Chapter Text
Something was stalking him.
He was running through the burned out forest, knife in hand, laughter and screams following behind him, running in a blind panic, desperate to get out of here. Desperate to get home. And yet, something was following behind, too close, never falling back, every step bringing it closer and closer, and no matter how much Finnick ran, it never slowed down never stopped.
A twist and a cramp of his leg felled Finnick, the forest floor greeting his face, and he was roughly rolled over by his pursuer, a scream ripping through his mouth as he recognised Alder, his face lifeless, gaunt, his axe raised, coming down on Finnick’s right shoulder, again and again, as if aiming to cut it off slowly, slowly. Finnick screamed, and screamed, and screamed-
“Finnick!” A voice was calling out to him, a hand grabbing Finnick’s right shoulder, and he threw himself upwards, wrenching himself out of the grip, still screaming, trying to escape from whatever had grabbed him. The lights in the room suddenly flashed on, and Finnick felt as if he was blinded, lashing out at whatever was nearby. “Finnick, it’s okay, it’s okay…”
Mags. Mags, Mags, Mags. He knew that voice and it wasn’t Alder. He opened his eyes again, squinting in the bright light, and his ears hadn’t deceived him. It was Mags, stood to the side of his bed, her hand reaching out towards him as if she’d been the one to shake him awake, her wrinkled face ever more wrinkled by her worry. His screams died down into sobs, and he reached towards her, tried to say something that might have been her name, and she pulled him into a hug, sitting down on the edge of his bed, trying to soothe him, gently rocking him, assuring him he was on the train, not in the Arena.
“Don’t leave me,” he begged, gripping her tighter, and Mags squeezed him closer.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m here, I’m here.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t.”
His hands were twisted up in her nightclothes, trying to grip onto anything that could keep him here, in the bed on the train, and not in the Arena, while Mags gently, repeatedly reminded him exactly where he was. On a train. Heading back to District 4. He wasn’t in the Arena. He wasn’t about to be sent back into the Arena. He would never set foot in an Arena again. It was over. It was over.
He lost track of time and didn’t know how long it took to stop crying, but once he’d calmed down somewhat, Mags tried to shuffle away and he grabbed her tighter, the sobs racketing up again. “You said- you said-“
“I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him. “Just move over a little, let go for just a moment, I’d like to get comfortable.”
Finnick still gripped her tight, but after a few more moments he slowly let go, and true to her word, Mags didn’t leave, instead climbing under the bedcovers and pulled him back against her. It wasn’t like that last night before the Arena, when anxiety had kept him awake, and he’d laid in her bed awkwardly, too unfamiliar to get comfortable. Now it wasn’t like sleeping beside a stranger, but like sleeping in his parent’s bed instead. He hadn’t done that since he was seven, when he’d become the go-to bed buddy for his little brothers having nightmares instead. Something told him that was going to change.
“Is it always going to be like this?” He asked, his voice choked. Mags went back to running her fingers through his hair.
“No, Finnick. It won’t be. There’ll be bad days, there will always be bad days, but it’ll get better. You’ll get better. And I’ll be here when you need me. Always.”
“Always…” Finnick repeated, and he knew it was a lie already. Mags was among the oldest still living Victors. He was the youngest ever Victor. Thirty years down the line, she’d be dead, and he’d still be here. Just like with Cordelia, and Alder, and… and…
And he started sobbing again, but Mags didn’t even question it, she simply wrapped him up in his arms and tried to soothe him, tried to comfort him, until sleep dragged him back into its depths.
A loud knock on the room’s door woke him in the morning, still too tired to wake and bleary eyed, and he ran the back of his hand along his eyes as Mags pushed herself up too. The door opened without permission, and Chital made his way in, carrying a tray of food and looking almost harassed by his own actions.
“Sorry to wake you, but I thought you’d want to avoid a repeat of yesterday,” Chital explained, setting the tray down on Finnick’s lap. It was a bowl of cereal, simple but appealing, he supposed, with his morning dose of medicine. He didn’t even think before he started to eat the food and took the pills. His back was already starting to ache again, noticeable but not agonising, enough to let him know Chital had made the right call.
“How long until I don’t need them?” Finnick asked.
“Dunno kid, we’re not doctors. I suppose we see when the Capitol sends a doctor to check up on you next month what they say and go from there,” Chital offered. He’d sat on the end of the bed, his arms crossed against his chest.
“I’m just glad they didn’t give you morphling, a month on that wouldn’t do you much good in the long run,” Mags muttered.
“Not unless you want to end up like the District 6 Victors,” Chital scoffed. “I suppose being the youngest Victor has its privileges, like everyone is too scared to do too much with you. A slow recovery might suck for you now, but at least they’re not using anything too strong on you.”
