you gave her the chance. You nodded to the doors she walked out of. "Is Katniss in there?"

"Oh, yes— yes, dear!" She ushered you to the doors. "Go right ahead!"

"Thank you." Effie uttered something along the lines of 'no problem' before opening the doors and practically closing them within the same breath.

The smile that was on your face promptly dropped when you saw Katniss, looking no better than earlier, but you made quick work to bring it back. "Hey, Everdeen." You tried to make your voice light, but the heaviness in the air didn't dissipate.

She turned to you after just a second too long, almost like she hadn't heard you. A grimace crossed her face, but you could tell it was her attempt at a smile.

You stood there for a bit, keeping your hands at your sides. There wasn't much more to say—this was it. After this, you didn't know what'd happen. What would life even be like without being crushed by the Capitol's thumb? Would you go home? Did you even have one?

You didn't know how any of this would play out, but you did know that whatever ending Katniss wrote, it would likely end in the two of you separating. You'd both go home, and you'd no longer see the girl you got so used to. Realistically, you'd only been in close quarters for a month, but before that, you were isolated. Katniss helped you get acclimated with the revolution and gave you hope for a better world, and now you'd be going into it without her.

She wouldn't be at your side anymore, but you wanted her to know that you'd be standing behind her regardless.

In two strides, you were embracing her in your arms before you could think better of it. She froze, stiffening, and you were just about to let go and apologize when she engulfed you with the exact same fervour.

Your lips curved upward, and that time, it wasn't forced.

Eventually, you pulled back, resting your hands on her forearms. Her eyes didn't look so empty anymore.

You wanted to thank her for everything she'd done for you without knowing it, for saving your life in more ways than one. You wanted to tell her you loved her.

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off before you could even try. "I know." She nodded, the slighest quirk of her lips visible. "I know." Pause. "Me, too."

She knew. You didn't need to say it, and neither did she.

Things weren't okay—they probably wouldn't be for a while, but in that moment, you knew they'd get better one day, even if you wouldn't be around each other to see it.

You nodded back at her, and you squeezed her arms one last time, whispering, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Katniss."

And then you were letting her, walking away and leaving her alone while you still could. If you'd stayed any longer, you don't know if you would've left.

There was nothing left unsaid, and those were the best kinds of endings. But it was an ending, and that left you with bittersweet feelings you couldn't name.

Deep down, you knew you probably wouldn't see her again, and perhaps that was why you didn't meet the cars waiting for you at the front. If that was the last you saw her, you wanted that to be your last encounter.

And, so, your last memory of Katniss Everdeen was in that room.

The word revolution, in the least words possible, meant change. That's what'd been happening for months now, if not years, and your reality was on the cusp of being turned on its head.

Yes, things changed.

And yet some things never did.

West of the city, there was a big lake; you found yourself there when you were supposed to be watching Snow's execution. A certain part of you was disappointed that you wouldn't get to watch him die; it was all you wanted ever since you got to 13, your sole motivation for staying alive.

But the other part of you was relieved. He would die, yes, but he wouldn't see you again before he did. He wouldn't get another chance to exercise his power over you ever again. So instead of being there, you were here, watching the water.

It reminded you of home. Back in your days at the Capitol, you didn't get do much sight-seeing of the city. You'd be brought in for a day or two, really only for the nights, and then you'd be sent back by morning. But once you met Finnick, he started walking around with you, and some nights you'd end up here.

You'd stare at the lake together in silence. Back then, the water was as close to freedom as you'd ever get. You supposed that was one of the things that did change.

You were free now.

What does that mean?

You pondered over that question for a while. For so long, you dreamed of even just tasting freedom; the thought was unattainable for so long, but now it was in your hands and you didn't know what you'd do.

The war was over.

But it wasn't.

The fight was over for you, but that didn't mean it was over for anyone else. Homes were destroyed. People were dead, and even more people were left here just to grieve. The nation was broken.

What did that make you if you just went home and left things like this? Maybe you'd done enough. Maybe you should just go home and retire the crown, finally get the rest you'd been longing for. But you didn't want that.

Who are you, Y/N?

Maybe you could be more than Panem's Princess.

"Y/N."

