Inhale

“Finnick...” His hand rubs over his neck and I clench my teeth hard.

“You do.” He agrees, “But the more you know the more danger it puts you in.” I blow air hard from my mouth, is he kidding? We are literally about to get thrown back into the arena to kill ourselves, and I'm going in with less than half of the information I feel he must have.“Don't be...”

“We can't have this conversation here.”

“Then where?” His hand rubs over his throat again, as if physically denied of air.

“We can't. I won't risk it.” Considering he must have spoken to someone about it all I find this hard to believe and tell him so. There's no denial but he looks more conflicted than ever and buckles out, “You trust me right?” I nod, however angry I am; I always will do, surely there's no need for confirmation? “I can't tell you here. It's not safe...” He sees me open my mouth and continues, “Please Elle, don't make it more difficult.” I hold back most of the expletives.

Finnick rocks back on his heels, eyes anywhere but my face. I'm trying, trying hard to see his point, to understand, my voice is weak, “You keep lying to me.”

“I know.” He murmurs, finally dragging his chin upwards, “I don't mean to, honestly. I swear it Elle.” We don't swear unless it's serious. It may just be a District Four thing, but it starts as children, in the playground at school. You really want to sell a point, make someone believe you and you 'swear it'. I deflate a little. “You swear it,” I repeat, deadpan. Rigid with a tension that shows no sign of dispersing, “You're not supposed to lie to me.”

“I know.” My arms fold over my chest, another barrier forming. “I don't want too, but I need too, at least for now....well, not lie, but not tell you...”

“Which is the exactly the same.”

“I guess.” I give him a few seconds to surprise me, and although he looks on the verge of saying more he doesn't. Instead, I slip around, turning off the taps and shower head until we're standing in a near silence. “If you're not honest with me I can't help you.” I allow him a second to digest, “I mean, I know exactly what Johanna's planning on doing in there. I know Katniss wants Nuts and Volts, and she won't want me. Why don't I just go with Jo? Then you can play whatever little game you want.”

I watch his fingers curl towards his palms, “What the hell are you on about?”

“She's being honest with me, more than you are. What do you expect me to do? Run along after you with no idea of a plan? We can't...” I bite hard my lip, recalling his fear of hidden cameras, “We can't all win this Finn. Not all of us are walking away from this, are we? It's not fair for you to expect me to go in not knowing anything.”

It's all lies. They are the desperate fears that bite at my subconscious but they're not true. I don't want to be away from him in there. I want to be with him, I want him to be safe, I wanted him to live and this stupid, obscure plan to work. I'm a bad person at points, this is one of them. Rita's words about my manipulation echo in-between my ears, that is exactly what this is. I am trying to get answers from him and I am sinking low enough to grasp them. My chest is moving hard, breath in light pants. He's the one who remains a statue, looking at me with something I can't place. I haven't planned what slips out last, the deepest spike in my chest, “Do you not trust me?”

I wait for some instant declaration, for him to tell me that it's the stupidest thing he's ever heard. He inhales, slowly. It's not enough, and now my chest does ache. “I'm gunna... I'll be back later.” I half wail, trying to swallow it down.

The wind chimes are gentle in the background. It's a nice noise, and far better than the buzzing inside my head. I should go back down really, apologise to Finnick and move on. He wouldn't stop until I agreed to be with him, take back my ridiculous threat and stay at his side in the arena. He was so unfair, he had more secrets than anyone should. Was it too much to ask that I be let in on just enough to help us stay alive?

I can see his point, I hate it but I can. His reasoning is sound, not right, but sound. He is supposed to trust me how I do him. I had agreed to everything he'd said, agreed to try and keep Katniss alive, to risk my life for the girl on fire.

My groan is long overdue but there are no tears. Perhaps I'm too angry for that. I cross my legs, but I can feel the hammering of my heart still, and the pounding in my head shows no sign of leaving. I'm so out of odds, in my familiar disappointing little world, that I miss the sound of the door opening.

“Oh, sorry. I didn't think anyone would be up here.” I recognise the voice instantly so try arrange my features into a calm mask. “It's fine. I was..." I certainly can't tell him what I was moping about, "...I'll be going back in a minute anyway. I just wanted some air.” We share a smile, and I turn back to staring out over the criss-cross of buildings. He's clearly debating leaving himself but something stops him, probably the seemingly innate kindness that will likely be his end, Peeta comes over to me, his mechanical knee clicking as he sits down on the hard surface. “It's nice up here isn't it?”

