Work Text:
He was sitting at the bar, head dropped to stare at the photo below him. His thumb was tracing over the small frame, memorizing every detail of her face and imprinting her smile into his brain. Not that he needed to do this - he thought of her so much that it would be impossible for him to forget anything about her.
He heard the door to the little bar swing open, the bell ringing angelically. He could care less. Nobody important would bother him today. Their training scores had come out that evening and everyone was either placing bets, calculating every tribute's chances of winning, or just simply waiting in anticipation for the Tribute Interviews tomorrow night. He had scored an 11, not that he was surprised. He actually didn't do much in his private session with the Gamemakers but everyone knew him and loved him so an 11 was expected. He was honestly half expecting a 12... but the Star-Crossed Lovers had stolen the show with their matching perfect scores so he figured that having another tribute with a 12 would ruin some of their glory. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. He was already sacrificing so much for them. Besides Katniss and Peeta, none of the scores were exceptionally shocking. All four tributes from 1 and 2 had scored 9's and 10's so at least he was the highest out of the usual Career bunch. He felt mildly disgusted that he cared so much, but maybe a little ego boost before he could possibly die wasn't so bad.
He can't help but wonder what Annie is thinking back home. Maybe she's proud of him for scoring so high, the highest out of all the tributes if you don't count District 12. Maybe she's mad that he put such a big target on his back.
"You there, kid?"
Finnick easily recognizes the gruff voice but he doesn't have enough in him to look up. He just hums in response, eyes still trained on Annie's photo.
"Finnick."
Haymitch's voice is harsher now, accompanied by a firm hand on Finnick's bare shoulder. Finnick sighs, dragging his eyes up to meet Haymitch's rugged face.
"What," he spits out, glaring at the man's smirk.
"Just here to congratulate you on your 11, kid."
Finnick snorts more at Haymitch's expression than his comment. He watches the bartender slide a bottle over to them which Haymitch grabs instantly, taking a long drag. He passes the bottle to Finnick, eyebrows raised in question.
"Not in the mood to get drunk two days before I might die."
The comment releases the pent-up, unsaid tension between them and Finnick watches Haymitch let out a breath and close his eyes.
"Listen, kid. It'll be okay. You'll be out of that place before you know it."
Finnick just looks at Haymitch. He wants to believe him, to believe Plutarch and the whole rebel plan. But when he really thinks about it, this whole thing is so crazy that it's unreal. He's been assured that all he has to do is protect that stubborn girl but she might be one of the most aggravating people he's ever met. Even when he was teaching her how to wield a trident during training, she didn't even have the courtesy to bounce back his playful banter or admit she wasn't very good at it. The boy is okay, kind and caring, and exactly the type of person who should never be in the arena.
"I doubt it, Haymitch. The girl might kill me before we get the chance to do anything important."
"Oh geez, it didn't even occur to me she's a total idiot and stubborn as a donkey," Haymitch drawls on sarcastically, taking another swig from his bottle.
Finnick just grits his teeth at the comment, he didn't think it could be possible to be any more annoyed. He's practically giving up his life for this girl and this cause and he's not even sure any of it will work out. He knows deep down that if he wanted to, he could win this thing. If he didn't have to help save two teenagers, he could win.
Win and get back to Annie.
He's about to snap at Haymitch - his head is bowed to stare at the counter and he's biting his lip to stop himself from saying anything he'll regret. He closes his eyes for a moment, imagining the subtle idea that this could work and he and Annie would be safe in District 13. The moment is so blissful that he feels a rush of rage surge through him when the sound of metal clanging snaps him back to reality. He peels his eyes open and sees a golden bangle right in front of him, lying all perfect and shiny on the counter.
His brows are furrowed together and his lips parts to say something but Haymitch is quicker.
"That's how you earn her trust. That's the key to this thing working."
Finnick turns his head slowly, hoping his glare is scary enough to intimidate Haymitch.
"You show her that in the arena and she's yours, kid. Get to the cornucopia before she does, show her that bangle, and don't make any sudden movements to kill her and she's all yours."
"Why the fuck would she trust me because of this stupid ass piece of metal," Finnick spits out because why the fuck can't they just tell the girl to ally with him so this would be easier.
"Don't ask questions. Trust me on that. When have I ever let you down?"
Finnick curls his fingers around the bangle, letting the cool metal dig into his skin.
"And if I don't get there before her and she kills me before she can see this thing?" he asks, holding the shiny piece of metal loosely between his fingers.
Haymitch just grins.
"You will. We made sure of it."
The pair is silent for a moment, Haymitch drinking and Finnick twirling the bangle around his fingers. He looks back down at the photo frame he's clutching in his left hand.
Annie.
Annie.
It dawns on him just then and the only thing he can feel in his body is pure anger and hatred.
"So what now, huh? I don't even get to control the one thing I actually care about?"
Haymitch looks up confusedly, staring at the boy who's gritting his teeth and clutching something around his neck. Haymitch just sighs in realization, finally sees how much he's truly asking of Finnick.
"Look Finnick, I'm sorry. I really am. But you need to wear that into the arena. She'll kill you on sight if you don't have that on."
