He didn't know if he or the Aldjoys had been more surprised when Melia had discreetly appeared at the entrance to the library where Finnick was still not quite dressed. Of course, she had handled the situation with a suitable amount of tact. (Finnick had a theory that all of the seriousness in the Capitol had been distilled into Melia. She wasn't like any other stylist he had ever known, which was obviously why she was his. Snow's administration had searched left and right for someone who wasn't going to try to sleep with him, and Melia had been the result of that search.)
He hadn't known what to expect when he had followed Melia off the property, limp still just barely visible. And then there had been Annie and Mags. His heart had gone cold at the sight of Annie, and none of his usual tricks, none of his pleading had managed to get her to even focus on him. He was terrified of what had happened to trigger this. He'd found the card tucked inside her dress, and he'd wanted to cry too, because he didn't know what he was supposed to do or how he was supposed to fix this, especially when he couldn't get her to talk to him. Finally, they'd gotten permission to take her back to the train, and Finnick had carried her whole way. As soon as they'd gotten there though, Melia had quietly, but in her straightforward-way, told him that he hadn't been cleared to leave the Capitol.
He didn't fight, because he knew there was no point. Melia couldn't get him permission to leave, and nobody was going to give it to him. He'd gotten off the train, figuring the best thing he could do was let Mags take Annie home.
He spent the next two weeks agonizing over what was happening in Four any moment he had to himself. The rest of the two weeks he spent drunk and in bed.
It felt like years had passed by the time he got back on the train. Melia drugged him on the way home, something that happened all too frequently. When he woke up, all his bruises had been erased, although he could still feel them under the press of clear skin. She had at least dressed him in something that wouldn't look ridiculous in Four, although the fabric was too stiff and bright to really belong. It didn't matter.
He was off the train in an instant, heading toward Annie's house before even considering his own. Only to find that she wasn't home. He'd waited with her mother, uncomfortable the entire time, although he knew how to hide that. He couldn't sort what Annie's mother must think of him -- the boy who brought her daughter home, but also the whore she was now dating.
It was a stark relief when he finally heard Annie come inside. He got up hurriedly and lingered in the doorway, watching her move, watching the way she cleaned off the shells, arms poised, fingers careful. He just wanted to stand there and watch her forever. Nothing in the rest of the world mattered. But he knew they couldn't stay that way, because he needed to make sure she was okay, needed to know she had once again survived the bruising grip of the Capitol.
"You're all right?" he asked quietly, remaining near the entrance. He didn't know if he should touch her yet, felt as if all their previous rules had been erased by their time spent in the Capitol. He didn't know who he was yet, didn't know how she was yet. Didn't know if she wanted him anywhere near her.
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Date: 2014-02-28 12:00 am (UTC)He didn't know if he or the Aldjoys had been more surprised when Melia had discreetly appeared at the entrance to the library where Finnick was still not quite dressed. Of course, she had handled the situation with a suitable amount of tact. (Finnick had a theory that all of the seriousness in the Capitol had been distilled into Melia. She wasn't like any other stylist he had ever known, which was obviously why she was his. Snow's administration had searched left and right for someone who wasn't going to try to sleep with him, and Melia had been the result of that search.)
He hadn't known what to expect when he had followed Melia off the property, limp still just barely visible. And then there had been Annie and Mags. His heart had gone cold at the sight of Annie, and none of his usual tricks, none of his pleading had managed to get her to even focus on him. He was terrified of what had happened to trigger this. He'd found the card tucked inside her dress, and he'd wanted to cry too, because he didn't know what he was supposed to do or how he was supposed to fix this, especially when he couldn't get her to talk to him. Finally, they'd gotten permission to take her back to the train, and Finnick had carried her whole way. As soon as they'd gotten there though, Melia had quietly, but in her straightforward-way, told him that he hadn't been cleared to leave the Capitol.
He didn't fight, because he knew there was no point. Melia couldn't get him permission to leave, and nobody was going to give it to him. He'd gotten off the train, figuring the best thing he could do was let Mags take Annie home.
He spent the next two weeks agonizing over what was happening in Four any moment he had to himself. The rest of the two weeks he spent drunk and in bed.
It felt like years had passed by the time he got back on the train. Melia drugged him on the way home, something that happened all too frequently. When he woke up, all his bruises had been erased, although he could still feel them under the press of clear skin. She had at least dressed him in something that wouldn't look ridiculous in Four, although the fabric was too stiff and bright to really belong. It didn't matter.
He was off the train in an instant, heading toward Annie's house before even considering his own. Only to find that she wasn't home. He'd waited with her mother, uncomfortable the entire time, although he knew how to hide that. He couldn't sort what Annie's mother must think of him -- the boy who brought her daughter home, but also the whore she was now dating.
It was a stark relief when he finally heard Annie come inside. He got up hurriedly and lingered in the doorway, watching her move, watching the way she cleaned off the shells, arms poised, fingers careful. He just wanted to stand there and watch her forever. Nothing in the rest of the world mattered. But he knew they couldn't stay that way, because he needed to make sure she was okay, needed to know she had once again survived the bruising grip of the Capitol.
"You're all right?" he asked quietly, remaining near the entrance. He didn't know if he should touch her yet, felt as if all their previous rules had been erased by their time spent in the Capitol. He didn't know who he was yet, didn't know how she was yet. Didn't know if she wanted him anywhere near her.