finnick & liberty

BEETEE INSIST on inspecting the lightning tree before he rigs it for their plan. Judging by the sun's position, it's around nine in the morning—early enough to get things done, but the oppressive heat already hangs heavy in the air.

They know they'll have to leave their beach soon anyway to stay ahead of potential threats. The group packs up their makeshift camp, heading toward the beach bordering the lightning section, and then into the dense jungle.

The climb isn't easy. The jungle's thick, muggy atmosphere feels like a wet blanket smothering them, and there's been no reprieve from the stifling heat since the Games began.

Beetee, still frail and weak from his injuries, can't manage the incline on his own. Finnick and Peeta take turns carrying him, their muscles straining as they manoeuvre him carefully over the uneven terrain.

Katniss lets Johanna and Liberty take the lead. "It's a straight shot to the tree," she reasons. "Even they can't get us lost." She keeps her voice low, though there's a hint of teasing. She positions herself at the rear, bow in hand. With her arrows, she's the best defence if something—or someone—tries to ambush them.

"Why don't I get a compass or a map for this honour?" Johanna mutters sarcastically as she slashes through the foliage with her axe.

"Oh, sure, because it's not like you'd throw them into the trees just to make things more interesting," Liberty shoots back.

"Touché," Johanna replies, smirking as she presses on.

The lightning tree comes into view, towering high above the rest of the jungle canopy like a natural beacon. Its gnarled trunk and jagged branches almost seem to reach for the sky, standing stark against the lush greenery.

"Katniss should take the lead," Finnick suggests, glancing back at the group as they pause. "She's the one who can hear the force field."

"Hear it?" Beetee asks, intrigued.

Liberty, trying to stifle her amusement, turns away, but Finnick catches the mischievous glint in her eyes. He discreetly elbows her, and she bites her lip to keep from snorting.

"Yeah, she hears it," Liberty adds, her voice tinged with suppressed laughter.

"Only with the ear the Capitol reconstructed," Katniss explains, her tone flat.

Beetee wipes the steam off his glasses and adjusts them. "Then, by all means, Katniss should go first. Force fields are not something to play around with."

Taking charge, Katniss carefully moves up the slope. She gathers a handful of nuts from the ground and begins tossing them ahead, checking for the invisible barrier. "Just stay below the lightning tree," she instructs, her voice firm.

The group sets to work once they reach the tree. They divide up responsibilities: Finnick stands guard over Beetee while the inventor inspects the tree, tapping it occasionally and murmuring calculations under his breath. Johanna chops at nearby vegetation and uses the spile to extract water, while Peeta busies himself collecting more nuts. Katniss ventures a short distance away to hunt, keeping her senses sharp for movement.

Meanwhile, Liberty is tasked with drawing a line in the dirt to mark the force field's boundary. She uses a stick to scrape a visible line along the jungle floor, muttering about the simplicity of her job.

"Drawing lines in the dirt—such a noble duty," Finnick quips from where he stands near Beetee, his tone playful.

"Oh, sure. Let me not draw it and watch someone walk straight into the force field," Liberty snaps back without missing a beat. "Peeta only survived by pure luck."

Peeta, crouched nearby with an armful of nuts, winces. "Too soon, Liberty. Way too soon."

Liberty smirks, tossing the stick over her shoulder and leaning against a tree. "You're alive, aren't you? Most people don't get to come back from the dead."

"Again, not making me feel great about it," Peeta says, tossing a nut in her direction. It bounces off her arm harmlessly.

"Was that supposed to hurt?" Liberty grins. "Because it didn't."

"It was supposed to make a point," Peeta says with mock indignation. "But clearly, subtlety is lost on you."

"Yeah, well, subtlety isn't exactly my style," Liberty quips, tossing the nut back at him, harder this time. It sails past his head, and Peeta ducks, laughing.

"I'd give that throw a seven out of ten," Finnick chimes in, leaning casually on his trident. "Points for aim, but you could've gone for a little more finesse."

"Finesse?" Liberty shoots him a look. "Says the guy who stabbed a muttation in the face last night."

"That was finesse," Finnick counters with a grin. "You just don't recognize it when you see it."

Johanna snorts from her spot near tree she tapped. "You're all ridiculous. Can't believe I'm stuck babysitting this crew of lunatics."

"And yet, here you are," Liberty retorts, flashing a smirk.

The banter continues, lightening the oppressive mood of the jungle. It's a fleeting moment of camaraderie, a small reprieve from the grim reality of their situation. But even as they laugh and tease, the undercurrent of tension remains. The lightning tree looms above them, a reminder of the task ahead and the dangers that await.

Beetee is still immersed in his meticulous investigation of the massive tree, a figure of quiet concentration as he paces around its base. Every few moments, he pauses to measure or record something in the dirt with a stick, his eyes flickering with an intensity that suggests he's on the brink of some profound discovery. At one point, he carefully snaps off a thin shard of bark, scrutinizing it like a precious artifact. Without a word of explanation, he walks purposefully toward the invisible force field and tosses the bark fragment at it.

