liberty

THE JUNGLE was still and eerily quiet after the chaos, its oppressive silence pressing down on the tributes. Liberty and Finnick had ventured back into the dense foliage, their movements swift and purposeful. Finnick searched for Katniss's arrows, many still embedded in the blood-soaked bodies of the monkey mutts, while Liberty scoured the ground for her spears, some scattered from the earlier skirmish.

Their footsteps barely made a sound as they moved through the tangled vines and towering trees. The ground was littered with broken branches and remnants of the fight, a grim reminder of the mutts' relentless assault. Liberty crouched, pulling her last spear from the chest of a fallen mutt, her expression stoic. Finnick wiped the blood from an arrow as he yanked it free from another lifeless body.

By the time they returned to the beach, the sun remained hidden below the horizon, the world still cast in deep shadows. Finnick approached Katniss, his hand full of arrows streaked with dark, drying blood. He dropped them beside her on the sand.

"Thought you might want these," he said, his tone light but his face drawn with exhaustion.

"Thanks," Katniss replied, picking up the arrows and inspecting them.

She rose and moved toward the water, her gaze drawn to Liberty, who was crouched near the shoreline. Liberty was scrubbing her spears and Finnick's trident in the waves, rinsing away the gore from their earlier battle. The weapons gleamed faintly in the moonlight as the water carried the blood away.

Katniss hesitated before asking, "Where did they go?"

Liberty didn't look up as she answered. "We don't know exactly. The vines shifted, and they were just... gone."

Her voice was calm, but the lingering tension in her posture betrayed her unease. Katniss followed Liberty's gaze back toward the jungle, the darkness there alive with possibilities. Exhaustion pressed on them all, yet their minds couldn't rest.

As the quiet stretched, Liberty noticed the spots on her arms where the poisonous fog had burned her skin. The droplets had scabbed over, leaving angry, itching welts. She scratched absently at her arm, her expression twisting in discomfort.

Katniss glanced at the others and saw they were doing the same—Peeta rubbing at his damaged face, Finnick scratching his arms, and Liberty's fingers dragging over her irritated skin.

"Don't scratch," Katniss warned, her voice sharp. "You'll only make it worse, maybe cause an infection." She glanced toward the water. "Do you think it's safe to try the water again?"

Liberty sighed and rose from the waterline, her spears now clean. She handed Finnick his trident, her movements deliberate.

Katniss nodded toward the jungle. "We should go back to the tree, and see if we can get more water."

Finnick and Liberty exchanged a glance before nodding. Together, they retraced their steps to the tree they'd tapped earlier. Liberty used her spear to dig another small hole at the base of the trunk, and Katniss passed her the spile. Liberty drove it into the bark with practised ease, and soon water began to trickle down.

They all drank deeply, letting the warm liquid soothe their parched throats. Finnick poured some over his itching arms, sighing with relief as the burning eased. They filled several large shells with water before returning to the beach, careful not to spill a drop.

The night stretched on, the darkness unyielding. Katniss looked toward the horizon, where faint traces of dawn teased the edges of the sky. "Why don't you two get some rest?" she said, her voice softer now. "I'll keep watch for a while."

"No, Katniss, I'd rather," Liberty interjected, shaking her head. She glanced at Finnick. "I'll take the watch. You go rest with Peeta."

Katniss hesitated but eventually nodded. "All right. Thanks, Liberty."

As Katniss moved further down the beach to lie beside Peeta, Liberty settled next to Finnick. She turned to him, her voice low but insistent. "Your turn to sleep. You didn't get as much as I did earlier."

Finnick raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Instead of arguing, he stretched out and used her thighs as a pillow, his trident resting beside him in the sand. Liberty rolled her eyes but said nothing, her fingers absentmindedly combing through his hair as his breathing slowed.

For hours, Liberty sat in silence, the rhythmic sound of waves her only companion. Finnick eventually shifted, rolling onto the sand without waking, and Liberty took the opportunity to stand. She glanced toward the jungle and then back to the beach. Deciding to make use of the time, she ventured into the trees to gather long grasses, intent on weaving a makeshift shelter.

When she returned, her arms full, she froze at the sight of Finnick standing, his expression alarmed. Relief softened his features as he spotted her. He closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, pulling her into a firm hug.

"You have to tell me if you're going off like that," he said, his voice low and chastising.

"I wasn't far, Finnick," Liberty replied, stepping back as he released her.

His sharp look lingered. "Doesn't matter. We're still in an arena, and there are people out there who want us dead."

He sighed, taking some of the grass from her hands. "What are you making?"

"Shade mats," she said simply, sitting down to start weaving.

