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He chokes when he sees her, halfway through swallowing some amber liquor that his brother-in-law had brought over the other night. Annie is beside him, rocking the baby on the couch and half-watching the television program, so Finnick doesn't think she sees the inch-tall figure that is unquestionably Johanna on their screen.
The program is "Capitol Tonight", a recap of the news, events, and important functions happening in the Capitol. The host had just covered a session of the council debating education laws, and then switched to a benefit gala where art from young artists in every district was being auctioned off to Capitol bidders, the proceeds going back to the districts.
And there, at the gala, was Johanna. Annie looks to Finnick as he gathers himself, the liquor burning his sinuses, but he points at the screen. The camera is panning around, but he hopes it will cut back to her.
"You know they contacted Shelly about that program," Annie says, shifting the baby onto her chest to settle him. "She's been too busy with the Ward conversion, though."
He's half listening, his ears ringing. Because it isn't just Johanna. Beside her, his hand on her lower back, is Licinius Crowley, a man who bought his company as much as anyone when he was a mentor. They're laughing together, drinks in hand, looking at the art, and he wonders if he's dreaming. He thinks he might vomit. "It's Jo," he chokes out, gesturing at the television.
Annie squints, leaning forward a bit, readjusting Seamus yet again. Finnick supposes she's not as familiar with Johanna's visage, and when she did know Johanna, she looked terrible. The woman on screen looks like Johanna at her best — glowing and made up, her hair grown out again, and no longer emaciated. "What is she doing in the Capitol?" Annie asks, but it's not the horror that Finnick has, just a mere curiosity.
He shakes his head. The television program has moved on, now showing some protest outside of the President's house, but Finnick doesn't even pay attention to what it's about. He's already moving towards the kitchen, to their phone. He dials in a daze, half-aware of Annie's eyes on him, half-aware of his fingers moving on the pad. He feels sick, and he doesn't know if it's for himself or Johanna. He sits down heavily in the chair below the phone.
"Hello?"
"Haymitch?"
"Fin?" Haymitch sounds tired, but it's not that late yet. 'Capitol Tonight' airs at 7PM in District 4, so it is only 9 or 10PM in District 12.
"What's Johanna doing in the Capitol?" He means it to sound accusatory, but it sounds fearful.
There's a pause, something shifting. Finnick wonders if Haymitch is alone, wonders if he interrupted him. "What happened?" he asks. His voice is quieter now.
"She… I saw her, on television, with a former client of mine.” It sounds stupid now, and he tries to swallow, and it's thick and awkward. It makes sense in his head, but saying it aloud, he can't make Annie or Haymitch see the cause for alarm.
There's another pause, and this time, a heavy sigh. "Finnick, why did you call me? Do you think I have answers as to what she's doing with her life right now? Because I don't, she ignores me completely. But if it's because you wanted to find something out without actually calling her yourself, I’m not here to gossip. Either you get involved and you get to know things, or you stay away and you don't."
He doesn't want to hear this. He doesn't want Haymitch of all people lecturing him when he's already down. He feels anger, a resentment and frustration that he hasn't felt in months bubble up to the surface. "Fuck you," he says, quietly enough that he hopes Annie won't hear him.
Haymitch is silent on the other end of the line, but there's no click, he's still listening.
"You left her, didn't you? If she's a Capitol whore again it's your fault."
Seamus begins to fuss, and Annie stands, rocking him, and takes him up the stairs. Finnick wonders if the baby could sense the tension in the room, or if Finnick is just interrupting their usual family time together and Seamus misses the familiarity.
"I had other responsibilities, Finnick. But I could say the same about you. You got your wife and what — friends, lovers don't matter anymore? Have you called her once in the past year? Have you even thought of her?" Haymitch's voice is louder now, and Finnick can tell he's getting angry too.
Finnick leans back in the chair, letting his head hit against the wall. "Of course I think of her," he says. He exhales, trying to reel some of his anger back in. "Forget I called."
"Finnick…"
"I'll figure it out myself." He hangs up the phone before Haymitch can protest, or he can offer to do something about this situation. He doesn't want Haymitch's favors or Haymitch's pity, and he's still roiling from the beginning of the conversation, from the implication that he doesn't deserve the privilege of knowing what is happening with Johanna.
Above him, he can hear the baby begin to settle, Annie calming him with her words. He pushes his fingers through his hair, trying to gather himself to rejoin her.
That night in bed, Annie rolls over to face Finnick, a couple minutes after they turn the lights out. He can just see the shape of her in the darkness, the familiarity of his wife serving to calm him, at least until she speaks. "I heard what you said on the phone, about that man with Johanna being a client of yours."
She, also, chooses the polite term, though he's sure she's imagining the truth: Licinius Crowley paid for sex with him many, many times over. He nods. "Sorry I didn't mention it right away."
She shakes her head, caressing his left cheek with her hand. She's careful to avoid his eye and his ear, the parts permanently damaged by the mutt attack at the end of the war, but that was Annie: always gentle, even without trying. "That's not what I meant," she says. "It's just… if he's with Johanna, I understand if you'd want to go help her."
