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Finnick is exhausted after spending an evening with the associate director of trade in the Capitol. Marcella Cork was energetic and adventurous, and she was always watching to make sure he was paying full attention to her. "You better only be thinking about me," she would say, if his mind began to wander. She would put a finger under his chin, guiding him back to her, reminding him that her money brought him there tonight, and she was going to get her money's worth.
Now, he sits in the back of the black hired car as they make their way back to the Training Center. A male Avox drives him home, silent as he steers with gloved hands. The 74th Hunger Games start in 3 days, but as always, Finnick is already busy. The driver gets some kind of message on the console of his navigation system, probably something from dispatch, and they make a turn back into the twisting neighborhoods of the Capitol and away from their destination. Finnick is annoyed - whatever this extra stop is, it's more time before he can shower off the memories of Marcella, before he can sleep and empty his mind of anything that has to do with the Capitol, with the Hunger Games, with being Snow's whore.
They get to the stop soon enough, a hotel not unlike the one Finnick just left, and someone runs out just as the car stops. It's dark - long past midnight now - and Finnick can't tell who it is until the door opens and Johanna practically jumps inside the car. She doesn't even acknowledge him, she just sits on the other side of the back seat, her head leaning against the window as the driver starts again. Johanna is wrapped up in her coat, so he can't see her, can't tell if she's crying or hurt or drunk or just tired, so instead he shifts over to lean against her, to find familiar comfort in touching his closest friend, and he is so incredibly tired, but he's unprepared for the way she flinches, the way she absolutely rejects his touch.
"Jo? What's wrong?" he asks tentatively. He's shifted back safely away from her now, but the memory of her muscles, fully taut beneath the fur coat remains. The Avox has turned back onto the main road and they are driving back toward the Training Center now. Still, she keeps her head on the window, not answering him.
When they pull in, she doesn't move, and the Avox comes around and opens the door. Finally, she steps out, thanking him, her first words all night, and she walks into the Training Center beside Finnick. "Bad client?" he asks, his voice low, as they buzz back in.
"Has there ever been a good one?" she replies, cocking her head to the side as if perhaps he might feel like arguing with her right now.
But he's so fucking tired. He smells like Marcella Cork and he doesn't want to play Johanna's games, and he knows they're going to do the same thing tomorrow, and the next night, and even after their tributes die. They get in the elevator and he sees it, a bruise on her wrist when she presses the 7 button, irritated and red like she was bound. He would bet there's a matching one on the other wrist. Again he wants to hold her, and again he's afraid to.
But somewhere between the lobby and the 4th floor, while he stares at the back of her head, he gets a bad feeling. That perhaps she doesn't intend to keep up this routine. That perhaps she doesn't want to wake up tomorrow at all. He doesn't know why he thinks this, but as soon as he does, he is terrified that he's right. The elevator doors open at 4, and he stays in place. She looks over her shoulder. "You asleep?"
He pushes 12. "I think I'm gonna stop by Haymitch's first. Nightcap."
She shrugs, but she turns back around. 5. 6.
"Come with?"
She turns back to him, and her eyes have absolutely no light in them. "Not tonight." 7. Finnick knows she can't face Haymitch if she plans to kill herself, which is why he reaches out and embraces her. He holds her firmly until the elevator doors close again.
"Finnick! What the hell?"
He can feel her struggling, feel her trying to break out of his embrace. 9. 10. She yells the whole time, hoping his desire to avoid a commotion will cause him to let her go, perhaps. 11. 12. The doors open, and he lets go. She hisses as she pulls her wrists free. They step forward and turn to the 12 apartment - the only door on this level - and see it's already open. Their noise had woken the male tribute, and he stands there, in the doorway, facing them, with a combination of curiosity and fear on his face.
"Can I help you?" he asks, with more politeness than they deserve.
This, at least, seems to give Johanna pause, and instead of dashing, she stands facing the boy like a deer in headlights.
"We're looking for Haymitch, actually," Finnick says, and the boy seems to calm down, given a task he can complete.
Johanna sighs, and Finnick can feel her backing up, towards the elevator. "I'm going home," she says, and he can tell as soon as she says it that it breaks something inside of her, that slip, calling this place 'home'.