Oh no, small talk, I have never been any good at small talk. Or any other kind of talk really.

I should be leaping on this, alone time with Peeta, more chance to get to know him, work out how to get him on side. It seemed ridiculous, get Peeta on side and keep Katniss alive. Was it fair for anyone to just write him off, did District Thirteen not see his value? "It's better than inside." I offer, hoping my voice isn't as bitter as it is inside my mind. "Not even with all the renovations? It's been especially done up you know." His impression of an escort is spot on.

"I preferred it before." He laughs lightly, tapping his heels against the marble coating. This building practically glows in the sunlight. "Don't tell Naloh I said that."

"He's your escort right? Tall guy, bright hair." Peeta could have just described any man in the Capitol but I agree with him, Naloh's hair was a particularly horrific shade of red. “Yeah. Looks like most of them. You wouldn't forget him if you spent any time with him though; he's normally nice and agitated about something.”

“I'm going to take a wild guess and say that's about schedules.” I twist myself on the low wall so I'm facing him, “You'd be right there.” I admit, and he smiles, so earnestly it draws one from me.

“It has to be something they learn in school, right? For them to all be so uptight with timings and punctuality?”

“Maybe.” I pretend to muse, “They must squash that in between their light up clothing and hair lessons.”

“How to look like a flamingo on a budget.” There's a split second where I imagine he's drawing up as many examples in his mind as I am, then we laugh. It's a proper laugh too, even though his joke was poor, a stomach cramping laugh that makes me lose my breath. I almost hate it. Two minutes into another conversation and I like Peeta.

That was never the point of any of this, if I like him I'll feel obliged to try and help him, I'll want too, more than I should. Finnick would be happy we're laughing together, maybe he'd even be jealous. It's far less sexual than him pressing himself up against Katniss under the premise of sugar cubes or knotting rope entwined with her, but it's a bigger breakthrough. I almost like the idea of him being a little jealous like it would balance out some of the power in our relationship. I shake my head at my own silly thoughts - I'm cross at Finnick, I wanted to get away from him for a while, his lack of faith in me, so I wasn't thinking about him.

The laughing has stopped. He's staring at me, looking concerned. I've spaced out again, probably completely weirded him out by staring at some vague point of air. Embarrassment swallows me and I try to summon more saliva in my mouth, “Sorry, that's something I er...do apparently.”

His smile is so sweet and kind as if he understands and I can feel my eyes watering. I fiddle with my hair, tug a strand in front of my face as if to hide the emotion. The atmosphere has completely dropped, another thing I can thank myself for. He senses it too, but he doesn't seem to mind, changing the conversation appropriately so. “Haymitch said that Mags had told him you and Finnick wanted an alliance... with us.”

I don't know how to answer this. "That's not..." Peeta's brow furrows, "Mags spoke to Haymitch then?" He nods, "We'd like to if you two want too..." I finish lamely, twitch some sort of smile at him, struggling for what to say next. This is a problem, I can't hold a conversation without having it fed to me in baby steps, luckily Peeta seems happy to spoon feed and asks if I come up here often.

“Oh, this is the first time this year. I only found out about it a couple of years ago. Not everyone likes it.”

“Why not?” He seems genuinely interested and it's not a nice answer but I'm honest.

“Because it's outside, isn't it? Well, it's not outside, but you feel that way. There are the flowers and the breeze," I feel my tone change, as I suggest at what so many tributes must have hoped, my hand drags pointedly over the ledge we're seated on, “you could even just step off the edge.”

“But...there's the force field.” He leans forward, cementing the idea as his fingers stop in what seems like mid-air and a ripple appears. “Exactly, it's just a reminder that you're always where they want you to be. You get what I mean?”

It's a false freedom I want to say, like everything else. This talk is bordering on stupid, something we may well pay for in the arena. It's so nice to just be honest for a minute, say what comes into my mind. To be honest.

“I do actually, yeah.” He rubs where his prosthetic leg meets flesh. “It's always a game. Even when you're out of the arena.” I need to put an end to this, there is stupid and then there is downright moronic, if we're being listened too we may as well ask Finnick to make a noose now. The Capitol does not like to sound stupid, be mocked. They don't like people speaking truthfully.