You were startled by the call of your name, spinning around. When you were met with eyes that matched the water behind you, you were calmed down.

"Finnick." A smile graced his face, eliciting one from you like it was contagious. "Hi."

"Hi." So many words to say, and yet that was the only one that either of you said.

He walked up to you, turning his gaze to the lake, and just like old times, you did the same. Just like old times, the two of you stared out at the water without saying a thing. Just like old times, for a little while, you were just Y/N, and he was just Finnick.

And just like old times, all of that came to an end eventually.

"You weren't at the execution," he said at one point.

"No," you replied. "I wasn't."

"But you already know what happened." It was set up like a question, but it wasn't.

You turned to see him already looking at you. His eyes weren't angry; they were just curious. You quirked one side of your lips upward. "I had a feeling." Judging by his statement, your feeling was correct. Your lips quickly drooped downward. "Is—"

He nodded before you could finish. "Katniss is alright." A breath of relief left you. "Paylor's gonna pardon her eventually. She'll probably be taking over." That confirmed it.

Coin was dead. And Snow was, too.

When you got your bearings, you shrugged. "I'd vote for her." You might've said it just to bring some humour to the conversation, but it wasn't a joke. You had no doubts that Commander Paylor would lead the nation with courage.

Finnick chuckled, agreeing, but as soon as he stopped, the light disappeared, reminding you of the weight of the conversation you were about to have. You didn't think you'd even be alive to have it, but you were, and now there was no avoiding it.

He must've seen the shift in your demeanour. "Y/N—"

"I love you," you breathed, cutting him off. If you were gonna have this talk, then that was the way you needed to start it. "I love you, and I have loved you for years. I'm so happy that I get to say it out loud now, because I never thought I'd get to, but Finnick, I—" the quivering of your lips made you stop. Realization dawned on his face, and that made tears come to your eyes. "I don't think love is enough."

He stepped closer to you, grabbing your hands. You let him. "Y/N—"

A tear raced down your cheek. "I don't know who I am when I'm not pretending. I lost myself trying to love you," you confessed, more tears falling down your face, but in the blur, you could see tears in his eyes, too. "I need to find myself again. I'm not— I'm not in the right headspace for a relationship right now, and it wouldn't be fair to you to jump right into one like everything's okay." Your voice shook. "It wouldn't be fair to either of us."

You were just about to pull your hands away when he squeezed them tighter. "No, I can— I can wait."

Your chest tightened as you held back a sob. He was so frantically trying to hold onto you when he shouldn't have been. You shook your head. "No, you don't understand. I need to stay here— I need time—"

"I can give you time!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking, simultaneously cracking your heart. "I can stay here— I can wait. Y/N, I will wait forever for you if you need me to."

This time, the sob did leave you, and there was nothing you could do stop it. "You shouldn't have to! You should just go be happy—"

"I can't be happy without you," he argued, stepping even closer to you like his every action was begging you to see his perspective.

At his interruption, more sobs fell from your lips, and he promptly pulled you into his chest. Instinctually, your arms wrapped around his torso, and his hands went to your head, caressing your hair as you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried, and he held you all through it, letting you soak his shirt with your tears. He held onto you tightly, and not just physically, either.

Finnick Odair would never let you go.

Never again.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, you calmed down. You don't remember when you did or what happened after that, but eventually, your eyes were fluttering open to a white ceiling. Your hands grasped at your surroundings, feeling linen scrunch beneath your fingertips.

You glanced to the side where a big window was, light shining in from the moon. You furrowed your brows. How long were you out—and where were you?

Slowly, you stood up, soreness hitting your body immediately. You held back a hiss. Sleep must've given the bruises time to marinate; you decided to ignore it.

You walked through what was clearly a bedroom and opened the door. It opened into a hallway; noise was coming from the left, so that's where you went.

You didn't know what exactly you were expecting when you reached the end of the hall, but it certainly wasn't Finnick in front of a stove, frying something out of view.

"Finnick?"

He turned around, eyes widening. "Oh, hey— let me just—" your brows raised as he turned back to the stove, picking up the pan and dropping its contents onto two plates on the counter. Eggs. You blinked, and memories flashed underneath your eyelids of scenes just like this one.

