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“Why?”
Her question, it came in the darkness out of the blue. Or would it be grey? Grey ceilings, grey walls, even grey fabric that his skin rubbed against. Irritated, angry, maybe even red. Who knew? He couldn't tell in this darkness, or semi-darkness. The orange nightlights were on. Everything was a blur. It was a miracle that 13's medics hadn't thrown him out yet. He had a feeling it was because of Katniss' mother.
“Why what?” He murmured back, mostly into the smooth skin of her shoulder. He shifted just enough to press his lips against it. Slow. Gentle. Like velvet on water. He felt her stiffen then, in a way that indicated that he needed to pull back, to push back against his need, his near craving, the kind he used to have for those pills he used to crush and inhale mindlessly on the worst days, to be close to her. 13 forced it out of his system, but they couldn't do the same with his need for her.
“Why did you hide it from me?” She said quietly, her voice thin as a feather as she tugged away from him, as far as the cramped hospital bed would let her. He felt himself drift back to clarity on a cloud and then feel cold stillness settle in his bones at the look on her face. “The Rebellion. Why did you hide it from me?”
He blinked, tugging away to sit up on the bed, looking at her blankly. Her hair, dark as a perfectly ripe apple, was a tangled mess, more his doing than hers, and her green eyes averted from his to stare at the floor. The expression on her perfect features was one of...one of betrayal.
His heart nearly stopped at the sight of it.
“Angel—”
“You promised. No secrets. Not from me. You gave me your word then why—” she whispered, her breath catching in her throat, as she refused to look at him and her hands, perpetually shaky now, pushed her hair out of her face. “Why did you keep something like this? From me? From me?”
He couldn't breathe, not for a long moment. The air between them was filled with the beeping of the heart monitor connected to Annie that kept his alive too. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before grimacing.
“I didn't do it because I wanted to,” he whispered, not in defence but in apology, a plea. “Plutarch said that—”
“Oh, I forgot,” she said quietly, bitterly, not looking at him still, why wasn't she looking at him still? “A jury sits to decide your relationship with me. Capitol or not, the higher ups decide everything for you, huh?”
That stung, making him recoil as if she had punched him. And he'd felt that before too, Annie's punches, when they used to do combat training just for the careless fun of it. Her hits always hurt. He couldn't believe she threw that in his face but at the same time, some part of him knew it was justified.
“Don’t hold this against me,” he whispered, almost in a rush, desperate and afraid of his own words, unsure if they were bettering his argument or making it worse. “I didn't have a choice. You know I didn't—”
“E-Everyone keeps things from me,” she whispered, looking at him for the first time since she began this conversation, her green eyes tinged red from the lack of sleep, exhaustion and tears that threatened to cascade like pearls. “Everyone, they call me insane, mad, unreliable. Tr-Treat me like a child. I never thought you—”
“I was trying to protect you!” He said, nearly hysterical.
“Fine job, you did of that,” she snapped, the scathing, burning venom back in her words and he almost wished she'd just kicked him in the stomach. Her voice cracked under the weight of the anger, as she tried to keep her voice firm but failed when it cracked. “Plutarch told you not to tell someone who's suspicious or likely to snitch on you. To put your position at risk. Is that what I am? Unreliable? Untrustworthy? Did you think I would get you in trouble?”
He felt lightheaded, his lungs refusing to function from the effort he put into keeping his tears at bay. But he'd always been an easy crier, he'd always cried for the smallest of things, which used to make him weaker than the other children in the orphanage, an easy target. It was a weapon in it's own right, Finnick's cerulean gaze rippling like waves at the shore when they brimmed with tears.
“I don't know,” he whispered, looking away when she looked at him with green eyes, like the brightest day of spring District 4 could afford to have, when the rain receded just enough to let the meadows and forests bloom, look at him like he'd just set fire to the greenery.
“You don't know.”
“I didn't want you to get hurt,” he repeated, staring at the IV line connected to her arm. “I-I didn't know it was going to backfire. I begged them, to get you out. I don't— sometimes, when the episodes happen, you talk and say things—”
“It was one time!” She said, staring at him with wide eyes of such deep, gut wrenching hurt that he didn't know what to do with himself. “One time! You— I started new medication, it was making me delirious—”
“I didn't have a choice!” He said loudly, cutting her off as his hands began shaking, the words coming out in a cry and a sob. “I didn't have a choice! I was scared and worried and you-you kept getting worse, they wanted intel and I just- I needed to keep you safe! What would've happened if I told you about it and you said something when they took you? Snow would've never left you alive!”
“I was a burden,” she whispered quietly, her voice barely audible above the sound of his heavy, harsh breathing. “An unnecessary obstacle in the way of a brilliant plan-”
She was spiralling, he could tell already that she was on a worn path that she'd walked down often to an episode. He shook his head, taking her hands in his and trying to catch her jaded gaze.
“Love, please,” he begged, trying to ignore the way his voice cracked like he was a boy again. “I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to keep it from you. You're not a burden, you've never been a burden, not to me. You have to understand that I didn't do it to hurt you, please—”
“Can you go? Just for tonight?” She whispered, slipping her hands out of his, still trembling as she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I need to- I just need some time alone. To think.”
He couldn't breathe past the large weight, weight he recognised as guilt, on his chest. She wanted him gone, so fast after she'd found him again, because the hurt was deeper than the desperation, the hurt was deeper than the need, or even the needle he wished he could slip into a vein to slip away from the world, just for a few moments.
He stiffly nodded, not leaning down to kiss her forehead like he would've, knowing she didn't want it. He got off her bed, straightening out the sheets and her blanket, just to linger a moment longer, before stepping away, the near darkness making her silhouette blur too. He paused at the door, just a moment longer.
“I'm sorry.”
“I know.”