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Enobaria can't remember much of the ride back from District 2. Her head was buzzing with the shockwave of the bomb that most definitely killed her sister, and dirt and debris filled her nostrils, her mouth, even got into her eyes. She had tackled Johanna to the ground, some instinct overtaking her for the first time perhaps since she had been reaped: to worry about someone else before herself, and she hoped it wouldn't come back to bite her, that this mistake wouldn't be the thing that got her killed.
But Johanna was off-kilter, had been since Finnick arrived to speak with them. Johanna was going to get the full force of the blast just because she couldn't stop caring too much about someone who obviously didn't care enough for her. After, when Johanna reached for her hand, Enobaria could feel Finnick's gaze burning into the spot where they were connected, as if trying to fathom how someone like Johanna could choose Enobaria, could choose the Capitol, over him. She supposed Finnick was not used to rejection, had not felt the sting of being the one left much at all.
And as she walked back to the hovercraft, she thought that she was changed: that before the Quarter Quell she never really liked Finnick Odair, but she didn't mind him, really. He was always too gauche, too smooth with everyone and everything. It set her on edge. But she liked that he knew his place, that he tried to do what he could to protect his girlfriend, even if he did linger around Haymitch and the other rebels too much. But now, leaving the failed negotiations, she couldn't stand him. Finnick wanted to have principles, but ultimately was just as selfish as Enobaria. He was just too cowardly to admit it, and couched it in altruism. He invited Johanna into his orbit, only to fail her again and again when it truly mattered: at the end of the day, it would always be him and Annie, damn the rest of the world, damn the bodies in the Nut, damn the fake hostages Enobaria pit against him.
She cries on the ride home: for her sister, for her District, for the fact that she was so close and didn't even get off that stupid ledge, didn't even get to check to see if anyone she loved was still alive down below. She couldn't even send a message to tell them that she was alive. Johanna lays almost catatonic on the bench on the opposite side of the hovercraft, raw, red marks on her throat where she had tried to scratch off the collar on her neck.
Enobaria hadn't bothered. She knew Snow wouldn't kill them unless he absolutely had to, and there were very few situations where that would come up. They weren't particularly good bargaining chips, but they were much more useful alive than they were dead, and pretty cheap to maintain: they just had to be given shelter, food, and that stupid ankle monitor. It was basic military science, the sort of thing even pre-cadets were taught in District 2. She forgot, of course, that Johanna wasn't a Career, wasn't from a District with any sort of military training, wouldn't know that the collars were all a bluff. That meant, of course, that Johanna had been willing to accept her death, at the end.
Stupid Finnick and the stupid rebels. The angry thoughts devolve into plain grief as she thinks about her sister, her sister's friends, old schoolmates, neighbors, dozens of people that could have been inside the Nut during the bombing. Doubtless there were terrible Peacekeepers - there had been absolute cretins inside that prison - but there were two paths in District 2, to the quarry or to the Nut, and so it was unfair to blame all Peacekeepers simply for existing when they had been sent into that mountain same as the Mockingjay's District 12 residents were sent to the mines.
When they get back, the collar is exchanged again for the ankle bracelet. She's come to terms with the idea that she's going to be a prisoner of war until this conflict is decided one way or the other, and in a way, it's relieving not to fight. It's also relieving to not know, to just lay on her bed in her quarters in Snow's mansion, to imagine that all of her family are still somehow safe in District 2, to sleep or stare at the ceiling, and let others make decisions, make mistakes, decide the fate of their nation. There are casualties, certainly, but for a little while, she swallows it down and looks away, unable to bear it. She knows she could find out more by befriending an Avox, by speaking to Calpurnia, by fiddling with the radio in the sitting room, but she doesn't, because she's so tired of people making rash decisions that get people killed, that she just wants a break.
Johanna doesn't do much of anything, either. She lies on the opposite bed, usually on her side, sometimes pushing powdered morphling up into her gums. Enobaria doesn't ask who she gets it from. No one heals the scratches on her neck, and they stand out like stinging red lashes - a sign of absolute desperation. The first two nights Enobaria resists the urge to go to Johanna's bed: her muscles were sore and she didn't want to sleep tangled up with another person, but there was another reason, also. She saw the way Johanna looked at Finnick, like he was the answer to some problem she had. It made her desperately sad for Cashmere, and she couldn't help but remember how Johanna drove her axe through Cashmere's chest: clinical and swift, a killing on behalf of the rebel alliance.
On the third night since they've come back from District 2, Enobaria drifts into sleep, then wakes with a start to an imagined sensation of a man reaching for her. She swats at nothing and orients herself to the room in the near darkness: the doorway on the far wall between their beds, leading to the sitting room, the window behind her, the painting over Johanna's bed of the mansion's gardens, Johanna's silhouette sleeping on her side.
