30 ── this isn't real
finnick & liberty
THE VERY first time Liberty saw Finnick, she was a tiny infant, barely strong enough to balance her wobbly head or sit upright without the support of chubby, unsteady hands. Yet the memory of that moment remained etched into her soul with a vividness that defied the hazy, fleeting nature of early childhood recollections. She could recall it with a clarity that felt almost supernatural as if her young mind had instinctively understood its importance.
She was swaddled in a soft blanket, the kind that smelled faintly of sea salt and sunshine, her tiny fingers clutching its corner as though it anchored her to the world. The room was filled with the gentle hum of voices — adults speaking in hushed, soothing tones — but Liberty's attention was drawn elsewhere, captured entirely by the boy beside her.
Finnick Odair, just a baby himself, lay on a woven mat next to her, his small form cradled by the familiar warmth of District 4's sea-swept air. His eyes, even then, were a dazzling shade of seafoam green, a colour that seemed to shift and shimmer like the ocean under a rising sun. They were bright with wonder, curious and full of life as if he already carried within him the restless spirit of the waves that surrounded their home.
For the briefest moment, those eyes locked with hers.
Liberty felt a strange, inexplicable pull, a connection that defied the simplicity of their shared infancy. His gaze was steady, filled with an innocent curiosity that seemed to ask questions neither of them could yet voice. And then, just as effortlessly as a breeze dances across the surface of the water, a gummy, toothless smile spreads across his face.
His cheeks dimpled slightly, his tiny mouth curving upward in pure, unguarded joy. It was the kind of smile that held no pretence, no expectation — just a simple, unspoken welcome.
In that instant, something shifted in Liberty's heart, though she was far too young to understand it. A warmth bloomed within her, a sense of belonging that went beyond words or reason. It wasn't a grand moment, nothing that the adults around them would remember or even notice. But to her, it was everything.
The world around them, filled with the murmur of waves and the salty scent of the sea, seemed to fade away. All that remained was the boy with the eyes like the ocean and the smile that reached right into the core of her being.
She didn't know it then, of course. She couldn't grasp the threads of fate that were already weaving their lives together. But later — much later, after years of trials and suffering, after battles fought and hearts broken — she would look back on that fleeting moment and realize that it had been the beginning.
The beginning of a bond forged in innocence. The beginning of a love as vast and untamable as the sea itself.
Time flowed like the tides, ever-shifting and carrying them forward until they were no longer infants but children—spirited and free at the tender age of ten. The salt-laden breeze danced around them, tangling their hair and brushing their sun-kissed cheeks as they stood side by side on the sandy shores of District 4.
The endless expanse of the ocean stretched before them, its waves rolling and crashing like playful giants. The sea, with all its mystery and power, had been their playground for as long as they could remember. Today was no different.
Finnick planted his bare feet firmly in the wet sand as the surf lapped at his ankles. A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of his mouth — that signature, lopsided smirk that always meant trouble. His seafoam-green eyes sparkled with excitement, and Liberty knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.
"I'm faster than you," he declared, his voice filled with unshakable confidence.
Liberty narrowed her eyes at him, her competitive spirit igniting like a spark on a dry tinder. "Are not," she retorted, flicking her hand through the water and sending a splash directly at him.
The cold spray caught Finnick on his chest, and he let out a sharp laugh — a sound as bright and carefree as sunlight on water. He shook his head, droplets flying everywhere before he gave her a daring look. "Prove it, then!"
Without waiting for a response, he dove forward, his lithe body slicing into the water with ease. His powerful arms pulled him forward in long, practised strokes, each movement fluid and natural, like a creature born of the sea.
Liberty grinned, her heart leaping with the thrill of the challenge. She didn't hesitate for a second. With a running start, she plunged into the cool embrace of the ocean, feeling it welcomed her like an old friend. The water wrapped around her limbs, buoying her up as her legs kicked hard, propelling her forward.
The salt stung her eyes, but she ignored it, focusing on the boy just ahead of her. The sea spray glittered in the sunlight, scattering shards of gold across the waves. Finnick was fast — faster than anyone their age — but Liberty wasn't about to give up. She pushed herself harder, her arms cutting through the water as her muscles burned with effort.
"Too slow, Libby!" Finnick's teasing voice rose above the sound of the waves, carried by the wind.
"Keep talking, Finnick!" she shouted back, her words broken by a burst of laughter. A mouthful of salty water bubbled up as she pushed herself even harder, refusing to be outpaced.