He does not want to go back to the Capitol. He doesn't want to ever see Licinius again. He isn't even sure if he wants to see Johanna again. There's a reason why he didn't try to contact her after the war, a separation he wants to keep between this life he has now in District 4 and the before, the Games and the war. He can feel his pulse quicken even considering her suggestion. "No, I-"
"Invite her back here," Annie says. "Shelly is finishing up those apartments, maybe she'd like it in District 4."
Shelly is Annie’s best friend, a woman she met back when they both lived in the Ward for Troubled Women. Finnick wasn’t sure of her at first, but she was extremely smart, and very protective of Annie, and her newest project is converting the old psychiatric ward into apartments for single women.
Finnick doesn't know how to tell Annie that he's a coward, that he doesn't want to go back to the Capitol. It's where he had to kill people, where he was abused for years by men and women like Licinius, where he lost his left eye and left ear. But if it's just for a bit, just to invite Johanna back to 4, and with Annie's blessing, he might be able to.
Before, he was always going to the Capitol and lying to everyone, keeping secrets from Annie about Johanna and the true cost of mentorship, and lying to the Capitolites about being single, and collecting all of their secrets for the rebels. But now, the war is over, all of his secrets are laid bare, maybe he can just go back, do his job, and come home. "Ok," he says. "You'll be alright if I go for a few days?"
The train ride to the Capitol is an overnight trip, so Finnick books a sleeper car and arrives early in the morning. He asks the station attendant how to locate a resident and he is directed to the information desk in city hall, so he makes his way there. It's November, and there's a chill in the air, but the day is sunny and it's far warmer than it was in District 4.
Overall, the Capitol looks much better than it did a year ago, at the end of the war. The streets are cleaned of rubble and any signs of violence, and most of the buildings are repaired. He still sees hints here and there as he walks: a chunk taken out of brick from an explosion, or bullet holes on a frieze, but if he doesn't focus too hard, he can forget about the end of the war.
He hopes Johanna will have a place for him to stay. He has some money with him, and he can pay for a hotel, but wages aren't exactly high in District 4, and he hopes the money he spent months saving from working on the fishing boat won't be thrown away in days on a posh Capitol hotel.
The city hall is quiet, with attendants at the booths behind marble counters. There are a couple guards at the entrance, but he only sees batons tucked into their belts, no guns. He goes to the information desk and asks for Johanna's address.
The woman behind the desk raises her eyebrows in recognition, a hint of a smile on her face. "Oh, you're Finnick Odair!" she says. "I almost didn't recognize you with that eyepatch."
He knows he used to be on tabloids in the Capitol, and he used to be on television and put on display in the clubs and at other events. But the year away from all that in District 4 did much to erase that from his mind, that it's surprising when it all comes back. The nausea returns, the feeling that he should not have come here, and this place is dangerous for him. He nods, trying to look pleasing, polite.
And just that makes him feel worse, because that is what he does here. He is trained to appeal to the Capitolites, to put them at ease and attend to their whims. He should not act how he feels, but how they expect him to behave. He realizes that he still expects punishment if he steps out of line. It's unsettling.
The woman looks up the information, still chatting idly about how much she enjoyed his Games, how she is glad to see him back in the Capitol. It occurs to him that life hasn't really changed for her. That the Games are over, that Snow is gone, but her lifestyle is more or less the same. "Alright," she says at last. "Johanna Mason's registered address is here." She hands over a paper, pointing to the printed lines.
He thanks her and leaves, taking deep breaths of the fresh air as soon as he's outside. Then he walks in the direction of the written address.
It's strange to be in the Capitol with complete freedom. Before the war, whenever he was here, he had been beholden to the escorts, to his clients, to whatever was asked of him by Snow, ultimately. He was trapped between the Training Center and the hotels, driven back and forth in the cover of night, never seen on the streets during the day. And then, during the war, he needed to move carefully, always looking out for the pods and the dangers that were hidden in the streets. Not careful enough, he thinks, feeling the loss of his eye and his ear.
But now, he walks through the streets like he's just a normal citizen, because, really, he is. He sees a Peacekeeper here and there, and they pay him no mind. He buys a late breakfast from a street vendor, and the merchant doesn't seem to recognize him. It takes him about an hour to get to Johanna's apartment, because he's moving slow. He can't tell if it's because he's actually enjoying this freedom, or if it's because he doesn't know what to say to her when he arrives.
Her building is in the northern-most neighborhood of the Capitol, tucked in a quiet street up on a hill. The building is larger than he anticipated, and very stately. There are only four units marked on the placard beside the front door, unlike the larger buildings near the city center with dozens of apartments stacked high. He rings the bell for unit 3, and there's no answer for thirty seconds, so he tries again.
"Who is it?" It's her voice, undoubtedly, sleepy and annoyed, coming out staticky through the intercom.
"Fin," he says, pressing the button to speak.
There's a buzz, and he's let in. Unit 3 is on the second floor, so he climbs the stairs and knocks on her door. After a moment she opens it.
She's standing in a burgundy satin robe, her usual dour expression on her face, eyes a little smudged with last night's makeup. "Come in," she says, ushering him inside. His memories of Johanna make her larger than life but standing before him, she's smaller than he remembers, the top of her head only reaching to about his chin.