“What happens today?” Finnick asked. The return home was not mandatory viewing, so usually by this point his family had turned off their tv for the rest of the year and he’d be setting out to join his Dad on the boat, ready for a long summer of fishing to feed his family, and playing with his friends. For once, he had absolutely no clue what was about to happen.
“There will be cameras at the station, we’ll have to stand around and answer a bunch, so might your family, but as soon as is polite, I’ll force us to the car and we’ll get you home,” Chital explained. “Problem is that the Victor’s family is generally left behind in the hubbub of getting out of there as quickly as possible, but they’ll catch up. The car is slow.”
He’d see his family at the train station? It was better than he hoped, but a small part of him dreaded it. Dreaded knowing that the second his Mom hugged him as he very much wanted to be hugged, he’d be unable to pretend for the cameras anymore. Her hugs cured everything, including lying. You couldn’t lie while wrapped up in her arms.
“Will my family know what to do? What if they don’t know they’re meant to go to the train station?” Finnick asked, and Chital grinned.
“Not to worry, the entire population of Victor’s Village will have visited them yesterday to explain what to do and to help them get sorted. It’s what happened ten years ago. I hope your Mom isn’t house proud, Finnick, mine had a fit at so many rich people storming into her house without notice.”
“You were glad for it,” Mags reminded him, before turning back to Finnick. “But until we arrive in District 4, we can do whatever you want.”
The first order of business was going back to sleep. Now with daylight streaming through the train windows, it felt less intimidating lying down and closing his eyes, and with Mags still next to him, sleep came easily.
When he awoke again, the sun had risen completely, filling the room with bright sunlight. Mags was sat next to him, her knitting laid out on her lap, and he watched her once more. It took her about five rows to realise he’d woken up.
“I could teach you if you wanted, you know. You don’t just have to watch.”
“I like watching you. It’s nice. I don’t have to think about anything,” Finnick explained, which made Mags smile.
“Then you can watch me all you like. I don’t mind.”
After about an hour of sitting in silence and knitting, Mags suggested Finnick get up and get dressed, so that when the train arrived in District 4 they could get off as soon as possible. Saffron had arranged him one final suit, but for now Finnick put on the shirt and trousers and left the jacket in the wardrobe, before returning to the main compartment, where Mags was still knitting and Chital was playing with cards beside the offerings for lunch. Saffron’s suit reminded Finnick of his prep team, who he hadn’t seen since before the Games, and a question found itself in his mouth.
“Where did my prep team go? Aren’t they usually at the crowning too?” Finnick asked. Chital looked up from his stack of cards, turning towards Mags as if ushering her to answer. She bit her lip. “Did something happen to them?” Finnick asked, a little quietly.
“While you were in the Arena, there was a bit of a… scandal. People finally realised how pertinent information about their tributes was getting leaked to other tributes. A lot of prep team members have been fired or demoted, including both of our teams,” Mags explained. Finnick felt his mouth go dry.
“It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because I pressed them for gossip on the other tributes.”
“That’s what tipped people off, the information you knew. Finnick, listen to me,” Mags dropped her knitting and pulled Finnick closer to her, “It’s not your fault. You did whatever you could to get home. They shouldn’t have told you any of that, them getting fired isn’t anyone’s fault but their own.”
“Won’t I get in trouble?” Finnick asked, and Mags scoffed.
“Oh, what are they going to do to you? They can’t prove anything other than that you overheard them gossiping about other tributes. It happens. And you’re not the first Victor who benefitted from it.”
“If it makes you feel any better, Gloss only won because your prep team let slip that Caspian had a false eye. I don’t feel sorry for them,” Chital stated. “They deserved it for getting our tributes killed.”
Chital may have had a point there. After taking a few minutes to calm himself back down, he sat across from Chital on the table, grazing on the food offered, and Chital dealt him into some card games. They played them on the boats every now and then, but Chital was good, and knew some from the other districts that his friends had taught him. He taught Finnick a few easier ones, but mostly they stuck to the games Finnick had been taught by his Dad, eventually roping Mags into a few games too. But Chital still won most of the games, to Mags’ chagrin.
“You play too much with Chaff and Haymitch, don’t you have better things to do in the Capitol?” She asked.
“Please, you don’t get good at card games beating two drunkards. It’s Wiress who I play too much. And what would you have me do otherwise? Drink?” Chital asked.
“Haymitch and Chaff, they’re from districts eleven and twelve, right?” Finnick asked. Which meant he’d killed their tributes… They were hardly going to like him…
“They’re pretty cool for old blokes, although that might just be the drink talking for them. You’ll get to meet them on the Victory Tour, don’t worry.”
“Will they want to meet me? After what I did?” Finnick asked, and Chital scoffed.
“The problem with mentors and Victors is that the youngest mentors tend to hold grudges, but anyone who’s been mentoring for longer than five years typically doesn’t. They won’t care. They like me well enough and I killed their tributes too.”