Slamming his fist against the counter, Finnick just snarls. "I get one thing, one choice before I get sent into hell."
His hand is still clutching the necklace that hangs loosely around his neck. From what Haymitch can see, it's a simple series of shells tied together by a piece of twine inlaid with golden threads.
"One token, Finnick. You get one token in that arena. Please, Finnick, please."
Haymitch is begging him, pleading with him to make this choice for the rebellion. The revolution. Finnick's jaws slackens a bit, his eyes sagging and a long breath finally escapes from his lungs.
"It'll hurt her," he whispers. "It'll hurt her when she sees I'm not wearing it."
Haymitch just nods, reaching out to take the bangle back from Finnick because he really, truly cannot ask this kid for any more sacrifices. He's been through enough in his life. The Capitol might be keen on using him, but Haymitch won't do that.
Haymitch is shocked when Finnick's hand slaps his hand out of the way, grabbing the bangle and slipping it over his wrist. Wordlessly, he unties his necklace, giving it a squeeze before dropping it on the counter in front of Haymitch.
"Annie made it for me," he says quietly. "Keep it safe for me, okay?"
He stutters before continuing.
"If something goes wrong and I die in that arena, make sure you give that to her."
He's glaring at Haymitch now, eyes trained on the man's scruffy face and lips in a tight grimace.
"Promise me, Haymitch," he spits out. "Swear you'll take care of it. And her. Swear you'll take care of her."
Haymitch just nods again, reaching out to take the necklace off of the counter and slip it into his pocket. Sighing, he rubs his hands over his face and scratches at his beard.
"I'll do my best, kid. But ensuring her safety is under Plutarch, not mine."
Finnick just slams his head against the counter, he can feel his tears welling up in his eyes because the one thing he had to remind him of her won't be with him if he dies in that arena. He feels like punching something, someone. There's so much anger, so much pain coursing through him. He thinks of Annie, biting his lip hard and clenching his eyes shut so he can remember the feel of her head nuzzling against his chin, the soft chewniss of her homemade banana bread, how she would tickle him with her sand-encrusted feet when they spent long nights on the beach. Everything about her morphs into his memory. Memories are like bits that you can hold on to even when the clouds are grey.
And right now, the clouds are thundering and pouring hail.
"Fuck, Haymitch," Finnick sighs as he pulls himself out of his little cacoon and pushes away from the bar counter, almost tipping the stool backwards.
"I have something to give to you tomorrow night. You have to keep it for me while I'm gone."
Finnick's already swinging his coat over himself, already walking towards the door and before he can hear Haymitch's response or if he responds, he's out of the bar.
Finnick's rushing down the hall, blood pounding in his ears after the Interviews. He had tried to catch Katniss and Peeta in the elevator but one of the Peacekeeprs had shooed him away. He's still in his outfit and he can feel the chilly air pricking at the bit of exposed chest but he doesn't care. He has to get to Haymitch and fast before they lock every room shut as punishment for what the Victors did tonight.
Just as he turns the corner he slams into a solid wall of chest. It takes him a split second to orient himself - the Games have made him quick to react to anything so his brain is whirring even as he stabilizes himself. He'll punch any fucking person who stands in his way right now.
But he doesn't have to. Because he's ran into Haymitch who from the closing of the elevator behind him, seems to have just come down from floor 12. Perhaps he was saying his final goodbyes to his tributes.
"Kid," he hisses out, grabbing Finnick's arm and dragging him back into the elevator. "What the fuck are you doing out and about? The Capitol's pissed! Get back to Mags up at 4."
Before Haymitch can press the button that will take them to the fourth floor, Finnick grips both of his wrists tight.
"You promise," he whispers, "you'll do everything in your power to get her to me after this shit show."
Haymithch's eyes are wide, clearly still shocked from the Interviews and now the sound of Finnick's threatening, low voice.
"Yeah, kid. And if you don't make it out," he stutters for a second before continuing. "If you don't make it out, the necklace is hers and I'll drop by to Four every couple weeks, okay?"
Finnick releases his wrists, letting out a sigh and sinking to the floor of the elevator. He's squatting, head in between his legs as he fishes something out from one of the folds in his costume. Without looking up to meet Haymitch's gaze, he lifts a small book up for Haymitch to grab.
"It's a photo album. I took it before I left for the reaping. Give it back to her or save it for me."
Finnick just hears Haymitch hum in acknowledgement as he feels the leather book leave his fingers. He's still staring at the floor when he hears the elevator door open, right into his floor.
With a pat on his back, he looks up to see Haymitch eyeing him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Come on, kid. For her."
Finnick just nods, getting up slowly and then turning to face Haymitch. He goes in for a hug, which Haymitch oddly accepts with no grumbling.
"Thanks Haymitch, for everything."
As Haymitch heads back to his own room, he pulls out the album. It's made of a rich burgundy leather, bound with gold thread. On the cover is the simple words I love you, embroidered next to small flowers. Haymitch just sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. If there's one thing he genuinely wants to do other than get Katniss and Peeta out, it's to get Finnick out and get Annie for him.
Haymitch flips the book open to the first page. Covering the curly words that undoubtley come from Annie's hand, is a taped photo of Annie on her victory tour from five years ago.