She turns back into the apartment and sits in the living room, nodding at him to sit as well. There's a large window there, looking down onto the street below. He leaves his bag in the front hall by the door, and kicks his shoes off, and then he sits as well. She lights up a cigarette and cracks the window to blow the smoke out. Once she exhales, she turns to him. "What are you doing here?" she asks.
He looks around the room as he considers how to respond to this. The inside of the apartment is nice, just like the outside. The furnishings are tasteful, and it's light and spacious. But just like every space he's ever seen Johanna inhabit, it's a mess, with clothes draped here and there, overflowing ashtrays, candles melted onto the tabletops, and a half-finished bottle of wine on the table between them. "I saw you, on the television," he says. "At the art gala, with Licinius."
She smiles lazily, her eyebrow quirking in amusement. And the sickness is back, the off feeling that made him gulp for air leaving the city hall. Because if he was trained to put people at ease, Johanna's coping mechanism was to deflect, to act as if everything was a joke and nothing ever really got to her. "Yes, Cinny's good for a bit of fun," she says. She takes another drag, watching the wind moving through the tree branches just outside the window, rather than looking at him.
He bites the inside of his cheek, he can't help it. He feels completely out of his depth. He can't tell if she's being threatened, or if she's caught in a scheme, or what's happening. "Why are you living here?" he asks, pivoting away from Licinius for the time being.
Now she looks back at him, her eyes a little sharper. The robe shifts a bit, and he sees down along her sternum. All the dozens of burn scars on her chest and hairline from the prison are gone, and she is startlingly perfect in a way he will never be again. And he realizes she's not wearing anything under the robe, that he likely woke her and she threw it on to answer the door.
"In this apartment?"
He shakes his head. "In the Capitol."
She cocks her head to the side a little, considering him. It isn't just idle curiosity, it's like a predator, playing with her food. It's the worst version of Johanna, and he doesn't know how to get her to stop being on the defensive. "Where should I be living?"
He wants to redo everything. He should have come later in the day, he should have started by saying he was glad to see her. He should have asked if she wanted to go get something to eat, or done anything but taken the conversation the way he did. His stomach is still reeling thinking of her and Licinius, imagining Licinius sitting on the chair he is on now, but it's too late now, he has to plow forward. "Annie thought you should come back to District 4, her friend is finishing some apartments, you could-"
"Oh, you've got a plan? A place to tuck Johanna away?"
He knows he's stepped on some kind of mine, but he doesn't know exactly what set her off. It feels familiar, somehow, there's a nostalgia here. Of Johanna yelling, of Johanna being upset over this or that, and him just sinking back into nothingness, letting the dissociation wash over him until she had calmed down. But he can't, now. He feels locked into the present, forced to look at her and witness whatever is happening.
"That's really nice of you to remember after a year of nothing. Even Haymitch gives me pathetic phone calls sometimes, though he's just giving me reports on Katniss this and Katniss that. I guess the war really does change people." She shakes her head, staring him down. She drops her voice. "You haven't even thought of me in a year in your private thoughts? Not even when you masturbate?"
He can feel himself turning red, and he doesn't have a response. Immediately he's assaulted by memories of them fucking, and he knows she knows. But a moment later she's sitting back again, as if nothing happened, as if they're just discussing something mundane. "That's why you came here, then?" she asks, "To take me back with you?"
He feels like he can barely speak. He, Finnick, whose job it was for years to entertain and enchant, is almost paralyzed on the chair in Johanna's apartment. "I just thought-"
She shakes her head, the thoughtless smile on her face again. "Come on," she says. "You should take a shower, get changed. Then we can have a drink."
When he gets out of the shower, she's still in the robe and smoking another cigarette. Johanna is sitting at her dressing table, and he approaches from behind, from the direction of her bathroom, aware at once of the intimacy of the moment. He feels like her lover, but they haven't been intimate since before the Quarter Quell, in fact, he can't even remember the last time. No, it feels like the morning after, but really, they've just fought.
She seems unfamiliar to him now. She's too posh, too fashionable, too thin. But there's something else, too, and when he realizes it, it nags him more than he cares to admit. Johanna always had wanted his attention. Johanna always wanted to spend time with him, to talk to him, to touch him. They hadn't even been within five feet since he arrived.
He sits on the edge of the bed, in a position where he knows she can see him in the mirror. He isn't sure how to present himself in the Capitol, where he can no longer be bought, but he also has no purpose: he isn't there to work or to do business. He put on a button-down and slacks, something neutral. He can see the dark blur of his eyepatch in the reflection.
"You want a tab of euphoria or something?" she asks.
"Will I need it?" His heart is racing just from the implication. They took euphoria to deal with… sleeping with people who bought their company. For the last few years, he would start to feel sick just holding the pill in his hand, a feeling that wouldn't fade until the drug kicked in and everything was suddenly copacetic.
She makes eye contact with him through the mirror, quirking a brow. "God, Fin, I was just offering. You seem tense."
He is tense. He has no idea what is happening, and it's probably because he spent the last year in District 4 only paying attention to his wife and brother and sister-in-law, not what was happening to her or anyone else he knew, let alone what was happening in the Capitol outside of small television segments. "I could use a drink," he says at last.