Finnick joined her without a word, their hands working in quiet synchronization. For the next few hours, they sat in companionable silence, the tension from earlier easing as they focused on their task. By the time the first rays of dawn broke through the horizon, several makeshift mats lay between them, their weaving crude but sturdy.

The night stretched into early morning, the faint glow of dawn painting the horizon in hues of pale pink and gold. Liberty and Finnick worked tirelessly, weaving the long grasses they'd collected into a makeshift shelter. Their hands moved deftly, placing each mat carefully to shield Peeta and Katniss from the rising sun's harsh rays.

Once the shelter was finished, they stepped back to admire their handiwork. Though it was far from perfect, it provided ample shade and a sense of accomplishment. Finnick dusted his hands off on his pants, his trademark smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, it's not exactly a mansion, but it'll do," he said.

Liberty chuckled, brushing a stray blade of grass from her hair. "It's not a mansion, but it won't collapse either. Unlike your last attempt at a hut when we were kids."

Finnick feigned a gasp, clutching his chest dramatically. "How dare you insult the architectural genius of ten-year-old me! That hut was revolutionary."

"It was a pile of driftwood held together by seaweed," Liberty shot back, rolling her eyes.

"And yet, you sat in it proudly until it fell apart," he quipped, grinning.

Liberty smirked, shaking her head. "Come on, we should fish before the others wake up."

The two made their way to the water's edge, the waves lapping gently at their feet. Liberty crouched down and rummaged through her makeshift pouch, pulling out a crude fishhook she had crafted from bits of metal scavenged earlier.

"Still carrying that thing around?" Finnick asked, raising an eyebrow at the hook she crafted sometime in the jungle the first day.

"It's called being resourceful," Liberty replied, threading a piece of dried fruit onto the hook as bait.

Finnick lifted his trident, spinning it in his hands with practised ease. "I don't need fancy tools. This beauty's all I need."

Liberty shot him a playful glare. "Sure, if you're okay with catching one fish every ten minutes. I prefer efficiency."

"Efficiency is overrated," Finnick said, stepping into the shallows. "It's about the thrill of the hunt."

Liberty rolled her eyes again, wading in beside him. She cast her line expertly, the hook slicing through the water with precision. "How about this? Whoever catches the most fish gets first dibs on breakfast."

Finnick grinned, his competitive nature sparking to life. "You're on. Just remember, I was practically born in the water."

"And yet, I still beat you every time," Liberty teased, flashing a smug smile.

"That was once," Finnick argued.

"It was always," Liberty corrected. "Even when we were kids, you'd come up empty-handed while I hauled in enough fish to feed an entire village."

Finnick chuckled, shaking his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And yet, you keep trying," she replied, smirking as she reeled in her first catch—a gleaming silver fish flopping against the line.

"Beginner's luck," Finnick muttered, plunging his trident into the water.

The competition quickly became a lively affair, the two of them exchanging playful banter with each catch. Liberty's line brought in fish after fish, her quick movements and sharp eyes outpacing Finnick's trident strikes.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" Finnick asked, his tone half-exasperated, half-amused as Liberty added another fish to her growing pile.

"I'd enjoy it more if you weren't so slow," Liberty retorted, casting her line again.

"Slow?" Finnick scoffed. "I'll have you know I'm giving these fish a sporting chance. It's called being honourable."

"It's called making excuses," Liberty said, pulling in another catch.

By the time the sun was fully above the horizon, the two had amassed a respectable pile of fish. Liberty's pile, of course, was noticeably larger.

Finnick sighed dramatically, planting his trident in the sand. "Fine, you win. Again. Happy now?"

"Always," Liberty replied, grinning triumphantly.

He shook his head with a rueful smile. "I don't know why I even try to beat you."

"Because deep down, you like losing to me," Liberty teased.

"Keep telling yourself that," Finnick said, chuckling.

As they gathered their haul and made their way back to the beach, the sound of their laughter lingered in the air, a rare moment of levity in an arena built for despair.

The early morning sun climbed higher, casting its warmth over the small group on the beach. Finnick and Liberty, their catch from earlier now prepared, sat cross-legged on the sand near the sleeping forms of Katniss and Peeta. Finnick worked methodically, using a sharp-edged stone to crack open shellfish, while Liberty carefully scraped the scales from the fish they'd caught. They were both efficient, their movements born of years spent surviving on the resources of District 4.

"You think they'll eat this raw?" Liberty asked, holding up a cleaned fish and inspecting it critically.

Finnick shrugged, popping a piece of shellfish into his mouth and chewing with practised ease. "They'll eat it if they're hungry enough. It's not so bad once you get past the texture."

"Sure," Liberty replied, smirking as she expertly sliced the fish into manageable chunks. "You make it sound like we're offering them a delicacy. Peeta's pretty probably going to gag the moment he tries it."

