Sugarcubes // Finnick Odair - Hunger Games Fanfic

XXIII.

Peeta comforts Katniss, who apparently heard her sister's voice in the Jabber jay section.

Finnick won't tell me whose voice he heard. I kneel beside him on the forest floor as he drinks water looking so much like a lost puppy that it takes a lot of my self-control not to fling myself onto him and hug him till he feels better.

By the time that I'm assured that Finnick is no more than shaken and I turn my attention to Katniss and Peeta, they are talking about the final eight. He's trying to convince her that Prim is alright. I think that she must be. If they've managed to relocate my family, then they must've managed to do the same for Katniss's, right?

I can't tell her that, of course, but I take comfort in the fact that my family is safe. Or at least part of my family, I correct myself, staring at Finnick as he sits against a tree trunk.

"It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we're the only ones who can be hurt by it. We're the ones in the Games, not them." Peeta says, and I see Finnick flinch visibly. He squeezes my hand tight. I squeeze back.

"Do you believe it, Finnick?" She asks, turning towards him. I wish that she'd leave him to process this, whatever he heard, alone, but I don't say anything. I try desperately to ignore the anger bubbling up within me.

He looks at me. "It's probably true. Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's voice and make it..."

He adds the last part after a pause, as if for Katniss's benefit.

Beetee perks up at the sound of a technical question. Granted, not the ones he may have to answer at home, but a more intelligent question than the usual 'Who shall we brutally murder next?' hunger games classic.

"Oh, yes. It's not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school," says Beetee.

I think about Snow, sitting comfortably on a chair watching as Finnick clutched his head pleading to be let out, watching as my soul tore itself apart at the sight of him in pain, orchestrating voices to be changed to bloodcurdling screams. It makes me angry. Usually, I'd have to control this anger, or fear that the outburst that followed it would harm my family. Now, I realize with a flash, they can't touch them.

"Of course, Peeta's right. The whole country adores your little sister, Katniss. She's the new in thing. After your marriage, of course. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands," I say, smirking a little bit, knowing that they already do have an uprising on their hands. "The citizens of the Capitol and districts alike taking to the streets to burn his stupid building alive. It could happen. It might. And then not even our snake-like president could stop it." I say, in a tone that's oddly calm. It's a seething, calculated and controlled tone. As I see in my minds eye the image that I've painted, it brings a smile to my face. It wouldn't have, the thought of so many deaths wouldn't have made me smile before I entered my games.

I laugh. Because Snow himself created his greatest enemies. The so-called victors of the stupid hunger games. He trained them with weapons and hand to hand combat, and the ability to kill at the drop of a hat.

Katniss and Peeta look at me as though I've grown an extra head.

"I'm getting water," I say, looking at Finnick who looks like he could use a drink. Katniss catches my hand as I pass her, and as any unexpected contact does to me, I react quickly. I raise my axe instinctively and she lets go and scurries backward.

"I'm sorry. Habit." I tell her. "Don't ever touch me again." I add, deciding that saying sorry isn't exactly living up to my image.

"Don't go in there. The birds-" she says, but I cut her off.