She tries to resist, tries to think of reasons not to cross the room: Johanna is still a rebel sympathizer, Johanna is only tolerating Enobaria because she's stuck with her, Johanna is a straight woman, but Enobaria can still feel the phantom touch of that prison guard, and she creeps over to the other bed. Johanna shifts in half-sleep to accommodate Enobaria, like she always does, and Enobaria settles down again, until Johanna reaches across, her fingertips resting on skin as she settles at Enobaria's collarbone. "Do you think he ever loved me?" Johanna asks, her voice muffled into Enobaria's neck.
And what a horrible, loaded question. She wonders if Finnick knows what an effect he's had on Johanna, that the woman who wouldn't tell rebel secrets after a literal month of torture, who was prepared to die for the Mockingjay to have a chance to bring about revolution in Panem, is laying here in the dark second guessing everything because she glimpsed his engagement ring. Enobaria sighs, wondering if the truth is too cruel even though she and Johanna both are the type of people who are no good at lying. The answers that come to mind are 'When it suited him' or 'Probably, but not enough', but they're stuck in her chest. Because who had ever loved her enough, either? The loneliness is tangible between them, the kind of solitude that only a Victor understands, one more unlucky than Finnick.
She shrugs, a non-answer, and Johanna nods against her shoulder. Enobaria wonders what it would feel like to be loved enough, to not have a pit of emptiness that felt like a void drowning out her feelings on politics, war, her own amibitions. Selfishly, impulsively, she turns her face towards Johanna's to seek some sort of comfort. And Johanna draws closer as well, perhaps her own instincts similar, her lips nearly grazing Enobaria's. Enobaria can feel the tension between them, can feel her body responding to the closeness. She knows Johanna won't dare initiate anything, for the same reason Johanna won't come into Enobaria's bed, but when Johanna licks her lip, a little unconscious gesture, Enobaria can't resist any longer and moves to close the distance, almost as if doomed to such an ending from the moment she crossed the room.
She hasn't realized that she has imagined kissing Johanna until she is doing it and it doesn't meet her expectations. She thought Johanna would be insubstantial, tentative, something slipping through her fingers even the moment she finally can grasp her. But in reality, once they are kissing, Johanna leans in closer, seeking the contact possibly even more than Enobaria is, moving on top, her weight still slight but a weight nonetheless, binding Enobaria to the present. "I- Can I?" Johanna asks, pulling away for a moment. Enobaria nods, breathless, in disbelief.
Johanna brushes a finger along Enobaria's cheekbone, behind her ear, through her hair. The light is dim, but it's enough to see by, enough for her to watch herself being looked at before Johanna leans back down to kiss her lips, her chin, her neck. Enobaria doesn't dare touch Johanna's head, so instead she rakes her nails along Johanna's thighs that sit astride her. Johanna sits up again, ultraconscious of any touch, but instead of looking irritated, or in pain, she smirks, just a bit, and pulls her shirt off.
She is hollow beneath, flat chested with visible ribs, scarring all along her torso, including one swipe Enobaria thinks was likely from her own knife, but she lets Enobaria get a good look: an offering. Johanna eases back a bit, perhaps letting Enobaria escape, but she just uses the space to pull off her own shirt as well. She can't help but smile a little as Johanna's eyes widen a little, taking in her naked form. This is completely different from the last time they were together in an intimate way: sold together to a group of lecherous Capitol patrons, and she's enjoying this time far more, even despite their circumstances.
Johanna finishes undressing, and Enobaria joins her, and they lay back down. "It would be nice to have a bottle of wine," Enobaria says, her voice quiet, afraid to break the spell.
Johanna laughs a little, her fingers running along Enobaria's shoulder, down her arm. Enobaria is too conscious of how Johanna has likely never been with a woman who hasn't bought her company, hasn't done this just for pleasure, without coercion. And so she pulls Johanna to her gently, her movement intentionally a bit clumsy, meeting Johanna's gaze with each change. After she realizes that the consent isn't going away, she quickens the tempo, her body beginning to ache with need. Johanna is pliant beneath her, more relaxed than she has ever seen the other woman.
Enobaria uses her fingers between Johanna's legs, her mouth on her breast, mindful as always of her pointed teeth. And yet Johanna pushes into the contact, sharp hip bones pushing against Enobaria, craving more contact. Enobaria moves down to taste Johanna, her tongue teasing against Johanna's clit as two fingers push inside her and Johanna comes less than a minute later, desperately pushing Enobaria away as her thighs relax, then rolling onto her side.
Enobaria watches Johanna as she recovers from her daze of an orgasm, her gray eyes staring at nothing, the almost terrifying duality she always seems to form between absolute tension of pain or adrenaline and near torpor following a morphling dose, or, Enobaria supposes, good sex. She has a rogue thought, wondering if Finnick ever bothered with Johanna this much, ever made her come with his mouth, ever carefully watched each muscle move in her forehead. She doubts it, somehow.