She nods and reaches up to unclasp a necklace, but can't quite get the hook, and so he stands up and takes the chain from her fingers. His depth perception is shit now, but he can work a clasp based on feeling alone — he's done it for Annie enough times. Johanna's hair is longer now, past her chin, dark brown and sleek, a completely different look from the last time he saw her, when it was nearly buzzed away. The Capitol is full of miracles, it seems. His knuckles brush the back of her neck and she's warm and alive, even if she is pale, even if he can see the knobs of her vertebrae peeking out along the back of her neck. He takes the necklace off and hands it to her, and the moment is over.
She stands and walks to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and taking out two glasses, then opening a second cabinet and pulling down a glass bottle of amber liquor. "You drink it straight, right?"
He nods. "A little ice."
She gets some from the freezer and gives him a heavy pour, twice what Annie would serve, and pours a second for herself. Then she goes back to her room and announces she's taking a shower. She brings her drink along with her. He's left in her apartment, alone, the sun just starting to fade over the trees in her neighborhood.
He pokes around, unsure of what he's looking for. There's excess everywhere, lace and satin and sequins draped over the backs of all the furniture. There are empty bottles accumulating in the kitchen, and there's barely any food in the fridge. He walks back into her room to retrieve his drink and once he confirms he can hear the shower running, he opens her nightstand drawer.
He expected the morphling syringes, so he's not sure why he's surprised when he actually sets eyes on them. There's a little strip of elastic, a tourniquet, and a glass bottle of the medical grade stuff, not the shitty black balls or the white powder he is used to seeing. He wants to throw it away, to pour it down the drain or smash it on the ground, but he knows it's futile. She has a hook-up — a good one, by the looks of it — so she can get more.
Johanna has only been in the shower five minutes when there's a knock at the door. Finnick thinks about ignoring it, but then he realizes that the sound didn't come from the intercom, but from the door itself. Whoever knocked was able to let themselves in the main door and was standing right in the hall. Even so, he considers ignoring the knock. If he wasn't there, Johanna would have missed this caller. But he is already on edge and the knock repeats, heightening his anxiety.
He can't imagine who it is. He doesn't know anything about Johanna's life here. He doesn't know if she has friends, if she works and has coworkers, if she knows her neighbors. But when there's a third, more impatient sounding knock, he tucks one of her kitchen knives into his waistband and answers the door, wishing there was at least a peephole so he could check who it was.
It takes him a moment to process the image of Licinius Crowley at the threshold, carrying a bouquet of flowers and an expensive looking bottle of liquor. But Licinius doesn't even glance at Finnick, he just walks into the apartment, obviously familiar with the place. "I bring you offerings, and my deepest apologies," he says, setting the flowers and the bottle on the counter. "I'm sorry about how-"
"You." Finnick doesn't intend to cut Licinius off, really. But in a matter of seconds, it feels like all his trepidation has been replaced by anger. He can feel the press of the knife against his lower back and knows undoubtedly, he still has what it takes to kill someone.
Finally, Licinius turns towards him and seems to realize who it is that opened the door. He stops talking, his gaze taking in Finnick's post-war appearance — down an eye and most of an ear, and not nearly as perfectly groomed as remake would make him. "Finnick, what a surprise!"
Licinius recovers relatively well, his smile still half-formed. He looks about the same as Finnick remembers, his hair still in a low ponytail, and he's wearing a rather gauche dark green velvet suit. He has some age lines that weren't there before, but Finnick is sure there's a clinic nearby that can take care of those.
"What are you apologizing for? What did you do to her?" It feels good to be angry, and being angry on behalf of someone else seems even more righteous. But there's something that feels innately dangerous about confronting Licinius, as weak of an opponent as he is. Licinius represents power. He has always had the backing of Snow, of the Capitol elites. Now, after the war, Finnick won't be killed for standing up to Licinius, but he continually needs to remind himself of this.
Licinius licks his lips, looking at the bouquet, and then back to Finnick. Finnick moves away from the door, but is careful to keep the distance between them. "Oh, that?" Licinius smiles, and now it's him putting Finnick at ease, an unnatural reversal. "It's just something silly."
Licinius opens a cabinet and pulls out a vase, filling it with water to put the flowers in. The familiarity he has with the apartment is unsettling, when Finnick hadn't even known Johanna's address this morning. "Explain," he commands.
Licinius bites his lips, but nods, acquiescing. He undoes the binding on the flowers and works on arranging them in the vase as he speaks. "We went to a party last night. I didn't realize that there would be Peacekeepers there. We left right away, but Jo was upset because she thought she recognized one of them from that prison. She wanted to confront them, I mean, I half-thought it was a good idea — we'd had that much to drink — but Paylor's deal is strict."
He doesn't even know what he wants to ask. 'Why are you going out with Jo?' or 'What deal are you talking about?' or 'What do you mean loyalist Peacekeepers are still walking free?'. But his real question is like an itch that he has to scratch, and he asks it before he can think better of it. "Do you even regret it?" he asks.
Finally, Licinius looks at him. There's something there, something deep an empty, and loneliness Finnick can tell is gaping. This time it's Finnick who averts his eyes first, reaching for his half-finished drink and taking a large swallow. "Regret… you… you mean?" Licinius asks.
