Chapter Text
Finnick O’Daire was 14 the day in the arena when the ocean whisked away the fish. He was tired, but it wasn’t harder than a long day at his father’s dock. The nets had taken half a day to tie, his hands had bled a little, and sure, the salt water stung them, but he continued. There was no other choice.
“What are you doing?” The girl from 2 asked, watching him work.
“We’ll need food,” He responded. So he tied. By nightfall, the nets were set. And his trident felt light in his hands. The girl from 2 bickered about taking the first watch but Finnick shrugged and said he wasn’t tired. That he knew the waves freaked her out. He had winked at her, and she had smiled and said okay. They were waiting till morning to split up, the last four. Waiting till morning to fight. That’s what they agreed on.
“We have the winner of the 65th Hunger Games! Finnick O’Daire!” The sun was rising on the arena, casting Finnick’s sitting body in an orange glow. He smiled up at the sky, he had won.
“He only won because the Capitol is infatuated with him.” Mags had backhanded anyone who whispered about Finnick in front of him, although he was sure she did it when he wasn’t around too. He was relatively unhurt, he was 14, and he seemed unaffected by the events of the games. A record setter. Since he was removed from the arena, he hadn’t had a second to think. He didn’t want one.
“Snow wants to meet with you before the train goes home,” Finnick shrugged from where he laid on the couch in his quarters, his stay had been extended for more interviews and photo shoots. “Finnick, look at me,” Mags said, making the boy sit up. “Snow likes you.”
“Well,” Finnick smiled at her. “I’m easy to like.” That’s what he had been told his whole life, but especially here. The Capitol was weird, eccentric, bizarre. But here, Finnick felt loved. He didn’t have his family to care for or help, he barely missed them. The drinks smelled nice and his wounds didn’t hurt at all. Mags' eyes looked heavy as she watched him,
“Go along with what he says. Tell me what he asks. Okay?” And he was whisked away by his stylists.
“He just told me after my Victory tour I will stay at the Capitol for an extended time, which is fine.” He had told Mags. The smell of the sea hit him hard when he stepped off the train. The Victors’ Village was by the beach, Finnick got the sand to himself. His family had wrapped their arms around him, his mother had cried. Three weeks here before his tour, normally given for victors to recover, to mend their wounds, and readjust to life. Finnick was antsy. He paced the beach, he stopped fishing, Mags would visit him and ask how he was doing. That he didn’t need to lie, no cameras here. Finnick smiled at her and said it was fine. Just waiting for the tour.
Finnick resented District 4. He was lonely. He had nightmares. He couldn’t fish without seeing 2’s face staring at him from the waves. His family could see how different he was. The carefree child that had left them was now anxious, impatient, his charming smile was gone.
“You’re Victory Tour was very successful, well received.” Snow smiled from his seat as Finnick stood before him, his shirt hung off his shoulders and showed his tanned chest. His stylists rarely covered him fully. Finnick smiled in reason, nodding in agreement. It was easy, to make people care about him and respect him.
“Thank you, President.” The President’s smile was so off, so distant. The fumes of the Capitol were strong, reminding Finnick of his time before the games when this was all new. Only a few months ago, yet he felt so different.
“Now, you’re party tonight will be nothing less than fabulous, just for you. And I will make sure you will be given whatever you need for your extended time here.” Snow sipped a blood-red drink. “However, I’m sure you know that our Victors are very special to us.”