Spark to Flame: A Finniss Story

Pt I: Ashes to Dust

When Katniss wakes again later that morning, Finnick isn't there.

Though she can't say she's surprised, she is just the slightest bit disappointed; she doesn't know why, exactly, but she is. Stretching her limbs and taking a deep breath, she sits up and glances over at the holograms of trees and forestry splaying across the wall in front of her, and then at the clock resting at her bedside table.

It's seven twenty-three.

Realization slaps her like an enraged Capitol woman with nine-inch acrylic nails, and she's leaping out of bed to dress herself before she can even form another complete thought. If she hurries, she can make it to breakfast and eat a decent meal before the interviews with Caesar. Before the Games.

She rushes to get ready although she doesn't want to, ignoring the slow-churning feeling of sickness swelling deep within her gut as she willingly flees the one place she feels safe in all the Capitol.

~*~

Breakfast comes and goes far too quickly for her liking, and before she knows it she's backstage with Cinna and her stylists and the other Victors preparing for Caesar's interviews.

Finnick wasn't present at the cafeteria, but she assumed he had already eaten before she came. Today was a hectic one, after all - they would be going into the arena right after their interviews - so she gave it little thought that she hadn't seen him since waking up.

Her mind is an absolute mess; she can't seem to focus on any one thing for too long and everything is moving by at blazing speed. The feeling of butterflies swirling in her stomach had long ago turned to those of bats, twisting and writhing their way up her innards and through her throat to the point where she was ready to bolt for the bathroom at any given moment. She was going to puke. She was going to cry. She was going to run. She was going to hyperventilate. She was going to pass out...

Just as the reality of her situation begins to crash down on her, to overwhelm and overtake her, Cinna is at her side and guiding her along the cold tiled floors, speaking words and sentences that she can't really understand but appreciates nonetheless for their smooth flow and comforting sound.

"Here it is," he says, and she's jolted from her trance.

It was a dress.

A wedding dress.

Her wedding dress.

Laid out all nice and fine on a mannequin that was no doubt molded after her figure at some point.

And it was perfect.

"President Snow insisted you wear it," Cinna continued, gesturing to the dress. "But you don't have to if you don't want to. I'm not gonna force you."

She looks at the dress, at her dress, and though she realizes it would make more of a statement not to wear it, she can't bring herself to say no. She has no desire to get married, to bind herself to Peeta in a way that cannot be undone, even if only for show, but Cinna worked so tirelessly and so hard on it, and this may be her last chance to wear something so flawlessly beautiful.

She looks to Cinna, and smiles.

"Great," he says, smiling softly. "Let's get you set up."

~*~

It takes some effort, but Katniss is eventually able to fit into the dress without tearing any seams or breaking any of the intricately-laid sequins or wires with the help of Cinna and her stylists.

She stands on a pedestal in front of a series of mirrors on the wall in front of her so she can look herself over, and as Cinna works on the final touches she watches the reflection of Cashmere and Gloss' interview playing on the high-definition screen behind her.