You didn't think you'd ever see him cooking again.

When you opened your eyes, he was back to facing you, a sheepish smile on his face that looked just a touch out of place. "Sorry, I was cooking us some food." He gestured behind him then added, "Since you can't."

You scoffed, almost like you hadn't just been bawling your eyes out, almost like you were back at home and everything was still fine. "Okay, first of all, screw you—" he let out a chuckle, "second of all, thank you. And third of all, where the hell are we right now?" Your eyes scanned the area; this wasn't a hotel room. It was an apartment. "Last I remember, we were at the lake."

"This used to be Cressida's old place," he explained. "Said we could crash here as long as we wanted. She doesn't really wanna be here either way."

"Oh." We. We could crash here, he said. You were brought back to reality. "Finnick—"

"Let's eat," he cut you off, an easygoing smile on his face. Easygoing, but not easy. You could see the nerves churning behind his expression, so with a sigh, you nodded, letting him lead you to the dinner table and pull out your chair.

You told yourself you did it for him. But really, you wanted to prolong this for a little while longer, too.

He put your plate and cutlery in front of you. You wondered how he managed to procure eggs that weren't expired, but you didn't ask him aloud. You just picked up your fork and started eating.

Whether it was your hunger or your desire to hold onto this, you stayed silent as you ate. You even caught Finnick eating slower than usual; he wanted to hold onto this, too. He was determined to do so.

You and Finnick did what you did best: you pretended. You pretended that you didn't just lose it and cry yourself to the point of passing out. You pretended that you didn't have to talk after this. You pretended that you were still living in the life you had before the Quell, eating dinner every night just like this. And in remembering those dinners, you pretended that you weren't pretending then, too.

But you couldn't pretend forever.

You finished your food first and waited for Finnick to finish his. He took his time, and you let him. You let him twiddle with his fork when he was done, and then you let him take your plates and wash them afterwards. And once they were on the drying rack and he had no more excuses, you stood up from your chair with reality ready to spill from your lips.

"Finnick—"

He took no more than second to get to you. "Please, just— hold on."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "We can't avoid this forever."

"I know." Despite the shake in his voice, there was undeniable resolution in it. "And if... if what you said is really what you want, I'll give it to you." Out of sheer surprise, your eyes opened. The face you loved so much looked pained, but he still gave you a smile. This time, you could tell it wasn't real; it was purely for your sake. "There are countless things I need to apologize to you for, and I'd spend the rest of my life making it all up to you if you let me, but I'd do anything for you. So if what you want is for me to walk out that door right now, I'll do it." He swallowed, like he was scared out of his mind. "I just want to ask you one thing first."

The rational side of your mind screamed at you not to entertain it, to say no and get him to leave while you could both still bear it. He was willing to give you an out—that's what you wanted.

Was that what you wanted?

No, what you wanted was to feel better, and sometimes, Finnick did that, but other times, he did the exact opposite. Most times, the rational you corrected. Most times, he made you feel worse. But the happiness he gave you in those few times overrode everything else.

The other version of you, the one that remembered the good just as equally as the bad, nodded and gave him the greenlight.

He enveloped your hands in his, and the warmth made you realize just how cold you were. "Dance with me," he pleaded. "Dance with me and then decide."

No. Don't do it—

Transfixed by the way he was staring at you, you found yourself agreeing and ignoring your inner voice. "One dance," you told him.

The smile on his face became a grin. Real. This time, it was real. "That's all I'll ask," he promised. You took his word for it.

One last dance.

He led you to the open area between the kitchen and the living room, keeping your hands in his hold and pulling you closer. You rested your head on his, listening to his heart rattle against his ribcage. God, you missed that sound.

You missed this.

Finnick swayed you slowly to the music, nothing external or tangible, but the music you were dancing to was more real than any song you'd ever heard.

You realized now that the rational you was right. Finnick set his trap, and you lied in it. Because now that you remembered what this felt like, how could you willingly give it up? How could you ever leave?

The song might've been filled with heightening moments, and there might've been times when you just wanted to throw the damn record player into the wall, but it was your song.

And this was your dance.