He grabs her again, just for a few seconds, to wait for Haymitch, but she looks up at him with such pain, mixed with trademark Johanna revulsion, that he has no choice but to let go. She turns for the stairs at the other end of the corridor and takes off.
Finnick enters the 12 apartment, and the girl tribute is there, standing in the shadow of the living room, dark and cagey. He offers her his most reassuring smile, but she doesn't move. Finally, the boy returns with Haymitch, slow and unsteady from sleep or drink.
"Finnick?" he asks. Then, quickly reorienting to the Capitol, to Finnick in his apartment past midnight, "What's wrong?"
"I think Jo's in trouble," he says.
Haymitch's eyes dart to the girl tribute, then back to Finnick. He gestures for Finnick to follow him to the bedroom, and so he does. They close the door, and Haymitch offers the bottle of liquor on the nightstand, but Finnick declines. "What did she do?" he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Finnick stays standing. If he sits he'll sleep. "Nothing. I… she just had this look when we were coming back."
Haymitch furrows his brow. "A look?"
He shrugs. Now, talking to Haymitch it all feels stupid. Like he should have just left her be. "Like she was done."
But this, it seems, rouses Haymitch. "Where is she?"
"Don't know. Why?"
He stands, changing his pants. "You don't know?"
"I brought her up here, to see you, but she ran down the stairs."
Haymitch curses. "Ok."
And then he's off. Out of the bedroom, slipping into his shoes, and out of the apartment. Down the same stairs as Johanna. Finnick walks out of the bedroom a few seconds later, only to find the District 12 tributes staring him down in utter incomprehension. "I'm Finnick Odair, a Mentor from District 4," he says, a belated introduction.
"We know who you are," the boy says. "I'm Peeta Mellark, this is Katniss Everdeen."
He nods at them in greeting, and then falls on the couch, too tired to shower, too tired to move. He wants to be there in case Haymitch comes back, but he doesn't think he'll stay a awake much longer, truly. "Are you ok?" the boy, Peeta, asks.
Is he? He looks down and sees his hands are shaking. "I'm just tired," he says. He is. He is so incredibly tired, and he's not sure he'll ever not be. He just came back to the Capitol from District 4 less than a week ago, and already it feels like months since he has seen the ocean, like he has become an entirely different person.
He wants to save Johanna, but he also wants her to save him. He wants her to embrace him, to stop him from leaving. His clients don't bruise him, they're never violent, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. And he's more popular than her, more popular than all of them, probably. He has to see 2 or 3 clients in a night, sometimes. He's so endlessly exhausted, and he wants it all to end, but how can he express any of this to the two tributes sitting here watching him, who don't even know what the arena is like, let alone what happens if they survive?
"Listen," he says, forcing his hand to still. He ought to tell them, it isn't fair to be unprepared for the hell that follows the arena. He meets their eyes, and they're so young, so young, and he thinks of himself and Jo when they started all of this, their first year with clients, their first time sleeping together. And his throat closes, because how can he? How can he tell children what the adults of the Capitol do? How can he burden them with the truth, when they're about to fight for their lives? "I'm sorry to barge in here, sorry to keep you up. I'll sleep out here, if you don't mind."
Katniss looks disappointed, as if she knows he was going to say more but thought better of it, but Peeta nods. "That's fine. We have training tomorrow, so we really should get to sleep."
Katniss lingers for a moment, as if she wants to say something, but then she follows Peeta back to their bedrooms.
Finally alone, Finnick lies back and tries to sleep on the big couch in the 12 apartment. But despite it all, despite his bone-tiredness and the late hour and the darkness permeating all corners of the apartment, he lies awake. Even as he hears the stirring change to silence in Katniss and Peeta's rooms, he lies awake, and each time he closes his eyes, he's met with the same empty stare Johanna gave him in the elevator, the look that said that this was the end.
Eventually he gets up and walks to the bathroom to splash water on his face, and when he stands he sees himself in the mirror, but almost jumps as she same dead stare is on his own face. Had he just internalized it from Johanna? Or had he been wearing that expression for days? Weeks? Years? and never noticed?