“Yeah well, at least we get a breeze up here.” His expression changes again, he could either get what I'm trying to do or perhaps he's thinking about how I am a complete nutcase.

“It's nice,” he prods the force field again before drawing his hand back pointedly, “the breeze.”

I tell him I agree before making up some poor excuse and saying I must get back down to the apartment. “Me too.” He sighs, manoeuvring himself upright. He walks to the elevator with me in what is an almost comfortable silence. We stop outside Twelve's floor but he doesn't leave straight away. “You thought about what you want to do tomorrow afternoon?” I shrug at him and he mimics, lips pursed. “Still a game, right?” He smiles, it's another of those big honest looking ones. Maybe I had misjudged him. Maybe he is far more calculating than we had thought and he's just trying to suss me out. I return it. “Have a good night, see you tomorrow Elenia.”

“Bye.” The lift whizzes back down to the Fourth floor and I step out to a near empty space. It doesn’t stay that way, Finnick quickly removes himself from the couch and reaches me in a few long strides. A tense walk, I've been gone for nearly an hour easy but I don't think it warrants this.

“Where have you been?” He doesn't sound cross, but his eyes are scouring over me suspiciously.

“On the roof, why?” I can see the physical relief that slacks his shoulders. “I've really not been gone that long...”

“It's been over two hours Elle. Honestly, I was on the brink of breaking into every floor until I found you.”

Two hours? Had I really lost that much of the evening moping? "I really didn't think it was that long, honestly. I was just on the roof and then Peeta came up and we were talking and...” My speech is quick but he catches it all and his eyebrows lift at Peeta's name. “You're okay though? Yeah?” His own words are desperate.

“I'm cross with you.” He laughs at that, although it's not hard, and his hands gently rest on the top of my arms patronisingly. “I'm a little bit cross with you too.”

“Brilliant.” I shake off his hands not in the mood to kiss and make up just yet. “Do you want to be cross in my room or yours?” He doesn't answer so I start towards mine, flinging the door open and barely stepping in before he catches me, pinning me against the cool wall. I roll my eyes at him but don't make a move to go, waiting for him to speak. “You honestly think I don't trust you?”

“You hesitated.” I watch his throat bob. “If you're not going to tell me everything then you shouldn't have said anything.” His tongue darts over his lower lip again but he pushes himself off the wall, glancing over his shoulder. I can't work out what at. “Let's have you be cross in my room.”

I open my mouth to argue but he's already half picked me up and I shriek, dangling awkwardly in his arms. I don't mean too, still wound up but I laugh and he joins in, shuffling me against his chest. Once in his room I'm dumped unceremoniously onto the bed and he sits next to me. “No stopping this is there?”

“Stopping what?”

“You.” This part isn't a question, although he looks at me seemingly in deep thought. I shake my head, not willing to back down. He hides his sigh fairly well but then lies next to me so his legs are dangling over the side of the bed. I open my mouth, a now familiar argument brewing and he flips over so quickly it makes me jump and kisses me. I barely catch the murmur against my lips. “Not yet.” I allow that to satisfy me, his words a promise but also a hesitation.

The sudden change in topic doesn't faze me, Finnick remembers where we are and so must I. I join in, ignore the stone sat deep in my stomach. There is a clock opposite his bed, and routinely his eyes flicker to it. I'm not sure what we're waiting for, but the later it gets the more frequent his looks.
By the time it's eleven I'm struggling to fight back yawns. Finnick looks as tired as I feel, and I end up nuzzled into him on his bed. There's a ping, one of the parachutes that deliver gifts in the arena that sends me shooting upright. Finnick makes the same movement, a comforting hand on my back and a smirk at the confusion that must flood my face. “No cameras, no one listening in. Ten minutes,” I'm still lost, “It's how people have been talking, getting a plan in place – at least while we're here.”

“Ten minutes isn't very long.” Is all I can manage. How do you plan a rebellion in ten lousy minutes?

“It's staggered, in half an hour no-one will be able to hear or see anything Johanna does...”

“Which is how you spoke the other night.” He nods. I don't fire the rest of my questions at him instantly, but he's clock watching again. “Okay,” This is not a decision we can take back, and I know it's so obviously one he's opposed to. “Tell me everything then.”

“You sure?”

“Swear it.”