Minutes passed before you pulled away. Finnick's hands immediately tightened on yours, and you squeezed them right back. You were pulling away, but the song wasn't over.

It wouldn't be over for a long time.

You warned him, "It's gonna be a lot of work, Finnick."

"I'm okay with that."

"We had a life back home— you had a life. I wouldn't be blaming you if you wanted to go back to it."

He was shaking his head before you were even done speaking, eyes earnestly poring into yours. "I'll build any life so long as it's with you."

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt or lying but found none. When you were sure that you believed what he was saying, that he believed what he was saying, you released the smile you were holding back.

"Okay."

His eyes widened. "Okay?"

An involuntary giggle left you. "Yeah. Okay—" without warning, he picked you up and was twirling you around, making you squeal. "Finnick!"

Your laughs resounded throughout the apartment, and when he put you down, it was just to engulf you in his arms again. You wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to kiss you, but you'd have to work your way back up to that.

And eventually, you would.

No, your song wasn't over.

It was just restarting.

In district 12, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark stood inside their home. They started to live together after some time had passed, and while they weren't a couple at that moment, they were still together. That was more than enough for the both of them.

Katniss chopped up vegetables for the dinner they'd be having later with Haymitch while Peeta read her a letter, addressed to them both. They didn't get mail often, not in 12, so they didn't know entirely what was happening with everyone else, but this letter informed them of all that they'd missed.

You'll be happy to hear that Katniss' mother has been training new medical units in the Capitol. Thanks to her, we'll be able to heal many more people at a much faster rate.

Gale has been promoted to a captain in district 2 to help keep order and security. He's doing well there.

Johanna has gone back to district 7 where she is taking the healing process one day at a time. She'll take as much time as she needs.

Annie and Julian are back in 4, along with Mags. They spend every day loving their son the way we all should've been loved, and it's a beautiful sight to see.

I am in the Capitol. I run a centre for children all over Panem who have lost their parents. One of the children has been staying with me personally for a while; she reminds me of you, Katniss. I'm thinking of adopting her.

Finnick has been here with me. We're happy together. One day, not any time soon, but some day, I'm gonna marry him, and the two of you better be there for the wedding.

We've all suffered so much. But we owe it to the memories of everyone we've lost to do our best with these lives.

I hope you're both finding some peace.

As Peeta read the last lines, Katniss smiled for the first time in a long time.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons @hnslchw @unholyhuntress @aclmagic @gloryekaterina @ayme301 @lem0ns77 @kisskittenn @onlyangel-444 @moonagedaydream505 @spderm4nnnn @satellitespeirs @glitzcute @iammirrorball @corpsebasil @forever-sleepy-sloth @omwtkydttfym @divinelovers @maggiecc @i-am-a-simp1 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @nelliereadsstuff @how2besalty @dreaminglandsworld @eilaharmonia @catvader101 @lexa138 @h0neylemon @dakotali @hermionelove @theseerbetweenus @whosscruffylooking @yourdailymemedelivery @emma-andrea1 @s1lngwns @meenyminymoes-blog @roxi-reid @rattertatter @sunnybunnyy2 @just-levyy @amaranth-writing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @joshhutchersonisdaddy @my-name-is-baby @hehehe13356 @quazsz @chloecharms23 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @thehairington86 @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @ment1tavoid @hereliesme @tayrae515 @mottergirl99 @blackdxggr @giverosespls @erindiggory @feyretopia @bibliosaurus @sleila @soursonnets @blackoutdays13 @lovelyteenagebeard @nj01 @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @marimba375 @willow-g-1 @blahablah2 @inatimate-icarus @shoebillcuicui @scoliobean @awritingtree @h-------n @yoonki-bored @miserablebl00d @iloubr @fairytales007 @beannnnnnnn @dominicfikexoxo @aclmagic @helaenaluvr @ravenmedows @bigdolldoeeyesgirl to all taglist members, tell me if you want to be added to my finnick taglist overall! thank you for reading my fic, and thank you for enjoying it enough to even ask to be on the taglist.

additional a/n: see what i did there at the end—our song and DANCE ;) you guys, this is it. the song is over (for us at least). i'm in a mix of like pride and sadness. this has quite literally taken a year to finish. it's one of my fav things i've written to date, and at one point, it was the only thing i was writing. to those of you that have stuck around to the end, thank you. i really hope u enjoyed the series and its ending! i'm thinking of writing little blurbs for this and whatnot if ur interested, all revolving around their journey. eventually, i'll post a list of canons ab y/n and where i think she ends up. once again, thank you all so much for your support. reading your comments has never failed to make me smile. i love you!! have a great day.