He imagines himself getting up and going about his day tomorrow, training his tributes, eating a meal, sleeping with a client or 2, and he feels like he might vomit. He swallows it down. He pictures Annie, waiting for him in 4 and sits on the bathroom floor, gulping air. Did he look at her with the face he just saw in the mirror?
Finnick wakes, sore and stiff in an unfamiliar place. He realizes belatedly he is in the 12 apartment as his memories return, albeit out of order, and he still hits his head on the sink as he stands. He goes right to the shower, rinsing off, and then using his preferred combination of soaps from the fancy Capitol spigots. Once he is clean, he steps out, donning one of the fresh bathrobes that are always hanging in the bathrooms. There is no extra toothbrush, but he'll go back to his apartment soon enough. For now, he rinses his mouth with mouthwash, spits, and goes out into the kitchen, abandoning his clothes marked with his client's smell.
Haymitch is there when he enters the kitchen, pouring his bottle of white liquor into a glass and sipping on it. The Avox haven't arrived yet, so there's no breakfast. It must be early still. Katniss and Peeta's rooms still have their doors shut as well. "What happened?" Finnick asks.
Haymitch doesn't answer, just takes another large swig of the liquor and refills his glass.
"She's fine, right?"
"She'll live."
Finnick needs to know more than that, like how close to not living Johanna was, and where she is now, and is she angry, but Katniss's door opens, and she comes out into the kitchen as well. "I thought you were supposed to Mentor us," she says, nodding at Haymitch's liquor.
He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and pushes the bottle away. "I'm on the clock," he tells Finnick, and then Katniss throws a glare at him, as if it was Finnick who was the bad influence on Haymitch.
"Do you know where Jo is now?" he asks, walking to the entrance to go. He's overstayed his welcome, it is now time for his elevator ride of shame back to the 4 apartment in just a bathrobe.
"The infirmary, next to Remake. Blight was with her when I left."
Finnick changes his clothes and goes down to Remake, and then through the back of the studio to the small infirmary in the Training Center. He sees Blight before he sees Jo, sitting in a chair, rolling a cigarette, looking concerned but staying silent, his usual demeanor. He sees Finnick and stands, coming to the doorway.
"I'm glad you're here, I need to check in with my tributes," he says.
"Sure. Is Jo ok?"
Blight bites his lip, considering. "Yeah, they fixed her up alright, just like always. But you know how it is," he says, a sympathetic look in his eyes. "It's not really about the injuries." He checks the clock. "I'll probably be back in about an hour, once I get the tributes set up in training."
Finnick goes and sits down, and Johanna doesn't even turn to look at him. He's been in this room before, though he can't exactly place it - he was out of it from an injury at the time - so it's not unfamiliar to sit here. "Feel ok?" he asks.
"They gave me morphling." She says each word in monotone, slow and languid.
He can see her wrists now that she's in a medical gown, they're pristine, no signs of the injuries from the night before. And whatever she did last night to try to end her life, no signs remained. That was the magic of the Capitol. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks. She's looking at the ceiling, so he picks a spot at the wall to watch, just one tile in particular.
She clicks her tongue. "Because you'd do what you did. Try to stop me."
Now he turns, and he can feel tears coming to his eyes. He is tired. He is frustrated. "Of course I will, Jo! You're my best friend!"
She bites her lips in a gesture that looks remarkably like Blight, though she'd be annoyed if he pointed it out, he's sure. "You never told me," she says, turning on her side, away from him.
He's stunned into silence, unsure what she means. "Jo… what…"
But she's silent, pouting as she has turned away from him. But there's something there, in that image, that's too familiar to be anything but a memory, something about him in the bed and her beside him, turned away in anger. Here?
"Jo… I can't remember," he says, and he means it, he only has half-formed wisps, tendrils of memories he's struggling to grasp.
She reaches behind her and pulls on the blanket, an invitation for him to join her on the small infirmary bed. He accepts, fitting his body behind hers, pulling her close against him. "You tried twice," she says, her voice quiet.
"Once during the 69th, and once during the 71st."