The shard strikes the force field with a faint crackle, ricocheting back to the ground. For a moment, it glows with a strange, otherworldly light, pulsating faintly before fading back to its original dull brown. Beetee stands over it, observing with a small, knowing nod. "Well, that explains a lot," he says matter-of-factly, his tone implying he's just solved a complex riddle.

Katniss can't help but exchange a glance with Peeta, her lips pressing together as she suppresses a laugh. To anyone but Beetee, his cryptic remark explains absolutely nothing. Peeta raises an eyebrow, his bemusement mirroring hers, while Liberty leans casually against a nearby tree, smirking. "Thanks for the update, genius," she quips, her tone light but tinged with sarcasm. Beetee doesn't even glance her way, already absorbed in the next phase of his work.

Just as the humor of the moment begins to settle, an unsettling sound breaks through the dense jungle air. The sharp, rhythmic clicks rise steadily from the sector adjacent to ours. The sound grows louder and more distinct with each passing second, resonating with an ominous urgency. It's much more intense here in the jungle than it had been on the beach the night before, amplified by the oppressive humidity and the tangled canopy above.

Beetee tilts his head, listening intently. "It's not mechanical," he declares with quiet confidence, his analytical mind already ruling out possibilities.

"Insects," Katniss suggests, her voice low but steady. "Maybe beetles."

"Something with pincers," Finnick adds grimly, his grip tightening on his trident as his eyes scan the jungle's dark underbrush.

The sound grows louder, sharper, almost alive. It feels as though the clicking is homing in on us, drawn by the presence of warm, breathing bodies. The hair on Katniss's arms stands on end, and a shiver courses through her despite the oppressive heat. Liberty, always quick to act, grips her spear and steps forward slightly, her sharp eyes darting from shadow to shadow. "Whatever it is," she mutters under her breath, "it sounds like it could strip us down to bones in no time."

The air feels heavier, charged with tension, and everyone seems to instinctively press closer together. Johanna, ever the pragmatist, breaks the uneasy silence. "We should get out of here," she says bluntly. "There's less than an hour before the lightning starts, and I don't fancy meeting whatever's making that noise."

The group doesn't need much convincing. They fall into a hurried but careful retreat, moving through the jungle with an urgency born of instinct. They don't go far—only to the identical tree in the blood-rain section. It's close enough to reach safety if needed but far enough from the clicking menace to feel marginally less exposed.

Once there, they settle into a strange sort of picnic, crouching on the damp ground to share a quiet meal of fruit and roots scavenged earlier. The atmosphere is tense, every sound in the jungle amplified by their heightened senses, but the act of eating brings a small measure of normalcy to an otherwise surreal and dangerous moment.

They don't venture far, just far enough to reach the mirror image of the giant tree in the blood-rain section. The journey is quick but tense, every step carefully measured as they navigate through the dense underbrush. When they arrive, they settle at the tree's base, forming a loose circle. It's not much of a respite, but it will do. The air is thick with tension and the faint metallic tang of blood rain still lingers in the atmosphere.

Squatting on the ground, the group shares a makeshift meal of the jungle food they've managed to gather—bitter fruits, fibrous roots, and whatever else they've deemed safe. It's a strange, quiet moment of communion amidst the chaos, their shared silence underscored by the occasional rustle of the jungle around them. Liberty leans back against the tree, casually twirling her spear in her hand as her eyes dart toward every unexpected sound. She doesn't say much, but her presence feels steadying, a quiet confidence that keeps them grounded.

As the distant clicking begins to fade, Beetee motions for Katniss to climb into the canopy. She obeys without question, scaling the tree with a practiced ease born from years of hunting. From her vantage point, she can see the distant tree they've left behind. When the lightning strikes, it's like witnessing the birth of a star. The bolt of electricity engulfs the tree entirely, a brilliant hot blue-white that makes her squint even in the blinding midday sun. The surrounding air hums with an almost palpable energy, crackling and shimmering as if alive.

When Katniss swings back down to report her observations, Beetee listens with quiet satisfaction, nodding as if her findings confirm his calculations. She can't help but feel a little inadequate—whatever he's piecing together is well beyond her comprehension, but Beetee's calm approval is reassuring nonetheless.

Afterward, they take a winding path back to the ten o'clock beach, moving slowly to avoid drawing attention. The beach is serene, the sand smooth and damp, freshly swept by the recent tidal wave. It feels eerily clean, as if nature itself has pressed a reset button. Beetee dismisses them for the afternoon, intent on working with his wire. The rest of the group, with nothing better to do, is left to their own devices. The unspoken freedom feels strange, almost like being excused from school early, and they linger in the shadowy edge of the jungle, unsure how to spend their time.

At first, they take turns napping in the shaded thickets, but the oppressive heat and underlying tension make rest difficult. By late afternoon, everyone is awake, restless, and craving a distraction. Finnick is the one to suggest it—a feast. If this is their last chance for seafood, they might as well make it count. With Liberty's quick agreement, the plan is set in motion.