Anyone mentoring longer than five years… that meant the last four victors, Cashmere, Gloss, Tanner and Enobaria, the four closest in age to him, would hold a grudge against him. Well, maybe not Tanner, but the others certainly would. Mags must’ve sensed his grim mood, as she tapped on the table to grab his attention.
“They’re wrong to hold the grudges and most of them realise that by the Victory Tour. No-one becomes a Victor by chance, everyone has to kill someone to get out of that Arena. It’ll be fine.”
Finnick forced a smile before turning back to his cards, as if they might distract him. Chital and Mags held a silence for a few moments more, before deciding to drop the conversation entirely, returning to the card games. They must’ve been playing for hours before Chital finally interrupted them.
“Finnick, look,” he pointed out of the window. Finnick frowned from behind his cards.
“I’m not falling for that, I’m know you must be cheating.”
“No, really, we’re almost home, look,” Chital insisted. Finnick turned from the cards to stare out the window, seeing the long expanse of ocean in the distance, deep blue and glistening in the sun, just as it had been when he left. He dropped his cards for a better look, making his way to the window and staring out at it. The sea… the sea… how he’d missed it. How much he’d feared never seeing it again. Within hours he could be plodging once more. Mags made her way beside him, not touching, but staying close.
“We should cover the windows, so we get some privacy when we pull into the station,” she whispered, and Finnick slowly nodded, watching as the first houses came into view. Could he see his house from here? He hadn’t looked on the way out, but maybe if he kept watching… But Mags pulled the blind down, and he stepped back, as if his trance had been broken. Right. Yes. There would be people in the train station, vying for the first look at him. He needed to keep it together just a little while longer. Pretend everything was okay. Pretend he was okay. And that started with looking the part.
He grabbed his suit jacket from his room, returning to see Chital obviously staring at Finnick’s discarded cards before returning them to the deck, winking at Finnick once their eyes met. The train was slowing, he could feel it beneath his feet, and that same, all too familiar feeling of dread settled in once more. But he was home. He was home. He shouldn’t be dreading home, right? Maybe it was just the station? Already he could hear the cheers of the crowd as the train pulled to a stop.
He could hear his own breathing going too fast, and he reached for his Uncle’s bracelet. Soon he wouldn’t need it. Soon he could return it, no longer needing a tie back to his family. They’d be there. They could be just outside the train, waiting for him, vying to reach him as much as he wanted to reach them. Mags held out her hand to him, and he smiled, but didn’t take it. The Capitol still wanted a show, even now. And that meant pretending he hadn’t spent most of the last twenty four hours wrapped up in Mags’ arms like a scared child.
Chital lead the way to the train door, resting his hand on it, but didn’t open it. He turned back to Finnick, glancing him over, before reaching out to fix his collar.
“It’s just this. The last part. And then you’ll be home. Are you ready?” Chital asked. Finnick took a deep breath and nodded. Chital nodded back, and opened the train door.
The din outside was deafening, the crowd cheering as loudly as they could, cheering for him, shouting his name. But there was something different to it compared to the Capitol, the affection was different, and Finnick felt the smile come a little easier. They were cheering for him coming home, for a friend, for a brother. Not for some dolled up tribute they didn’t know.
Chital stepped out first, then Mags, and finally Finnick made his entrance, the crowd cheering ever louder, and the fake smile makes its way back onto his face as he waves back. The front few rows of the crowd are made up of reporters held back by peacekeepers, vying for his attention, wanting to ask a million and one questions, take as many photos as possible, and by this point he’s so desensitised to having cameras shoved in his face he takes it in stride, smiling and waving, not listening to the answers Chital and Mags fired off to the reporters while scanning the crowd behind them for familiar faces.
It's like standing outside of the Justice Building again, everyone in their finest clothes, a large crowd kept as far from him as the Capitol can get them, except now he can see people who would love to take his place, who’d do anything to be stood up here instead of him. If he could, he’d let them, but they can’t. It’s too late. It’s far too late for many things.
Someone bellows his voice, a yell so familiar it jolts him in place. So familiar. He hadn’t heard anything that familiar in so long, and when he looks for the source he sees exactly what he expected. Riggs, voice like a foghorn, Davey climbed on his back for extra height, waving to grab his attention. Behind them, clinging halfway up a marble pillar and currently getting told to get down by a harassed looking peacekeeper, is Adrian, who can’t wave but grins instead, and Finnick waves at them. His friends. They looked exactly the same as when he left them, the tears replaced with laughing, smiling faces. How he wished he could join them, to run from the crowd to the sea, to play rough like they always did. But he’d be stopped by Mags and the Peacekeepers, and his chest still needed to heal from the damage Alder had done. He’d have to wait. They’d all have to wait.