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pygmi-cygni · 1 month ago

Text

Lucky Number Seven

what's that you say? I already have a series that I've been ignoring for one (1) month?

poppycock, I tell you.

a/n: I missed poe, so I figured I'd throw another bone. I'm aiming for three parts but it miiiight extend to four. if I exceed five something is def wrong.

cw: nothing right now, mostly just the intro chapter. later the series will contain themes of violence, torture and angst (with a happy ending!), but all fandom appropriate.

onward! pt. 2

It was always a possibility. As thin as a hair and stacks of odds against it, but still a possibility.

The intelligence division didn't wander out into the fight. That was the joke - they were the only ones 'intelligent' enough to leave well enough alone. But sometimes, they needed brains and capable hands. And you had two for two, so your sign-off was a go.

Not the dream position to be in, but you didn't have a choice.

That terrifying reality rattled in your brain with every rock and root the transport speeder went over. You clutched a blaster to your chest, staring blankly at the empty bench in front of you. The two officers on either side of you were mumbling prayers.

Seven in total. Lucky in every instance outside of this. The top intelligence officers the Resistance had to offer. For the first time in decades, reporting to the tiny group of actual soldiers and pilots hiding a few kilometers outside a very active Imp base.

You took a deep breath, rubbing the tattoo on your thumb. It wasn't much of a tattoo - just a pair of dots. It was meant to be three, but you could only take the pain of two.

Looking out the window, you swallowed nervously.

"D'you think we'll get medals?"

Turning, you saw the newest member of your team. Tonks, you called them. Short, scrawny, with moony grey eyes. Good with numbers and not much else.

"What?" Your brow furrowed.

They shifted closer, face curious. "Y'know, medals. For being brave and stuff."

You rubbed your neck. "Uh...not sure, kiddo. I don't think medals are gonna be the focus of this mission." The statement came out a bit crueler than you intended, and you winced.

Tonks swallowed, shrinking back into the corner. Oops.

The sweltering swamp air made you gag. It felt like being inside a sprinter's sock; damp, hot, and smelling of rot. Sticky pools were collecting under your arms and the heavy straps of your protective gear.

"Holy Maker," one of the officers groaned, shifting the massive bulk of a transcriber over his shoulder. You did not envy him.

The sun was high and beating down on your neck. Underbrush creaked and slopped under your boots as you trudged through the thick sludge. Tension was high, and the hairs on the back of your neck were straight up. Tonks stumbled behind you, mumbling all the while.

"Are...are you reciting code?" You swiveled to raise an eyebrow, nearly tripping into a pile of mud.

They sniffled, wiping sweat from their upper lip. "Regulation protocol. Rules calm me down."

Ah. My mistake.

Snorting, you hurried to catch up with the rest. Falling behind would do nobody any good; the suns were setting fast and the squelching mud was becoming a freezing, slick sludge. You'd skimmed the records of life on this planet, and you were not inclined to meet any of them.

Nal Hutta, named "Glorious Jewel" for reasons that escaped you, was a polluted swamp planet home to the slovenly species of Hutts. The Imps, likely enamored with its sewage and decrepit appearance, had decided to operate a communications base and a trading port. Allegedly they were allied with the smuggling captains and frequently used the back alleys to discuss trade operations.

This made it a seemingly easy target for the Rebel fighters, but you had quickly realized the Hutts were more equipped than you thought.

Hence the arrival of translators, cartographers, code breakers, and one (1) weapons specialist arriving in a cramped armored vehicle five hours away.

Logic.

Another wave of nausea threatened to overflow as the pockmarked ground belched a glob of slime. Your eyes were watering from the stench, and the sound of retching could be heard in front and behind you. For being a small planet, it was densely humid, and the temperatures fluctuated wildly. Your tongue was dry as Tattooine, but the mold beginning to grow around your water jug was not appetizing.