The buoy marking their makeshift finish line bobbed just ahead, its bright red surface gleaming in the sun. Finnick reached it first, slapping his hand against the side with a triumphant whoop. Liberty was a heartbeat behind, her fingertips brushing the buoy as her chest heaved with exertion.
They floated there for a moment, both panting as they caught their breath. The sun warmed their damp skin, and the sea cradled them gently.
Finnick turned to face her, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, his grin as wide as the horizon. "Guess you're not that bad after all," he teased, his eyes dancing with amusement.
Liberty rolled her eyes, a playful scoff escaping her lips, but the smile tugging at her mouth betrayed her. "You got lucky," she muttered.
"Luck has nothing to do with it," Finnick quipped, the cocky edge in his voice as familiar as the taste of saltwater.
Liberty splashed him again, laughing as he sputtered. "Next time, I'll leave you in my wake."
"We'll see about that," he shot back, already daring her to race again.
The ocean stretched endlessly before them, and with it, the promise of countless more challenges, laughter, and the unbreakable bond that would carry them through whatever storms lay ahead.
The world shifted again, bending and reshaping itself like the pull of the tides, and they were older now. The salty breeze swept in from the ocean as fishing boats returned to the docks, their nets heavy with the day's catch. The sun hung low, dipping toward the horizon, painting the sky in strokes of gold and crimson. Liberty stood barefoot, her toes curling against the worn wooden planks, the scent of brine and fish filling her senses.
She was fifteen. Finnick, standing beside her, was the same—tall, broad-shouldered, and carrying the easy confidence of someone who had already begun to grow into his strength. His bronze skin glowed in the twilight, the sun catching in his windswept hair as he worked alongside the fishermen, hauling crates filled with wriggling fish. His grin, as always, was quick and boyish, the charm of it enough to disarm anyone.
Neither of them had ever been reaped for the Games. Not that year. Not the years before. Not ever.
It was a thought that haunted her in the quietest moments, a fragile truth that she didn't dare speak aloud most days. They had watched every year, holding their breath as names were called, their hearts thundering in their chests. Each time, it felt like standing on the edge of a knife. Each time, someone else's name echoed through the square.
By some grace of the sea gods, they had been spared.
One afternoon, they are older again—passed the reaping age; they sat together at the edge of the dock, their feet dangling just above the water. The gentle slap of waves against the wooden beams created a rhythm that lulled her mind into a rare peace. Finnick held a small, smooth pebble between his fingers, rolling it back and forth before flicking it out over the water. It skipped once, twice, before vanishing beneath the surface.
"We're lucky," Liberty murmured, her gaze distant as she watched the horizon, her voice low and full of quiet wonder.
Finnick's shoulders rose in a shrug. He picked up another pebble but didn't throw it this time. "Luck's not everything," he said with a casual air, but his eyes held a weight that made her chest tighten. He looked at her then, a warmth in his expression that melted the tension in her bones. "We've got each other."
The simple truth of it cut through her. The words were small, but they wrapped around her heart like a net, tight and unshakable. Gratitude swelled inside her, a pang so deep and sharp that it ached. The Capitol hadn't claimed them. They had survived. Together.
The air around them was thick with salt and summer warmth. The boats rocked gently in their moorings. Their lives were filled with swimming, fishing, and weaving dreams about the future. The world was whole.
Yet, something in Liberty's heart was restless.
A nagging feeling tugged at the corners of her mind, an itch just beyond her reach. It was too perfect, wasn't it? No Games. No fear. No scars.
Her pulse quickened. The edges of her vision seemed to blur, the light shifting unnaturally.
"Finnick," she said, her voice soft but unsteady. She turned her head to look at him, the boy who had always been her anchor, her home. His profile was sharp and beautiful against the deepening blue of the sea, the moonlight catching in his eyes. But there was something wrong.
This world, this moment — it wasn't real.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Finnick... this isn't real, is it?"
He turned toward her, the grin slipping from his face. Confusion flickered in his eyes before understanding settled there, soft and sorrowful.
"What do you mean?" he asked, but his voice felt distant, as though carried on the wind from far away.
She gestured helplessly around them, to the endless water and the stars that blinked too perfectly above. "This," she whispered, her hand trembling. "All of this. The boats. The sea. The... peace." Her breath caught in her throat, and she forced the words out. "None of it feels real."