“Are you still planning on taking your siblings to the sweet shop, Finnick?” One of the reporters yelled, and Finnick turned to them, the fake smile plastered across his face.
“Of course, I wouldn’t get their hopes up for nothing,” He assured them. The reporter turned to the group stood beside them, and Finnick’s heart skipped a beat. He recognised them too.
“And what do you three think?” The reporter asked, as Finnick’s brothers looked surprised to be brought into the questioning. They looked just as they always did, except Drake was wearing Finnick’s old reaping clothes, keeping Kip and Marlin close to him, glancing between the reporter and Finnick as if he’d seen a white whale. “Are you excited for this trip?”
“I want lots of sweets!” Kip cheered, throwing his arms up in the air, which gained a chorus of laughter from the nearby crowd.
“Yeah we’re excited,” Marling agreed, wrapping an arm around Kip, messing with his hair, “But we don’t shout about it, do we?”
“And you, Drake?” The reporter asked. Drake’s eyes met Finnick’s again, a bright smile spread across his face, and Finnick struggled to mirror it back.
“I’m just happy to have my brother home,” he said.
“And what about you, Mrs Odair?” The reporter asked, pushing past Drake, and Finnick’s heart skipped a beat. Mom. Staring back at him, a smile stretched across her face, and tears running down it too. Tears of joy? Or…
“Oh he’s not going to the sweet shop,” she said solemly. “He’s staying at home and I’m keeping him all to myself until he’s twenty. He’s not leaving again.”
It got as much laughter as Kip’s comment, as well as a few cries for her selfishness, but Finnick would like nothing more right now than for her to keep her threat. If he never had to see the Capitol again, it’d be too soon.
Stood next to her was Dad, smiling back at him, giving him a thumbs up, Merry held tight in his arms, but no sign of Uncle Ray anywhere. How had everyone managed to stay looking exactly the same, he may have only been gone a month but it felt like he’d been gone three years, and somehow aged ten years in that time. How did everyone else look the same as they always had, when he couldn’t even recognise himself anymore?
“Alright, I’m sick of all these questions. Talk to your adoring fans later, pretty boy. I wanna get home,” Chital chastised, placing a hand on Finnick’s back and leading him away from the crowds, where the reporters still tried shouting questions to him, still vied for his attention and affections, but Finnick was focused solely on the car waiting for them. Even his family just blended in with the crowd, as the reporters pushed and shoved past them to get to the front of the crowds surrounding the car. Still more peacekeepers kept them back, still the crowds shouted and cheered for him, and Chital opened the car door for Finnick to climb in, almost immediately wrapping himself back in Mags’ arms. He was so close to being done. So close to being home. So so close…
Chital made to enter the car too, but someone shouted his name, with the same sort of fog-horn sounding voice made for shouting instructions through a storm on the sea, and Chital stopped, turning back towards the crowds, as if something within it caught his attention. Before Finnick could even ask, Chital had stepped away from the car, and someone else was being shoved into it, sat beside him, and Finnick leapt back in fright, every instinct screaming at him to fight, to stop this intruder through knife or teeth, someone who could only want to injure him…
“Finnick!” The newcomer exclaimed, a bright smile across his face as he reached out to Finnick, but it took Finnick just a moment too long to recognise him, every instinct still screaming at him to fight, to get to safety, and the smile started to fade, while Mags pulled Finnick in closer, her hand going to open the car door to escape the stranger who’d invaded it.
“Uncle Ray?” Finnick finally asked. It was. It was. Uncle Ray, sat in the car beside him, his smile having already faded to a look of concern, and Mags halted in her escape plan, still holding Finnick tight, Finnick still balled up in her arms. Besides a few more wrinkles and grey hairs that he’d no doubt been the cause of, Uncle Ray looked exactly the same as when Finnick had last seen him. But rather than the determination that Ray had tried to exude in that last conversation, now he only looked concerned, and he inched away from Finnick, trying to give him space.
“We missed you, Finny,” he stated, as Finnick slowly pulled himself away from Mags. “You did great, kid.”
“I’m sorry,” Finnick whispered. “I went against pretty much all of your advice.”
Ray looked at him for a moment, and laughed, soft and quiet, so unlike his normal laugh that could shake the foundations of their house. “Yeah, but you survived. That’s all that matters. If you’d died, I might have gotten annoyed at you. But you didn’t. So it’s fine.”
He survived. He killed so many children but he’d survived. And Ray had known he’d have to do that, trained him to accept that, and yet, right now, Finnick felt like he’d done nothing but disappoint him. “But, Ivy-“
“You survived,” Ray insisted. “That’s all that matters. I always told you, that’s all that matters.”
Finnick finally unlatched himself from Mags, stuck between wanting to hug Ray and desperately not wanting to be touched at all, and Ray seemed to notice that, and instead slowly reached out to tap Finnick’s knee. When even that made Finnick flinch, he reeled back, and held out his hand instead.