"The bacterial growth rate is astounding," one of the biologists murmured into a receiver, handing back swabs of growths to the research assistant. You made a face, dodging the slimy sticks of nastiness.

The craggy hill your group was mounting came to an abrupt peak, evidence of a fire burning ash down the side. You took the opportunity to shuck your pack, stretching out your tired muscles.

Tonks was vomiting off to the side, shaky hands bracing their scrawny knees. Sighing, you removed their glasses and wiped them on your pants, grimacing. They nodded a thanks, swallowing back bile.

The rest of the journey was equally as uncomfortable. You'd soaked through your clothes with sweat, salt and mud caked around your boots and pants. The soiled clothing chafed against your thighs, and you couldn't bear a step longer. One of the younger officers had lost his boot in a sticky puddle, and was now hobbling around with a crutch.

"Hey...hey, hey hey!"

Tonks' voice carried from a ditch, excited and bright. You stumbled behind the crowd, trying to see what Tonks had found.

A chimney with smoke trailing into the dark sky. Squinting, you peered around the ground and cried out triumphantly.

Canvas tents, well hidden by debris, tucked alongside the mountain ridge. It looked to be a few minutes walk.

"Oh fuck yeah," you breathed, starting off at a fast pace down the craggy side. The officers followed, groaning in relief. The ruckus of twenty officers rushing at the small camp alerted a few guards, who approached with blasters raised.

One of them, a stocky blonde, clearly recognized one of your crew, and broke into a grin. You watched, dazed, as they clapped each other on the back, other soldiers coming over to greet the group. Knowing you were safe, exhaustion had begun to set in hard. A bone-deep ache shuddered through your body, your boots tripping over each other. An unfamiliar pair of hands steadied you, and a woman said unintelligible words to you, eyes worried.

You mumbled something incoherently and sunk to the ground, eyes rolling back.

When you woke, it was still dark, but your clothes were clean and your hair was damp. You sat up and immediately regretted it. Stars swam in your vision, blurring the small light source next to you until it looked like Van Gogh.

"What the fff..." you smacked your lips, tongue like sandpaper. A rustling to your left made you jump.

Tonks peeked their head in, grey eyes bright. They gave a toothy grin and handed you a glass of liquid.

"Oh, hi! Don't worry, Marfa washed you off. Drink this, it's good." Their gaze was shiny and a little unfocused, and you took the drink with a bit of apprehension.

"Are we bunking together?" you croaked, wiping the foamy blue drink from your chin. It was good, mild and sweet, but definitely alcoholic. Subtly you set it aside, reaching for water instead.

Tonks nodded, hands fluttering excitedly. They launched into a recap of the last few hours, babbling about the base and the soldiers and a thousand other things you did not have the energy to keep up with.

When their energy and stream of words seemed to die down a bit, you mumbled about taking a piss and stumbled out of the tent, rolling the tension out of your shoulders. Your feet were steadier and a cold drink of water sounded great.

Despite it being the middle of the night, quite a few Rebels were still out, huddled around fires and under rooves. Some laughed and joked, dancing poorly to music, while others talked with hushed tones and pursed lips. You watched it all, amazed. It was far from the few bases you'd been on before - all grey, stoic, cold.

Smiling, you watched an animated game of cards between two pilots. One of their helmets was holding bets, stacked almost to the brim with credits and meal tickets.

Your smile wavered as you tilted your head to catch the insignia. Black.

Black Squadron was here?

The heat of the nearby fire sapped from your bones. Stumbling backwards, you ducked back into your tent and hissed, "Tonks! Who've we met at base?"

They blinked. "Wh-"

"The squadron. Who are we going to work with?"

"Black Squadron. Dameron's. Did you not read the debrief?" Snorting, they returned to their game of solitaire.

Your mouth felt like Tatooine's deserts as you shakily sat down. Tonks didn't notice your existential crisis, continuing to puzzle through another bad hand.

Poe had grown up with you, on Yavin. You weren't friends, not really. Just flowers that grew in the same garden and occasionally fluttered past each other on windy days. He was always too reckless, too fast. You preferred the late bloom to the hot summer flashes, unfurling your leaves in gentle spring. A strange dance had emerged as you orbited each other's circles, never going any farther than a hey or a good morning.