Finnick chuckled, leaning back on his hands. "Maybe, but I bet Katniss will manage. She's tougher than she looks."

"Oh she will be fine, she was the first one to taste the tree rat." Liberty smirked, "She's braver than you."

Their teasing banter carried on until Katniss began to stir, the soft murmur of their voices pulling her from sleep. She opened her eyes and blinked, focusing on the two of them. They were laughing quietly, their dynamic surprisingly lighthearted given the circumstances. Her gaze drifted to the neatly prepared food set in a woven bowl nearby and the fresh water in two additional bowls beside it.

"They're better fresh," Finnick said, catching her gaze as he ripped a piece of flesh from a shellfish and popped it into his mouth.

Liberty grinned and set down the last fish, now scaled and portioned. "Hope you can handle the taste," she said, winking at Katniss.

Katniss sat up, rubbing her arms absently, her eyes on the pair. For a moment, the image struck her—Finnick and Liberty, working in tandem, preparing food with a rhythm that spoke of long familiarity. It was almost domestic, almost comforting; like parents. She felt a pang in her chest but pushed it aside. No need to remind them, or herself, that they were still in the Games.

Instead, her fingers found the irritated patches of skin on her arms, and she began to scratch without thinking. Finnick's smirk widened as he caught her in the act. "You know," he said, mimicking her earlier stern tone, "if you scratch, you'll bring on an infection."

Katniss rolled her eyes, snickering along with Liberty. "I've heard that somewhere before," she quipped, standing and heading toward the water to clean her hands and face.

Liberty watched her go, shaking her head. "She's cursing under her breath," she noted to Finnick, who grinned.

Katniss stomped her way back up the beach, droplets of water clinging to her face and hands. She threw her head back and shouted toward the sky, "Hey, Haymitch! If you're not too drunk, we could use something for our skin!"

Almost as if by magic—or more likely, the Gamemakers' and Haymitch's sense of humour—a silver parachute appeared, floating down gracefully and landing in Katniss's outstretched hand.

"About time," Katniss muttered, plopping down on the sand near Finnick and Liberty. She unscrewed the tube, wrinkling her nose at the pungent scent of tar and pine. Squeezing a glob into her palm, she began massaging it into her itchy skin. The relief was immediate, and an involuntary sound of pleasure escaped her lips, though the ointment left her skin a ghastly grey-green.

She tossed the tube to Liberty, who smirked. "You look like you're decomposing," Finnick remarked, laughing.

"Oh, quiet," Katniss retorted.

Liberty squeezed some of the ointment onto her fingers, then grabbed Finnick's chin and started applying it to his face.

"Ugh," he groaned, but he didn't pull away. Once she finished, he returned the favour, his touch surprisingly gentle as he spread the ointment across her neck and hands.

"Poor Finnick," Katniss teased, watching. "Is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?"

Finnick shot her a mock serious look. "It must be. The sensation's completely new. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Just avoid mirrors," Katniss said, smirking. "You'll forget about it."

"Not if I keep looking at you," he quipped, earning a snort from Liberty.

The three took turns helping each other apply the ointment, even rubbing it onto the hard-to-reach spots on their backs. When Katniss announced she was going to wake Peeta, Finnick raised a hand.

"Wait," he said, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Let's wake him together. Put our faces right in front of his."

Liberty clapped her hands together. "Oh, we have to!"

The three of them crept over to Peeta, leaning in close, their grey-green faces mere inches from his nose. Katniss gave him a gentle shake. "Peeta, wake up," she said in a singsong voice.

Peeta's eyes fluttered open, and then he bolted upright, letting out a startled yelp. "Aa!"

Finnick, Liberty, and Katniss collapsed in laughter, falling back onto the sand. Every time they tried to stop, one look at Peeta's bewildered, annoyed expression set them off again.

As their laughter subsided, another parachute floated down. Liberty caught it this time, handing it to Katniss to open.

Inside was a loaf of green-tinged bread. Finnick turned it over in his hands, inspecting it with a hint of nostalgia. "District 4 bread," he murmured. He gave her a knowing look—the plan. The rebellion was still on.

"Yep, just like home," Liberty said, smiling and nodded discreetly getting the message.

"This'll go great with the fish," Finnick said, breaking off a piece and passing the loaf around.

As Katniss ate, Liberty helped Peeta apply the ointment to the spots he couldn't reach.

"We look like walking corpses," Peeta remarked, examining himself.

"Better than scratching," Liberty said, smirking. "Though we could use it to our advantage. Maybe scare off the other tributes."

Peeta chuckled, shaking his head. "You might be onto something."

With the sun climbing higher, the group settled into a momentary peace, savouring the brief respite amidst the chaos.