“You need to put your seatbelt on, or we won’t go,” Mags told him curtly, which jolted Ray back to the car he had currently found himself in, and Finnick quickly realised that Ray had never actually been in a car before, made all the more obvious by the fact that he was looking for the seatbelt in all the wrong places. Finnick reached across him, grabbing the end of the belt and sorting it for him, before sitting back in his seat and taking Ray’s hand. Ray gave it a reassuring squeeze, and all Finnick could think of was how he’d done the same to Cordelia after they were both reaped. It’s nearly enough to make him reconsider holding Ray’s hand.
At last the car starts moving, and Ray quickly tries to fill the silence by explaining how much Finnick had been missed, and all the little things that had happened since he’d been away. Drake speared a fish so big, Mom had measured it so he could brag about it properly when Finnick got back. Kip lost his first tooth, Marlin failed his end of year tests, Merry had made a friend. It’s all so inconsequential, all so dull and mundane, but Finnick wants to hear it all, even as everything he missed feels like a stab in the heart.
He'd once promised Drake that if he managed to ever catch a fish bigger than he did in the same day, he’d let Drake slap him with it. He’d wanted to tease Kip over losing his first tooth and see if he could convince him that all his bones were going to fall out over time like he had Marlin. He wanted to be there to comfort Marlin over how difficult tests were, he wanted Merry to babble incomprehensively to him about her new friend. He wanted to be there, and he’d lost all of that.
“I hope you don’t mind that it’s me in the car,” Ray said as the car finally pulled out of the train station. “They wanted your parents near the reporters, so I thought I might be able to sneak in here with you.”
“Aren’t you and the boy’s father identical twins?” Mags asked. “Couldn’t you have pretended to be him at the station and let his father ride with him?”
The dawning look of realisation on Ray’s face told them that he hadn’t even considered it, and Finnick couldn’t help the smallest laugh that crossed his lips. He must be home. He must be safe, otherwise why would he finally be able to laugh?
“Allis is the brains of the family. Up until Finnick’s generation, you couldn’t gather enough thoughts from all the Odairs to fill a glass bottle, unfortunately.”
Mags laughed and shook her head, turning back to stare out of the window. The car ride felt like it was going too slowly, so very, very slowly. “How long will it take Mom to get home?” Finnick asked.
“Given how fast she runs and how determined she is to get to you, probably not that much longer than how long it’ll take us to get home,” Ray assured him.
“Plus, she has Chital to guide her on the quickest route back. If there’s one thing Chital knows how to do, it’s how to get out of places he doesn’t want to be quickly,” Mags stated.
“Between them they’ll probably manage to get home yesterday,” Ray joked, but this time it doesn’t even bring a smile to Finnick’s face. Ray frowned, squeezing Finnick’s hand and glancing back out through the windows. Finnick can see in his face how much Ray wanted to hug him, but just the thought makes Finnick’s skin crawl. He still felt shaky from Ray barging into the car, being trapped might bring about another screaming fit like last night, and his throat still hurt from that one.
But he didn’t like to see Ray looking so distressed, so he reached down his sleeve, pulling out Ray’s bracelet. Ray spotted it and grinned. “I told you it was magical. It keeps the wearer safe, doesn’t it?”
“I wanted to get it back to you,” Finnick explained, trying to untie the knot.
“You can keep it, it’s your lucky charm now. Probably the best lucky charm in Panem,” Ray explained. Finnick frowned.
“But you need it, for when you go to sea. It’s yours.”
“I can get another. I know that one kept you safe, so I want you to keep it. It’ll make me feel better,” Ray explained. Finnick stared at it for a moment longer, and Ray squeezed his hand again. “I knew from the moment you first saw it and fell in love with it that I’d lose it if you ever went into the Games. It’s always been yours, I was just keeping hold of it for you.”
Ray squeezed his hand again, and reached over to retie it, his fingers trailing over where the old thread now filled out the knots, before pulling his hand back. Finnick slowly leaned over, resting his head on Ray’s shoulder, thankful that Ray didn’t try to hug him again. “I wonder where that witch who gave me it went.”
“You know I don’t really believe that story, right?” Finnick asked. How he’d wanted to hear all those silly stories again as he lay dying, but now it felt like the magic from them had been stolen. Sea witches and mermaids and dragons and more, none of it held as much appeal as they once had. Ray seemed undeterred by his tone though, and a small part of Finnick was glad for it.
“It’s not a story, I really did save a witch from drowning and she really did give me a magical protective charm. How else would you explain how it got you and itself home? It’s meant to ensure you can always come home.”