Finnick hates the phrasing, as if they were in a relationship and he wasn't sold as an escort enough times that he became familiar with Licinius. "You took advantage of me," he says. It's more than that, but he can't put it into words.
Licinius sits in that admission, his lips half-parted, as if he wants to say something in reply. Finnick doesn't expect an apology, but he saw the abyss in Licinius, so perhaps just an acknowledgement of the hurt he caused would be enough for Finnick to put down the knife. But Johanna rejoins them in that moment, her hair still wet, now bare-faced and wearing a black slip dress. "Licinius, I wasn't expecting you!" she says, breaking the tension. She pulls the bottle of amber liquor back out and pours herself a second glass, and tops off Finnick's glass. She gets a third glass out for Licinius.
Licinius shrugs. "I thought last night could have ended better." He sips the glass she offers, and she shrugs in reply.
"Can't make any trouble for my benefactor," she says, her lips curving into a derisive smirk.
Now Licinius laughs a little. "No, fragile Panem might not be able to handle it." He sips again, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen counter, his posture relaxing a bit. "You coming out tonight?"
Johanna digs in the fridge and finds an apple, biting it as she shakes her head. "I'm beat," she says. "And we have that dinner tomorrow for the art council."
Finnick is losing track of the conversation, but the other two don't even seem to remember that he's in the room. "Stop!" He says it without thinking, putting his glass back down on the counter with more force than he means to. The glass doesn't break, but the remaining liquor sloshes out, splashing onto his hand and the counter.
Johanna and Licinius look at him in shock, like he was the one being strange. And now that he has their attention, he isn't sure exactly what he wants to say. "What… what is the 'deal'? With Paylor?" He isn't even sure he heard Licinius right, but he had heard the president's name, he needs to understand how she fits into this.
Johanna half scoffs, tossing the apple core on top of a dirty plate and sitting beside Licinius at the counter. Licinius looks like he's going to answer the question, but Johanna cuts him off. "No. You don't get to just come here and demand information. That's none of your business."
"Johanna, you made a deal with the president, it might be my business."
"I'm telling you, it's not."
"It's really not," Licinius confirms.
"You stay out of this," Finnick says. The knife is pressed to his back, and he grabs it now, holding it. He keeps it close to his hip, but it's out now so they can see it.
"What the fuck?" Johanna stands and comes around the counter so she's standing right before him. She puts her hand on his wrist, probably to disarm him, but he's not ready for that yet, not with her secrets and Licinius right there, a few feet away. He twists his wrist out of her grip, careful not to cut her with the knife, and takes a step back.
"Tell me what's going on!" He can hear the quaver in his voice, his increasing desperation.
She looks at him with disgust, massaging her wrist where he twisted it. "Why don't you go take a walk or something?" she says. "Come back when you've calmed down."
He can't stand either of them right now, so it isn't a bad idea. He goes to the doorway and puts his shoes back on, slipping his wallet from his rucksack to his pocket. He leaves the knife on the bag, knowing he can't go walking around the Capitol with a weapon, and in a few seconds he's out in the fresh air, away from Johanna, away from Licinius, away from the morphling and the secrets and whatever else they share.
He takes a couple minutes to calm down, and then walks up to the main road. The sky is a deep pinkish purple now, though he isn't sure the exact time. He hails a taxi and climbs in the back. "Take me to the president's office, please."
The drive isn't long, and Finnick is back in the city center in fifteen minutes. He realizes Johanna doesn't live that far out, he just took a meandering route walking to her apartment, and was slowed by the uphill trek.
The cab lets him out on a stone square near a series of beautifully designed buildings, and he pays and walks up to the one with a sign before it that says "Democracy Hall: Council Chambers and Office of the President". The building itself is made of massive stone blocks, probably from the quarries of District 2, and has a look that is both ancient and modern. The windows look into a large foyer, but he can't see any further in.
He walks to the steps, towards the entrance, but there is a crowd gathered around. He recognizes them, not as individuals, but as a group. They're paparazzi, here to take pictures of people coming and going, trying to get a soundbite to sell to the tabloids and the news agencies. He tries to look nondescript as he approaches the door.
A Peacekeeper steps out before he can reach for the handle. "Do you have an appointment?"
"I need to speak with the president." As soon as he says it, he realizes how stupid it sounds.
The Peacekeeper smirks. Finnick can see there's a second Peacekeeper, hidden behind a column, and he has some kind of gun in the holster on his belt. "Yeah, you and everyone else," the first one smirks. "Sorry, can't help you."
"Please, can you call her, see if she'll see me? I'm Finnick Odair, I was a victor in the Hunger Games."
There's a murmuring behind him, and Finnick can tell that someone in the crowd had heard this. He holds his breath, both hoping to appeal to the soldiers, and praying that none of the paparazzi will take a photo of him.
But the Peacekeeper just laughs, shaking his head. The second one steps out now, looking stern. "There's no more Games," he says, "And no more victors. You're no more important than anyone else. Now get off the steps before I make you."
Finnick turns away, again shocked at how terribly things had gone compared to how he had planned it. But there's no time to dwell, since as soon as he tries to go down the steps, the men and women with the cameras have them shoved in his face. "Finnick! It really is you! Are you back in the Capitol for good?"