Finnick is quiet, trying to remember this. Trying to decide if his memories match hers. He reaches for her hand but settles on her wrist, massaging his fingers over the newly healed skin.
"During the 69th, well… I didn't have clients and you did. You didn't tell me, but I got the news the next morning. During the 71st, that was when Annie and Mags were in the hospital, and you had extra clients for Snow… I think you just had a lot of stress."
Now that she says it, it sounds vaguely familiar, but he can't place it. He doesn't remember harming himself, he doesn't remember being here, as the patient.
"They gave you a special doctor, I think. To make sure you would still.. perform." She sounds like she might vomit as she says the last part.
He feels sick as he hears it, and there's a wave of dizziness as the memory hits, of some woman in a white coat, of an injection, of a clock spinning too fast. He closes his eyes and buries himself into Johanna's shoulder, reorienting himself with the smell of her. He can feel the tension in her arm, not quite like last night, but not relaxed. But he's tense too, so he can hardly blame her. It's impossible to relax in the Capitol.
He can feel her drift off to sleep eventually, and he wonders if she slept overnight, or if she was up with Haymitch, with Blight, with the staff of the clinic until now, or if it was just the pull of the morphling lulling her into sleep. He pulls away a bit, rolling onto his back beside her, but she doesn't stir.
He remembers this ceiling. He remembers the feel of this bed under him. She hadn't been lying. He had tried to kill himself - twice, even - and the Capitol had stopped him and made him forget.
He scrubs his hands over his face. He needs a drink. As if on cue, Blight returns, and seeing Finnick lying on the bed, he hesitates in the doorway, but Finnick stands up, knowing his tributes will be clueless without his help. He wonders if Blight knew, about his stay here, but doesn't dare ask.
They let Johanna out sometime during the day, and she finds Finnick at the club that night. He's about 6 drinks in, and it looks like she's not far behind, though he knows she's always preferred to numb herself with morphling, so he wouldn't be surprised if she got the doctor at the infirmary to re-up her before she checked out.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, sitting down beside her at one of the tables where they could watch the comings and goings.
She shrugs, tossing back her drink like it's nothing. "Same as you. I'm not here for my health."
"You're working? Jo, tonight? Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"What would you have me do, Finnick? Say no?" She stands, and even standing she's shorter than him, thanks to the tall chair he's sitting on. But she pulls on his shirt, dragging his ear close to her lips. "If I refuse," she says slowly, "They'll punish Annie."
The threat registers, and he jumps.
She releases him with a push. "Don't act surprised, you know this." And then she's off, back to the bar to get a refill, off to get her work over with.
And he's left sitting there, unable to move, because of course he knew, of course he sort of understood, somewhere in his mind, but everything was so bad, all the time, that he didn't really grasp the nuance of how bad this was for her, exactly.
He's still thinking on it as he's choking on the dick of the broadcasting secretary, and trying to replay exactly what happened after Annie's Victory as he pleasures the secretary's wife.
He knew Snow couldn't have Annie. He knew Annie couldn't handle being exploited by the Capitol, so he went to Snow directly, and offered anything. More clients, more time in the Capitol before and after the Games, whatever, just let Annie stay in 4.
The broadcasting secretary enters him, and he thinks of Snow in that moment: blood red lips, a paternal, pleasant smile. "Yes, that is a noble gesture, and very nearly enough. Just one more thing. I'd very much like to meet with Johanna Mason."
When he gets back to the Training Center, he showers and he's once again so tired, but he dresses in clean clothes and takes the elevator to the 7 apartment. Johanna answers when he knocks, hair wet from her own shower, no marks on her skin that he can see this time, at least nowhere that isn't covered by her pajamas. "What is it?" she asks, pulling open the door to let him in.
"Do you want to go to the roof?"
The roof is easier, since both of their apartments have sleeping tributes in them. She shrugs on a sweater and slips into her shoes, and follows him up, cigarette between her fingers.
She smokes it leaning against the railing, and both of their eyes keep glancing to the nets a couple floors down, set up to prevent anyone from dying if they jumped off the building. It's dark, and rather cool out for July, and he likes the way she looks against the rail, framed by the Capitol skyline.