“Speaking of which, we’re here,” Mags declared. Finnick sat upright, staring out the window, but something was wrong. This wasn’t his home. This wasn’t the tight streets between the wooden houses down by the docks, everyone living so close together you were practically stacked on top of your neighbours. These houses were built in stone, with large windows and ornate doors, spread out across a small cliff, staring out towards an ocean. On all other sides of the street was a tall, spiked fence. This wasn’t his home, this wasn’t his home at all.
“I thought we were going home,” Finnick said, staring at the foreign houses with a feeling of dread. They hadn’t tricked him into more Capitol social functions, had they? He wanted to go home. He wanted to go home right now!
“This is Victor’s Village, Finnick. We thought you might want some more privacy than what you’d get in your old house. The other victors will keep the reporters away from your door here, but not there,” Mags explained.
“You can go back to the old house any time you want, but it might be best to be here for now. Plus, this is where everyone will meet us. And we moved everything here, so this is where Mom will make the chowder,” Ray explained, trying to sound cheerful, but Finnick snatched his hand out of his grip. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t… and tears were forming up in his eyes, and his desperately tried to wipe them away.
“Why don’t we go see your house first? You might like it better than you think,” Mags suggested, opening the car door and climbing out. Ray did so too, having forgotten about his seat belt and getting stuck for a few moments before Finnick finally came back to himself and released it for him. His house. The house he’d won by murdering Alder.
He hated it.
Mags pointed to the house next to it, which looked exactly the same as his. “That’s my house, if you ever need me. Yours used to belong to Zander, but he died a few years ago. Chital is seven houses down.”
Finnick looked around the street, but all the houses looked way too similar to really tell anything apart between them. But there was one thing Finnick enjoyed, closing his eyes and savouring it. The sea. So close he could hear the waves crashing against the sand, could smell the salty air, free of the sickening perfumes of the Capitol. It didn’t look like home here, but at least it smelt and sounded like it. He supposed he could accept that for now.
After a few minutes stood appreciating the sound of the ocean, Finnick opened his eyes again, turning to the house. His house. He wasn’t sure what to make of owning his own house. He made his way up to the door, Mags and Ray following behind him, and he let himself in.
It was massive. Simply massive. No more was there a tiny little kitchen shoved in the corner of the main room, the dining table taking up most of the floor space, one solitary sofa, too small for his family. Even the corridor between the rooms was large, doors leading off to separate living rooms, reading rooms, and a separate kitchen bigger than his old house at the far end of the corridor. Stairs trailed up above him, no doubt leading to bedrooms. He wondered how many, his home only had the two, one for him and his brothers, one for his parents and Merry’s cot. Uncle Ray slept on the sofa. Even the sofas here were ginormous.
Every room had large windows, all propped open, letting the sounds and smell of the ocean permeate every inch of the house, light flooding into every single room. It was a lot to take in.
Ray shut the door behind him, and Finnick finally spied what had been stowed behind it, just as they had been stowed behind the door at home. The tridents. Finnick made his way over, picking out his Dad’s old trident, the one that had been passed down for so long now from father to son, the one he used when he went spear fishing. It was simple, old, broken and re-fixed so many times you could hardly tell what was originally part of the trident and what had been added over time. It couldn’t be more different from his trident from in the Arena, but this was so much better. So much more familiar. He ran his hand down its handle, savouring every familiar bump and crack in it. It felt so long since he’d last held it, but now it was here. Now he was here. He was safe. No more Arena. No more weapons. Just him, his trident, and whatever fish he could spear down at the beach. He’d take Drake down there tomorrow, maybe Marlin too.
Something touched his shoulder, and Finnick jumped, bringing the trident up into his hands and turning to face whoever had grabbed him. Ray shouted out in surprise, stumbling backwards, his hands held up in surrender and fear written across his face, and Finnick immediately dropped the trident, landing with a clatter on the marble flooring, his chest heaving, and an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks.
“Sorry, that was my fault,” Ray quickly said, reaching down and picking up the trident, handing it back to Finnick, but Finnick refused to take it. He’d turned it against his Uncle, his Uncle! What sort of monster had he become where he’d nearly attacked his Uncle with a fishing trident? His breathing was picking up again, the smallest ache returning to his chest, and he desperately tried to get it back under control. Ray stowed away the trident. “Finnick, are you okay? It’s alright, it was my fault,” Ray tried to assure him, but Finnick shook his head. What had happened to him? How could he do that?
“Finnick?” Mags called out, rushing over to check on him, but Finnick stumbled backwards, hitting his back against the fishing equipment, and they all clattered to the floor in a loud cacophony of sound that stung his ears. He raised his hands to cover them, realising that Ray and Mags had now trapped him against the wall. He wanted to get out. He had to get out!
“Finnick look at me, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Mags tried to assure him, but Finnick shook his head, trying to push himself further up against the wall. He didn’t want her to touch him. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be home, he wanted to be alone, he wanted to not still be half-stuck in the Arena, seeing only enemies where his family stood.