He ignores the other shouts and questions as he tries to move past them, hating the way he tries to keep his face neutral for their photos. He wants to sneer. He wants to yell at them to move aside and stop bothering him, but he's as conscious as ever of his public image, and ignoring them is the best he can manage. When he gets past them, out to the square, he doesn't know where to go. He feels stupid for even coming here. Why did he think he could see the president with no notice?
A car pulls up and the back window rolls down. It's one of the black hired cars that used to drive him to appointments and back when he was a mentor, and his natural inclination is to move away from it, but a hand beckons him closer and he obeys.
"Finnick, right? I'm President Paylor's assistant, Chambray. Please get in, let's have dinner."
She looks to be only a few years older than him, but she's dressed in a sharply tailored suit. Her hair is clipped short and kept natural, and she has a no-nonsense attitude that tells Finnick this is all business. He opens the door and climbs inside, unsure if it's more to get answers, or just to leave behind the paparazzi and the rude Peacekeepers and the embarrassment of his presumptuousness.
They drive about ten minutes, back towards Johanna's neighborhood, and the driver lets them out at a quiet-looking bistro. The host seems to know Chambray and leads them to a back room, seating them privately and bringing out a bottle of red wine right away. Finnick had been quiet on the car ride, unsure of what the woman wanted with him, and now he watches her for cues, anything to clue him in on what this meeting is about.
"I got word from my secretary that you were making a scene in front of the building," she says. She sips the wine, and he wonders in that pause if there's a trace of disdain there, over him making such a fool of himself in the Capitol. "I was leaving for the day anyways, so I thought I'd do us both a favor."
"How is this a favor to you?"
She glances down at the menu — just a short thing, only a few options at such a fancy establishment. "It's a nice dinner I can write off as a work expense," she says, and he can't tell if she's making a joke or not. "You're out of luck, by the way," she adds. "President Paylor is in District 2 for the next two days. You never had a chance of meeting with her."
The waiter returns and Chambray places her order, and Finnick, flustered, asks for the same thing. Once he departs, Finnick turns back to Chambray, but there's a heaviness to him now. He wonders if he should even stay. Part of him just wants to go back to Johanna's apartment, sleep on her couch, and get on the train the next morning, fuck everyone's secrets, fuck worrying about anyone else.
"So, what did you want to meet with the president about so desperately?" Chambray asks.
There's something there, a teasing lilt, but also a little bit of affection. Finnick wonders if Chambray is sleeping with Paylor. "Licinius Crowley alluded to a deal, between Johanna and the president. I wanted to know what it was about."
She quirks a brow, surveying him for a moment. "I don't really see how that's any of your business."
It's the same thing Johanna had said, and it irritates him. Isn't it? "I'm concerned about Johanna. Why is she even hanging around trash like Licinius?"
"It's not really the purview of the President's office to concern ourselves with individual citizens." She sips the wine again, giving him a knowing look. He understands it well enough: that Licinius is a matter he needs to take up with Johanna herself.
"But you have. Concerned yourself with a private citizen, that is. I mean there is a deal of some sort."
Chambray seems to study him, and then relaxes a bit. "You don't need to worry about your friend. She's well taken care of. The agreement that you are referring to merely states that she won't talk about her experiences during the war or interact maliciously with anyone regarding circumstances before armistice, and in exchange, her housing and generous living expenses are taken care of."
Finnick doesn't know how to respond to this. He had imagined a deal where Johanna was forced to go out with Licinius, or forced to keep attending the Capitol parties and events, not censorship. "You're bribing her? So much for a free Panem." He scoffs, looking away.
Chambray's eyes are set, she is still calm. "It is an agreement, both sides were satisfied with the deal."
They pause, temporarily in a stalemate as the meal is served. It looks delicious, a District 10 steak and whipped potatoes, but Finnick can't focus on the meal. "Panem was, and still is, in a very delicate spot," Chambray continues. She is cutting her steak as she speaks, and the scraping sounds are irritating. "Johanna was in the middle of the Capitol shouting about how the rebels were child murderers, how the Peacekeepers were rapists. That kind of thing could resume the civil war."
"She wasn't wrong."
Chambray stops cutting, and somehow, the silence is even more grating. "How naive can you be? The truth doesn't matter at all. There is the narrative that provides stability, and that is what we stick to. And if giving Johanna a comfortable life helps prevent a civil war, that's a small price to pay."
He finishes his drink and pours another, just for something to do with his hands. He isn't hungry, but he hasn't eaten since that morning, so he tries a bite. The food is delicious, better than anything he's eaten in a year. He wonders if this is why Johanna gave in. If after being starved and tortured during the war, getting to live among the Capitol elite didn't sound so bad. "Do you give her the morphling too?" He asks the question with his mouth full, and he knows he sounds rude, but he doesn't really care anymore.
Chambray narrows her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"She's got a nice bottle, medical grade."
Chambray pours herself a second glass of wine, then clears her throat. "That's quite an accusation you're making. Should I perhaps have the drug enforcement team search her apartment? Keeping Johanna in jail on drug charges would be a lot cheaper than the current arrangement."
He imagines this happening, a scenario where him coming to 'help' Johanna ends with her back in a Capitol prison. The worst ending, undoubtedly. "No, I'm sure I was mistaken about what I saw." He backs down, and Chambray smiles tightly, continuing her meal. He has no idea if she's lying or not, but he doesn't dare try to find out.