Well, you'd tried. Once.

And....failed.

But that debacle was successfully locked up in the box of 'do not fucking open this ever under any circumstances' and that was where it would stay.

Your thumbs ran worry lines over the rough lip of your canteen. That grudge had calcified among your bones, growing into your ribs alongside your heart. It might be wise to let it go, but the scar tissue had healed and it would hurt more to rip it out. It didn't bother you any more - the Resistance was so big you hardly saw him. You saw more than enough, all the posters and photoshoots polluting your media feed.

Until now.

You swallowed back another gritty mouthful of blue something and tossed your cup onto the sheets.

Well, it seemed you couldn't avoid him any longer. Three years you tried. A valiant effort.

Bring it on, flyboy.

You woke early the next morning. Morning dew clung to the tents, slicking up the encrusted slime into rivers of sludge. Nothing, not even sunrise, could make this planet appealing. It was frigid out. You wrapped elastic around the hems of your close to keep the heat contained. The end result was a striking resemblance to a Hutt. Futile anyway, for it would be boiling temperatures within the hour.

Standard protocol mandated an officer meeting by 0800 this morning. It was 0530, so you had time to kill. Usually you’d go for a run, but this terrain didn’t welcome any wandering off. You decided to take advantage of the quiet and explore the camp you missed yesterday.

It was smaller than you expected, but spread out. It looked like there were two cohorts of pilots that arrived; Red Squadron, whose camp was well-established, and Black Squadron, whose setup looked fairly new. Dameron must have landed within the last few weeks. It puzzled you why Red would even need any assistance – they had the highest ratio of trained fighters to licensed pilots. They were nicknamed ‘red’ for a reason. Their commander, Shayla Din, was the best staff fighter you’d ever met.

You shoved your hands deep in your pockets and crept along, tallying the tents as you passed. Forty. Two people per tent…eighty-ish. That was a small crew, but you could make it work.

A small hill approached. You muscled your way to the top, nearly stepping in a rat carcass. The ‘fog’ you’d assumed earlier appeared to be the gas from a nearby geyser, kept low in the atmosphere by the temperature. Well, that’s disgusting. No amount of soap and water could cleanse your body after that discovery.

Turning, you began your loop again.

And paused.

One of the tents was illuminated, and a very familiar head of curls sat outside buckling his boots.

A bucket of cold water crashed over your nervous system, sending your heartrate into the stratosphere. You wished, for the first time, to be absorbed into the grimy mess of the ground, sucked away into blissful death.

Anything was better than seeing his face.

You stood, frozen, watching as he dusted off his soles, stretched, and turned. And saw you. And saw you. And for a brief second, for the first time in three years, you felt like an anxious little greenhorn, shaking in the presence of a Commander. Poe’s gaze, even from here, was harder than Beskar. Clean and sharp like a blade, cleaving the strength from your bones and leaving you in a heap of quivering insecurity.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here,” he hissed, closing the space in three long strides.

Your mouth was glued shut. Ignore him. Just keep walking, don’t even look him in the eye.

His deep brown eyes met yours with seething confusion. Swallowing, you tilted your chin, deciding to stare at his ear instead.

“I’m one of the seven that came to help, Commander.” Your voice was smoother than you expected. His rank had the desired effect, his jaw twitching with irritation. Poe stood, a little too close, before grabbing your elbow and yanking you behind him.

“What the-“

“Follow me, and don’t talk to anybody,” he gritted out, “I’m calling headquarters.”

“What? Why?”

He stopped in front of the largest canvas tent, whirling to face you. “I’m sending you back.”

Any anger simmering under the surface boiled over in a massive collision between your fist and his cheek. The satisfying thud made your heart glow for a moment, until realizing you’d just punched a Commander’s lights out.

well, let's see where this goes I guess.

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#star wars sequel trilogy #fanfic #x reader #fanfiction #star wars #poe dameron #poe dameron x you #series #star wars fanfiction #star wars sequels #reader insert #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #angst with a hopeful ending #poe dameron x reader #eventual fluff

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