"Who did you see last night?" he asks.
"What?" Now she turns around, leaning back against the rail, to face him.
"I saw those marks on your arms. I saw how upset you were. I wanted to know who-"
"Why? What are you going to do, Finnick?" she asks, almost spitting the words at him. He's never seen her cry in front of him, but she sounds like she's holding it back now.
"No, I just…"
"Exactly." She takes another drag from the cigarette. "Besides, that's not why I did it." Now she laughs, turning her head to the side. "You really don't understand at all."
It hurts, this rejection. He resents the way she keeps him at a distance, as if she fears true intimacy with him, fears showing that she cares for anyone. Their whole relationship has been like this - him reaching out, trying to make a connection, and her resisting, pushing him away, speaking in riddles so that he can't truly ever know Johanna Mason. "Help me to understand," he says, a strain of desperation in his voice that isn't usually there. Only a few people - Haymitch and Johanna among them - can see Finnick lose the smiling patience that so often defines him in the Capitol.
She stamps out the cigarette under her foot. And then she comes forward, kissing him on the lips. It's unexpected, bitter from the tobacco, but beneath that it's familiar, the same kiss he's shared with Jo for years: sweet and yearning and tender and aching. And then she pulls away. "I love you, Finnick. You're probably the only person I've ever loved besides my family."
Before he can reply, she backs up a half step and continues. "And that's why, every once in a while, I feel like I have to die." Now she does allow a tear to fall, and it's the first time he's ever seen Johanna cry. It's awful.
Finnick has another restless night, thinking about what Johanna said: that it wasn't the Games or the clients after, it wasn't Mentoring kids to their deaths, at least not primarily, it was him that drove her to a breaking point. And he keeps coming back to one unavoidable, inconvenient truth: he has another girlfriend.
He has Annie, who he has spent every off-season with for years, since before he was reaped and sex was still an abstract concept. Annie, who was reaped for his indiscretion, who was dragged into the Capitol politics for some slight Finnick was still unaware of, perhaps as punishment for trying to kill himself in the 69th Games?
And after Annie's win, he couldn't bear to punish her further, but in doing so, he cursed Jo, perhaps for eternity. Because that was the choice, wasn't it? Snow saw that he loved two women and made him choose: which one would he keep safe, away from the Capitol, and which one would he put into the Capitol's machine? He chose Annie, he would always choose Annie, not because he loved her more, exactly, but because he loved her differently.
He turns on his side, frustrated with his poor justifications. Johanna is his life in the Capitol, Annie was his life at home. But it was true that when Johanna's family was killed he had avoided her for weeks, trying to make sure he wasn't implicated in her treason. Now, shame burns him. Of course she would hate herself for loving me, he thinks. What have I ever given her? When have I ever chosen her? Affection, when it was convenient for him, perhaps. Someone the same age to share in the highs and miseries of Capitol life. But he went home to Annie.
They visited her, on Annie's Victory Tour, in her house in the Victor's Village in 7. It was a blustery December, and it was chilly, but she didn't seem to notice, thin and high on morphling in that nearly empty house, relying on Blight for meals and nothing in the way of entertainment - no books or music or games. It was a far cry from the seaside cottages they lived in in 4, but they didn't dare comment on it.
Finally, he manages to sleep. He dreams he's with Jo, again in the infirmary, both of them under the covers, and with his arm around her, he can feel the steady movement of her breathing. But gradually it slows, then stops. Frightened, he turns her over, onto her back, and he can see the bright red trickle of blood from her mouth, and smell the familiar scent of roses. Poison. He shakes her but it's no use. He calls for help, but the only one to enter the room is the female doctor with the clock on the chain, the one from before who made his memories disappear. He was going to forget.
He wakes up with a start to see it is already bright in his bedroom. He showers, changes his clothes, and eats the breakfast the Avox has laid out. It's the last day before the tributes enter the arena. They're tense, sitting at the table and speaking quietly to each other. He knows he's been a shit Mentor, but it's tough doing this job alone.