“Go away,” Finnick hissed out, and watched his Uncle’s face fall as he turned to Mags. At least Mags seemed to understand, placing a hand on Ray’s shoulder and pulling him away from Finnick, finally giving him the room to breathe. He collapsed down to the floor, wincing as he landed on one of the fishing rods, pulling his knees in tight to his body. This was wrong, this was all wrong. He was back in District 4, things were meant to be getting better, not worse! He wasn’t meant to be shouting at his family, nearly killing them, feeling this scared of being around them. And so far it was only Ray here, how was he going to handle it when his brothers got back and were their usual loud, rambunctious selves?
“I want to get changed,” He splurted out, his hands shaking. The suit was uncomfortable, and unfamiliar, and he wanted to try and look like himself again, even if he couldn’t feel like himself. He was hyperventilating still, shaking all over, and he could feel the concern emanating from Ray and Mags. “I want to wear normal clothes.” Maybe that’d help him feel more normal again.
“Okay, okay,” Ray said quickly. “We can do that. We can do that. Come on, I’ll take you to your room.”
But he didn’t move, and it took a few minutes for Finnick to realise he was waiting for him to stand up and follow him. Up the stairs, to another large corridor with all manner of doors leading off from it in every direction. But rather than give a tour, Ray headed towards one door in particular, opening it up and standing back.
“We’ve put your stuff in here, but if you’d rather have a different room, we can move it. Just let us know,” Ray said, but Finnick was barely even listening, rushing into the room and slamming the door closed behind him, collapsing once more against one of the walls and desperately trying to recatch his breath. What was wrong with him? He wanted to be here, he wanted to be with his family, he wanted to hug and laugh with his Uncle Ray like he always did. He’d killed six people for the right to do so! So why was he acting like this? Why did it still feel like he was in that Arena, fighting everyone to get home?
He didn’t know how long he sat there, his head feeling like it was swimming through the memories of everything he did, fighting for every breath around his aching chest and his hammering heart, his jaw gritted so tight he was getting a headache. But the sound of the front door slamming open made him jump, made his heart rush even faster, and the sound of someone shouting his name made his mouth run dry. Someone looking for him? His initial thought was Platinum, hunting him down once more, this time to District 4, and he wouldn’t stop at Cordelia, but at his family, his friends, everyone he loved…
But it wasn’t Platinum, it wasn’t, and he forced himself to listen to the conversation going on downstairs. It wasn’t Platinum searching for him. It was his Mom.
“Where’s Finnick?” She asked, slightly out of breath from running, but he could hear the desperation in her voice, as desperate to reach him as he had been to reach her.
“Upstairs, I think he needed a moment alone,” Ray explained, and Finnick felt himself tense up at the thought of his Mom rushing upstairs to find him. He’d nearly attacked Ray for touching him, he had no idea how he was going to react to someone barging in on him right now.
“Is he okay?” She asked, and Finnick tried to swallow, but it hurt, and every muscle seemed to be resenting it too. Ray’s silence probably said more than his words ever could.
“What’s wrong with Finnick?” Kip asked, as sweet and innocent sounding as ever, and Finnick covered over his ears. What was wrong with him? Was it that every time he’d dreamt of his brothers the past month, they were dying, almost always at his hands?
“Nothings wrong with him, just…” Ray tried to explain, but faded out, unsure of where to go from there. He could hear more footsteps entering the house, but the silence wasn’t broken. Were they all listening for him? Waiting for him? Hoping he’d come down the stairs all laughing and smiling as if nothing had changed? Maybe it hadn’t for them, but he knew he’d changed too much. Far, far too much…
“Have you three been to the beach yet?” Chital asked, speaking overly loud. He usually wasn’t this loud, the Odairs were, but Chital was not one of them. Did he want Finnick to hear him? “Why don’t we go down now, let your parents get started on cooking tea?”
“We’re not supposed to go places with strangers,” Marlin explained.
“I’m not a stranger, I’m a friend of your brothers,” Chital countered.
“Nuh-uh. Finnick’s friends are Adrian, Riggs and Davey,” Kip answered, as if he knew everything there was to know in the universe. “He isn’t friends with any old men.”
“Ouch,” Chital replied, and Finnick could hear Drake’s laughter from here, genuine childish laughter. He hadn’t heard it in so long, it felt like a knife twisting in his chest.
“It’s alright. You boys should go enjoy the beach, we know where Chital lives if he tries to kidnap any of you,” Dad joked, and after a little umming and ahhing, the front door slammed closed again, leaving the house considerably quieter than before. “I’ll chop the vegetables. Ray, are you coming?”
He knew he had to move. Had to do something. Wasn’t this the moment he’d been waiting a whole month for? To finally see his Mom again, to throw himself into her arms and finally feel safe and loved once more? Why did the thought make his skin crawl?