Under Finnick and Liberty's leadership, they organize themselves into a seamless hunting party. Liberty wades into the shallow surf with practiced ease, spearing fish with precise, deadly strikes, while Finnick dives effortlessly for oysters and shellfish. Even Peeta, less skilled in the art of fishing, takes to gathering with quiet determination. Johanna, ever vigilant, stations herself as lookout, leaning casually against a palm tree but with her axe always within reach. Katniss, despite herself, feels a strange sense of camaraderie in their efforts, working alongside Finnick to clean and lay out the catch.

As they work, Peeta pries open an oyster, revealing a glistening pearl nestled within. He chuckles, holding it up triumphantly. "Hey, look at this!" he exclaims, the wonder in his voice infectious. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal, it turns to pearls."

Finnick snorts, shaking his head. "No, it doesn't," he retorts dismissively, though there's a teasing edge to his tone.

Undeterred, Peeta rinses the pearl in the water and walks over to Katniss, placing it in her hand. "For you," he says simply. Katniss looks down at the small, luminous orb, its iridescent surface catching the sunlight. For a moment, she lets herself marvel at its beauty. "Thanks," she murmurs, closing her fingers around it. But when her eyes meet Peeta's, the weight of their shared reality crashes down on her.

His blue eyes, so earnest, are fixed on hers with an intensity that's almost unnerving. It's as if he's searching her soul, peeling back layers she doesn't want to reveal. "The locket didn't work, did it?" he asks, his voice low but pointed. He doesn't care that Finnick or Liberty might hear. His question is meant for her and her alone.

"It worked," Katniss replies quietly, the words feeling hollow in her mouth.

"But not the way I wanted it to," Peeta says, his gaze faltering as he turns away. After that, he busies himself with oysters, refusing to look at anything else.

Just as they're about to eat, a parachute descends from the sky, bearing unexpected gifts. Inside, they find a small pot of spicy red sauce and another round of rolls from District 3. Finnick, ever meticulous, counts the rolls immediately. "Twenty-four again," he notes, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and resignation.

The meal is nothing short of decadent—a rare moment of indulgence in the arena. The salty fish, the tender shellfish, and even the oysters are vastly improved by the sauce. They eat until they can't manage another bite, their bellies full and their spirits, for a fleeting moment, lifted. The leftovers, knowing they won't keep, are tossed back into the ocean, denying the Careers any spoils. The shells are left behind, scattered across the sand to be washed away by the next wave.

With nothing else to do, they fall into a quiet rhythm of waiting. Katniss and Peeta sit at the edge of the water, their hands entwined but their words unspoken. Further down the beach, Liberty joins Finnick, the two of them sitting in a companionable silence. They don't need words—there's a mutual understanding, a shared burden that connects them in ways that go beyond language. The sky begins to darken, the first hints of twilight casting long shadows over the beach as they brace themselves for whatever comes next.

The warm orange hues of the setting sun cast a golden glow across the beach, softening the harshness of the arena. Liberty sat cross-legged on the sand, her boots discarded to the side as her toes dug into the cool grains. She leaned back on her palms, watching the ocean waves lap lazily against the shore. Finnick wandered over, his trident slung casually over his shoulder, and plopped down beside her without a word.

"Looks like you're enjoying the break," Finnick said, grinning as he tilted his head to catch her gaze.

Liberty smirked, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Yeah, well, it's not often you get a beachfront view in the middle of a death match."

Finnick laughed, a sound so carefree that it felt out of place in their grim reality. "Touché. But you're missing out." He gestured toward the waves. "The water's perfect. Could cool you down after all that fishing."

Liberty raised an eyebrow. "Oh, is that your not-so-subtle way of saying I should jump in so you can show off?"

Finnick feigned offense, clutching a hand to his chest. "Me? Show off? I would never." His grin betrayed him, though, and Liberty couldn't help but laugh.

"Besides," Finnick added, leaning closer, "you've already seen me at my best. I've got nothing left to prove."

Liberty rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Big words from someone who almost speared his own foot earlier."

"That was tactical!" Finnick retorted, his voice full of mock indignation. "I was trying to distract the fish."

"Sure you were," Liberty said, shaking her head as she tried to stifle her laughter.

Finnick leaned back beside her, resting on his elbows. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sounds of the ocean filling the space between them. Then, without warning, Finnick reached over and plucked a tiny shell from the sand near Liberty's foot.

"Here," he said, holding it out to her. It was a delicate spiral, the edges glinting faintly in the fading sunlight. "A souvenir. You know, in case you forget me."

Liberty took the shell, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment. "Forget you? Not likely," she said softly, turning the shell over in her palm.

Finnick's playful expression softened. "Good," he said, his voice quieter now. "Because I'm not planning on forgetting you, either."

Liberty looked up at him, her usual sharp wit momentarily replaced by something gentler. "Guess we'll just have to stick together, then."

Finnick smiled, and for once, it wasn't the cocky grin he often wore. It was something genuine, something real. "Guess we will."

They stayed like that for a while, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon, their unspoken bond solidifying in the fleeting peace of the moment.