He tries to make up for it a bit by talking strategy with the tributes for about an hour before the Training Score sessions start. Then, he walks them down to the waiting room, and meets up with Jo who's in the Mentor's lounge, drinking what looks to be a mimosa. "Mine are screwed," she says.
"I'm sorry," he says, with enough inflection that she can tell this is not about her tributes but about something else, and he sees her cheeks redden with embarrassment. He can see Cashmere watching the scene with a modicum of amusement. "I have been an idiot."
"Can we go somewhere else?" she asks, a pained expression on her face.
He agrees, though they both top up their drinks first.
They agree on one of the back rooms of the lounges downstairs. They were, technically, semi-public clubs, but barely anyone was there that early in the day, and the private rooms in the back had bouncers waiting outside, so no one would disturb them.
But now that they're alone, he doesn't know what to say. They're in their day clothes, not their normal club-going attire, so it feels weird to be on the plush couches without makeup and trendy clothing and at least another few drinks or a tab of Euphoria, and Johanna looks tense. It's the opposite of what he wanted.
In the end, she speaks first. "Don't say it."
"What?" He sips on his drink, trying to get some of the dryness out of his mouth. She looks determined, there's a certain set to her jaw, but also she just looks weary, as tired as he feels.
"You came here to tell me of some commitment, right? That you want to make things work between us, that you're thinking of taking a break with Annie, something like that." She's not looking at him, but he's shock-still, unable to even nod. The way she can read him is uncanny, it's unreal. Almost as if…
"Have I…"
"Told me this before?" Now she does turn back to him, eyes shining. "Yes, Finnick. You're promised me this and that, but it doesn't matter, because either you change your mind or they make you forget."
He once again tries to scrape his memory for anything similar, any old conversations like this, any promises he'd made. But it was like when he was in the infirmary, there was maybe a wisp, a fragment of an idea, but there was nothing to grab onto, and in the end he can't tell if he imagined the whole thing. Again, Johanna speaks. "I know you can't remember, but that's why I want to stop this before it starts. For both of us."
He imagines himself in the past, promising her a committed relationship, only to renege soon after. He imagines himself extricating himself from Annie, only to crawl right back to her. And again he feels invaded, corrupted, because how could they have known about such things, and then manage to change his mind and his memories? How can he know what else was changed? How can he know what decisions are really his own?
His skin crawls with the thought. How could she know and not tell him? "You knew…" he says, betrayal dripping in his tone. It is less of an accusation and more of that of a kicked dog.
She just sips her drink, fixing him with the same piercing stare Johanna always gives him when she wants to make him hurt. "Yes."
The simple word grounds him, makes him see a little straighter. Johanna might hide things, but Johanna never lies. Johanna doesn't have any of the silver-tongued sneakiness that the Capitol so rewards, or even any of the polite overlooking that makes him so popular. She calls it as she sees it, and she can't let things go if they're cruel or unfair. So why this? Why did she let this go? "Who did they threaten?" he asks.
She leans back on the couch, her head resting on the back of it, her brow furrowing. He knows he's got it. "There's a delicate balance, it seems," she says. "You need to be in love with Annie, but not allowed to really be with Annie. I need to be in love with you, but never with you. And so on. We all have to be chasing something forever."
She didn't answer his question, but she answered another one he had. He considers asking again, but it doesn't really matter. It only matters that he was right. She was told to shut up, or someone would be hurt.
Finally, she gets up and comes over to him, straddling his lap, sitting across him, her chest inches from his. Her breath smells like alcohol, but her eyes are focused - she's still sober. "It's fine, Finnick. We can't be anything more than we are. It's not worth it. I don't ever want to see them scramble your brain again."
"But I - you -"
She nods, understanding what he is saying, and kisses him gently, tugging on his bottom lip lightly as she pulls away. "I got carried away, it won't happen again. Promise."
He likes the weight of her on him - irrefutable proof of their existence, an undeniable claim to the space they occupy, and he pulls her closer, against him, and kisses her again, more desperately. He wants to remember. He wants to forget. As he pulls Johanna down onto the couch and thrusts into her, he thinks he is becoming undone, but she meets his eyes and whispers the three syllables that had always felt taboo and he finally understands: he can love Johanna Mason, but no one can know.