Finnick shook his head, now aching, and staggered to his feet. He needed to get changed. He didn’t want to wear the suits the Capitol always wanted him in, didn’t want to play dress up and look smart and well dressed, some piece of candy for the Capitol to ogle over. He slowly made his way over to the chest of drawers, finally looking around his room. It was bare of any decorations, a large bed big enough to sleep him and all his brothers in at once barely took up half of the room, while a large window showed him the sea, just a stone’s throw from the house. He risked looking out, and saw Marlin and Kip playing in the sand, with Chital stood off to the side watching them, Drake stood next to him, clearly discussing something, although there was no way Finnick could hear it.
The suit jacket was thrown to the ground, followed by his shirt and trousers, and Finnick opened the drawers in the room. It was his old clothes, exactly as he’d left them. Some torn and patched, some faded over the years, most were so heavily saturated in the salt water they used to clean everything with that they smelt only of the sea. He grabbed one of his tops, shoving his face into it so all he was breathing was the salt air. Just like Alder sniffing his mother’s handkerchief in the Arena…
Finnick tried to shake the thought out of his mind, dropping the shirt and grabbing a different one, getting dressed in his old, tatty clothes. Clothes that didn’t suit a Victor, or a tribute, but clothes that suited him. Old clothes, hand-me-downs, clothes he wore on boats, that were easy to clean when they inevitably got dirty, that wicked away sweat rather than gripped it. Work clothes. Fishing clothes. Finnick Odair’s clothes. Not Saffron’s.
He exited his room, and spotted a mirror in the hallway, checking if he looked anymore like himself. Maybe a little. His hair was wrong, too short, his face was wrong, too sad, and his skin was wrong, too perfect. But the clothes were right. And so were his eyes. He thought he could face his Mom like this.
He made his way down the stairs as quietly as he could, glancing through the open kitchen door to where Dad and Uncle Ray were currently chopping up vegetables as quietly as they could. They were talking quietly, he could hear that much, but he didn’t know what about. Probably him. Probably Uncle Ray was telling him how he’d nearly attacked him, warning his Dad about how much of a monster he’d become…
Finnick slowly made his way towards the kitchen, unsure of where Mom was. The fishing supplies had been picked up, propped back up against the wall, and he quickly looked away from them. Tridents. He honestly didn’t know whether he wanted to grab one in case it made him feel safer, less on edge all the time, or avoid so much as looking at one ever again, in case he turned it on someone else he loved, just as he had Uncle Ray. Just as he had Ivy and Alder…
“Finnick?”
Finnick stopped and turned to where the voice had come from. One of the open doors showed the living room, bright and airy, with sunlight streaming through the window and bathing his Mom in sunlight, her bronze hair practically glowing in it, her eyes, the same colour as his, stared back at him, desperate and worried. He swallowed, and she patted the sofa next to her. “Do you want to sit with me?”
He stood staring at her for a moment more, two moments, maybe three, his breathing started to hitch again, and his hands were still shaking. He raised one hand to his face, already feeling the tears forming in his eyes, and he didn’t want to cry. Didn’t want to look and feel so broken in front of his Mom, but he knew she’d never fall for any lie he told her. Even Mags knew it. ‘Your mother won’t be fooled’.
His crying did nothing for the worry on her face, but she didn’t move, instead simply holding out her arms to beckon him into a hug, and he didn’t hesitate before rushing into them, throwing his arms around her as he finally broke down sobbing. She pulled him as tightly into her arms as she could, pulling him down onto the sofa and onto her lap, her fingers working through his brutally short hair, her lips working a line of kisses across his face.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, let it out,” she soothed, rocking him gently as Finnick tried to grip tighter, as if the only way he’d ever feel whole again was to melt and merge into her clothes, to be wrapped up so tight he could never be pulled away from her ever again. “You’re home, you’re safe. You’re safe.”
He didn’t feel safe, even here in his Mom’s warm embrace, and her assertions only made him cry harder. Why couldn’t he feel safe? What had broken within him so much that even his Mom’s hugs felt like nothing more than a bandage over a festering wound? Sobs broke out into wailing, and his Mom squeezed him tightly, as if she could wring out every last tear and fix him, but he knew she couldn’t. All his hoping, all his wishing, and nothing she could do could fix him.
“You’re safe, it’s over, it’s all over,” she cooed, burying a kiss into his hair. “I love you, I love you so much. Nothing’s going to hurt you ever again, I promise.”
Finnick wanted to believe her. With every inch of his heart and soul he wanted to believe her, and maybe if he could, maybe then her hugs would have the same power to fix every problem that they had when he was six. But he’d seen the cruelty of the Capitol, seen how cruel he himself could be, and he knew he couldn’t believe her when she told him he was safe.
He would never, ever be safe again.