And then, almost without warning, Johanna's hand has crept up her leg, teasing her inner thigh, her mouth kissing her hip. Enobaria wants to say that it's alright, that they can just sleep, but Johanna seems to feel how wet she is, how aroused she has become, and she draws closer. They've both been trained well, by the Capitol, to tease, to please, but this feels different. She closes her eyes momentarily at the first feel of Johanna's fingers against her clit.
She's already wet, and Johanna's fingers slip into her easily, her kisses trailing up her stomach, to her breasts, along her neck until they are again side by side. And Johanna pushes her pants down for easier access then continues, pulling her fingers out just to slide them along Enobaria's clit, then back inside, and back and forth until she's nearly overwhelmed with the contact. Johanna pulls her nipple into her mouth, teasing it with her tongue, and she's done for, feeling herself falling over the edge and even so pushing harder into Johanna's touch.
The next morning, Enobaria wakes naked in Johanna's bed. She remembers, of course, what has happened, but it's more difficult to decide how to feel about it. Johanna is still asleep, turned away on her side. She sits up, knowing the movement on the bed will wake Johanna, and sure enough, she wakes with a start, her arm flailing as she sits up, gathering the sheet around herself as if this would offer her any protection. "Sorry to startle you," Enobaria says, her voice neutral.
"No, it would happen even if you weren't here," Johanna says. She winces in that familiar way, licks her lips, and flops over again, her head now resting near where Enobaria is sitting. "Trying to sneak away?" she asks.
Was Johanna teasing her? Enobaria had been half-certain she was preying on a straight woman, and half-certain she was having a one-night stand at best. "You looked comfortable," she tries.
"Comfortable as I think I'll ever be anymore," Johanna says, her voice muffled a bit against Enobaria's thigh. The affection is surprising, but not unwelcome. They've been apart for three days, since District 2, but even before that, they only slept in the same bed out of a sort of desperation, to prove they weren't completely alone. This is different - this is intimate.
She thinks of one of the first nights, of being unable to rid herself of the feeling of violation as she scrubbed and scrubbed in the shower, and Johanna able to reassure her with a few words, telling her that she got it all. Perhaps there is something here, something she shares only with another Victor, another person who has been through the torture of that prison, and has been left behind as the war continues without them. She was afraid it was dependence, or convenience, or trauma forcing them together. But now she thinks it might actually be something real.
Gently, slowly, she moves her hand and cards her fingers through Johanna's too-short hair. She waits for the flinch, the hiss of pain, but there's none, and Johanna closes her eyes, her forehead still pressed against Enobaria's thigh, and Enobaria takes this as permission to continue.
It's nice to have a morning after, something so rarely granted before the Quarter Quell. Whenever Enobaria slept with Lyme, she left right away, making it look like they were just neighbors in District 2's Victor's Village, over for a chat or casual afternoon. Whenever she slept with Cashmere in the Capitol, it was before some other event, a party or a client or sitting in the booth as a Mentor. There was never this.
Enobaria's hand moves further to ghost along the back of Johanna's neck, to feel the small bumps of her vertebrae and memorize them under her touch, but she's distracted as Johanna gently bites at her leg. It's on the outer half, but close enough to her hip that all her attention is on Johanna's mouth, and she finds herself instantly aroused. She fights off an urge to use her grip on the back of Johanna's neck to push her between her legs, fantasizing about it instead.
Enobaria does get her wish as Johanna pushes her back against the pillows, her mouth continuing along Enobaria's inner thighs. Enobaria wants to tell her it's enough teasing already, one bite inexplicably was all it took, but she does not dare protest against the woman willingly pleasuring her. Johanna looks up from between her legs at one point and it's like a look back in time: at Johanna before the torture in the Capitol, before her family was killed, before Haymitch and Finnick let her down too many times. She's mischievous, bold, unrepentant, and when she breaks the gaze, it's to bring her mouth to Enobaria's clit finally, finally, and she keeps a strong pace until Enobaria comes, her thighs holding Johanna against her, willing her not to continue but not to leave.
When she finally relaxes, she wonders if she went too far, as Johanna rights herself with a distinct sort of grimace, but then she smiles, and Enobaria feels like she's been let in on a secret: that Johanna Mason is actually very attractive, but only those with the right view can see it. Johanna walks to the nightstand and grabs her tin of morphling, shoving it up into her gums, and a little under her tongue. Then she lays back besides Enobaria, the drug working fast, making her lethargic. "Haymitch would yell at me about that, all the time," she says.
At first Enobaria thinks she's talking about the oral sex, but then realizes she means the morphling. She's sure he meant well, probably didn't want to find her dead one morning, and that was a real risk with the shit they had to deal with sometimes. Haymitch probably noticed what she now sees, she thinks, that Johanna is really captivating, once you notice it, but he made his choice and not just once. "Yeah, well Haymitch didn't get electrocuted every day for a month," she replies. "As long as you don't try to die, I don't care."
Johanna nods, her eyes now closed, but Enobaria can tell she's still awake. "Gotta stay alive to see how the war turns out," she says, as if repeating a military order.