Finnick finishes most of the meal, thanks Chambray with due politeness, and declines a ride. He walks up the hill back to Johanna's apartment and tries to plan what to do. Everything he's done so far has gone terribly wrong. He doesn't want to upset Johanna more, but he still wants her to come back to District 4.
He rings the bell and he's buzzed in more quickly than the first time, and when he gets to the door at the top of the stairs, she's there, waiting to let him in. Her hair is dry now, and she's wearing an old flannel shirt over the dress, and it feels like coming back to her apartment after a long night as a mentor, but he knows it's not, because he can't see out of his left eye, and there's something too cautious in her demeanor, as if she isn't sure she can trust him. "I wasn't sure if you were coming back," she says, stepping back to let him in the apartment.
"I left my things here." He kicks his shoes off and unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt, trying to relax. Licinius is gone, his shoes gone from the front hall, and it's obvious Johanna had been sitting alone watching television, based on the single glass of liquor and blanket on the couch. Finnick decides to just change, pulling out flannel pants and a T-shirt from his rucksack and taking off his more formal, stiff clothes right in her kitchen.
It is just Johanna, he has no reason to change out of sight, but when he catches her watching him, he's suddenly conscious of his body, aware of the way she seems to be studying him. He pulls up the pants, but his T-shirt is still in his hands, his chest bare, when she steps towards him. "Where did you go?" she asks.
He's distracted by her shoulder peeking out from the flannel shirt. The dress hangs rather loose, but it gives him an impression of the shape of her, and he wants to fill in the blanks, to understand the whole picture. "I got dinner," he says.
She nods, taking another step closer. She reaches around him, and at first he thinks she's giving him a hug, but then she pulls back, holding her hands up in front of him. "Checking to make sure you don't have any more hidden knives."
He wants to argue that he just took his pants off, that he isn't so insane as to keep a knife in his underwear, but he doesn't want to argue anymore. He doesn't even want to think. He grabs onto her hands, pulling them against his chest, and then he leans down and kisses her. She tastes like nissum, the licorice-flavored liquor that is popular in the Capitol, but the sensation is familiar. He's kissed her dozens of times before, so if he closes his eyes, this could be years ago. They could be somewhere else.
But really, they couldn't be. Where else have they been able to be together but the Capitol? Johanna was his lover while he was in the Capitol, and the eleven months of the year he was at home in District 4, they were strangers. There's something there, an insidious thought he can't quite grasp, because she's pushing him back towards the dark shadow of her bedroom door, and he isn't going to protest.
They fuck without talking, because what is there to say? He knows what she likes, and she knows what he likes, and they both are too good, really, trained well by the Capitol. It's only when he pushes her back too quickly that she protests, insisting she move on top. And when she goes to kiss his left ear she finds the remaining anatomy lacking, she nudges his head aside, kissing his neck instead. It's just these small changes that remind him that there's been a war, that they're different now, that they're damaged.
After, she lays on top of him, her head against his shoulder, and they're sweaty and tired, and he thinks that this is the best he's felt all day, even with the churning in his gut that reminds him that he has a wife and a kid at home, that he can't do things like this anymore.
"Cinny and I don't sleep together," she says, her voice a quiet rumble against his chest. "We don't even kiss, if you were worried about that."
He rubs his fingers down her back, waiting for her to continue. "He likes men, as I'm sure you know. So he asked me to pretend with him." She sighs, rolling off of him, laying on her back beside him. "I go to parties with him, make sure he's seen at important events with his 'girlfriend', and in exchange, he can get me things I need."
"Like the morphling."
She shrugs, reaching to her nightstand to grab a cigarette and her lighter. She offers it to him but he shakes his head. She takes a drag and exhales the smoke, laying back again, no longer touching him. "Morphling, euphoria, tranks, whatever."
"Oh, so you are just completely out of your mind, that's how you stand it?"
She sighs, sitting up and propping the cigarette on the ashtray on her nightstand as she slips her dress back over her head. "I don't want to argue, Finnick."
He doesn't want to either, really, but hearing that she has a deal with Sicinius on top of her deal with Paylor is burning him up inside. She really is like a Capitolite, constantly scheming. And who is she to decide when is the correct time to argue, when she'd chewed him out the second he'd arrived? "I don't want to argue either. I am trying to help you."
She walks out of the bedroom and he's forced to take the time to pull on his clothes before joining her out in the kitchen. She's poured herself another glass of nissum and she's flipping through a catalogue of some sort.
"There's a train just after midnight, going back to District 4. You should take it." She puts the page down on the counter in case he also wanted to check the train times.
"Sure, fine, whatever, but Jo, I really think you should come too. Just try it. Get out of the Capitol for a while. This place isn't good for you."
She laughs, and it sounds dangerous. He becomes aware that she, too, has survived two Games, that she has also killed multiple people. "Finnick, I wish you could hear yourself." She puts out the butt of the cigarette and picks up the drink, staring him down from across the kitchen. "Why in the world would I want to come to District 4, to watch you live your stupid perfect life with your perfect fucking wife and kid? What purpose would I serve there?"
"It doesn't have to be 4, what about 7?"
She narrows her eyes. "Oh, the place where everyone I ever called family is dead and buried? Where it's cold and miserable and I'll have no money? Or maybe I should go to 12! The burnt-out district to hang out with drunk Haymitch and catatonic Katniss. Come on, Finnick, be realistic. I was left behind, and I made the best life I could from it."
He knows he's wearing out his welcome, but he wants to make her understand. He just… can't quite explain it how he wants, all his words keep coming out wrong. "You know we were damaged," he says. "That there's a big hole there, something empty."
For once, she doesn't interrupt him or contest this, so he pushes on. "You can't just fill that in with parties and alcohol and drugs, it'll fester and turn rotten. You have to actually try to heal it."
He doesn't expect her to throw her glass, and when it shatters at his feet, he nearly jumps on instinct. Instead, he keeps his feet on the ground, letting the glass fall where it may, the liquor forming a puddle around where he's standing. When he looks up, she's got tears in her eyes. "Shut up! Stop talking!"
She's also in bare feet, and he watches her take a step to reach the bottle, her foot an inch from a glass shard. "Jo, be careful." She grabs the bottle off the counter, and he thinks she might throw that too.
"I said stop talking!" She's breathing too quickly, holding the bottle and watching him. "Don't tell me to just 'heal', that's impossible. My district is destitute, I have to shut up for the sake of Panem, and if I can have a nice life for once, why shouldn't I? The rest of you left me behind after the war, you don't get to show up at my doorstep and tell me how I ought to live!"
He knows he won't get any further tonight, so he puts his hands up in surrender. He shuffles his feet back to the front hall to gather his things to go. Perhaps she'll think about what he said. Maybe it won't be today, but in a week, or a month, or maybe even longer, she'll think about the void inside of her and have to give it up, she'll realize that the Capitol cannot actually nourish a person.
She follows him to the entryway, kicking glass shards aside as she walks. She watches him tie up his shoes and zip up his rucksack. Then, she leans over, whispering into his right ear. "You know, you're no better than me. You only know about that emptiness because you have it too. And you're only papering it over by calling yourself a family man, and looking away from the Capitol. But I know the truth."
She stands, smiling, and he is looking at a stranger, at a Capitolite. He grabs her shoulders, probably too firmly, and it only makes her satisfied smile grow. "What truth do you think you know?"
"You're just as rotten as me. You might not hang out with the Capitolites or do the drugs, but you were ready to kill someone today, in cold blood. And you slept with me while your wife was at home, none the wiser. People like you and me, we can't go back to being normal, it's impossible."
"Fuck you, I'm nothing like you." He releases her, staring at the red spots on her shoulders where his fingers had gripped. She's too flawless now: her hair, her skin, her clothes, so he's drawn to that one spot that mars the pristine image.
"Goodbye, Finnick." The way she says it sounds final, and he has a feeling it is. He doubts they will see each other again, unless she's featured again on Capitol Tonight.
"Goodbye, Jo."
Finnick takes a cab to the station and runs up to the platform when he realizes the train has already arrived. He makes it in time, and the train pulls away a minute after he boards. He's relieved, as he doesn't know when the next train is coming, and he doesn't think he can stand to be in the Capitol another minute.
He pays his fare to the conductor and is shown to a small sleeping compartment, a chair and table and sink with a lofted bed above them. He climbs up onto the bed and lays back, embarrassed to realize he's already wearing his pajamas, that he had run aboard the train in flannel pants and a t-shirt.
There's a little sleeve of reading material hanging off the bed: a map of Panem, a shopping catalogue, and some Capitol 'news' guide that is really a badly disguised tabloid. He has a desire to flip through it, a paradoxical desire to look for Licinius or Johanna, to see evidence of them gallivanting around the Capitol, even though he knows he'll be worse for it.
He thinks about ordering a drink, but instead just lays back with the pillow over his face. He catches the smell of Johanna on him and cringes, wondering if it's possible to shower on this train. He'll be arriving in District 4 mid-morning, he ought to erase the evidence of her from his body.
But for now he just lays, listening to the gentle rumble of the train, and enjoying the blackness of the pillow over his eyes. It's comforting to know he's moving away from the Capitol.
He doesn't know what to say to Annie. Nothing, he supposes. That Johanna is fine, that she doesn't need his help. That he made a mistake. He can't help but think of Johanna's words to him right before he left, telling him that he can't be normal, that him play-acting as a family man is just concealing the rift inside him that he can never truly repair. He thinks she might be right. Annie would disagree, would say that Finnick has gotten much better since the war, but Annie never mentored, Annie wasn't there for the clients and the sponsors and trying to keep those kids alive through the Games and almost always failing and the end of the war.
He turns on his side, trying to use the pillow to block out his own thoughts. It's no use. It ultimately comes down to who he believes more: Annie or Johanna. He knows who he wants to believe, but he also knows why he is tossing and turning over this.
When he pulls his head out from the pillow, the lights of the Capitol have faded. They're riding through barren land, the in-between space of Panem, and he can breathe a little easier. But what is known cannot be unknown, and he wonders if he can return to his life in District 4 without doubting himself, now that he has tread somewhere he shouldn't have.