Finnick's expression shifted, his eyes filled with an ache that mirrored her own. Slowly, he reached for her, his hand stretching out to take hers. His fingers were just a breath away—
And then the world began to dissolve.
The docks splintered into nothingness, the sea drained away like water slipping between her fingers, and the stars winked out one by one.
"Wait—no—" Liberty gasped, reaching desperately for him as the whiteness of the void swallowed everything. Her heart pounded in her chest, her hand trembling as she grasped at the air where Finnick had been.
He was slipping from her grasp, his form dissolving like mist under the sun.
"Finnick!"
His name broke from her lips, a plea, a cry.
But there was no answer. Only silence. Only the vast, empty white.
And then... nothing.
When Liberty's eyes fluttered open, the world around her was stark and sterile, a place stripped of warmth and familiarity. Blinding white walls stretched endlessly, seamless and suffocating, while the ceiling loomed overhead with harsh fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly, casting no shadows. Even the air felt cold, clinical, and devoid of life. A thin hum emanated from unseen machines, a monotonous rhythm that pulsed through her foggy mind like a heartbeat disconnected from her own.
She blinked slowly, her eyelids heavy as lead, her thoughts fragmented and sluggish. A sharp beeping sound reached her ears—steady, methodical, and unrelenting. The source of the noise seemed to come from beside her, and after a moment of disorientation, she realized it was a heart monitor, its green line jumping in time with her pulse. Tubes snaked from her arms, thin and translucent, feeding into a tangle of equipment that surrounded her like a web. Every breath she took felt laboured, her chest rising and falling as if gravity itself had multiplied.
Where am I?
The question hung in her mind, unanswered and urgent.
She turned her head, the simple movement a monumental effort. Her vision blurred, and for a moment, the world seemed to spin before settling into clarity. Her eyes landed on a figure lying just beyond her reach—another bed, another prisoner of wires and machines.
It was him.
Finnick. Her Finnick.
"Finnick," she whispered within her mind, but her lips could not form the name. Her throat burned, raw and parched, as if she had swallowed broken glass. Panic surged, swift and sharp, as she tried to call out again.
No sound.
Finnick lay still, his chest moving in a slow, steady rhythm. His skin was pale, washed of its usual sun-kissed glow, and his eyes were closed. The strong, vibrant boy she had known now appeared fragile, the weight of his exhaustion etched into every feature. But he was alive.
Relief coursed through her, so sudden and overwhelming that tears pricked her eyes. Her fingers twitched weakly at her side, a feeble attempt to reach him, but the effort drained her strength. She watched his face, memorizing every detail—his brow relaxed, his lips slightly parted as he breathed. He seemed peaceful, untouched by the nightmares that haunted her.
A shuddering breath escaped her as exhaustion claimed her once more. The weight of her body pulled her down, and she sank into the bed like a ship swallowed by the sea. Darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, and just before it overtook her, the last thing she saw was Finnick—his stillness, his fragile hold on life—and the fragile flicker of hope that whispered: For now, he's safe.
And then she was gone.
The tide of unconsciousness pulled her under, deeper into a sea of fractured dreams. Images flickered like fragments of broken glass, sharp and disjointed. She saw the arena, vast and deadly, the towering lightning tree that sparked against a storm-dark sky. Beetee's wire glowed in her mind's eye, an electric thread that snaked toward its target. Katniss stood, bow drawn, her face grim with determination.
Finnick—
She heard his voice, shouting her name, a sound filled with desperation.
Lightning split the heavens, a deafening crack that shook the world.
And then... silence.
Darkness enveloped her, cold and endless.
When Liberty stirred again, reality pressed against her like a crashing wave. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled her ears, its rhythmic pulse grounding her in the present. Her body ached with a weariness that reached her bones, but she fought against the heaviness, forcing her eyes open.
The room hadn't changed—still blinding white, still sterile and devoid of comfort. The machines hummed softly, their wires wrapping around her limbs like serpents. She turned her head with agonizing slowness, her breath catching in her throat as her gaze found Finnick once more.
He was exactly as he had been before—silent, unmoving.
Her heart clenched painfully. Was he breathing?
Panic flared, sharp and consuming.
She clenched her jaw and pushed against the weight of her exhaustion. The sound that escaped her lips was barely a whisper, hoarse and broken, but it was her voice.
"Finnick..."
Nothing.
Tears burned her eyes as she tried again, summoning every ounce of strength she possessed.
"Finnick!"
The word came out louder, cutting through the sterile stillness. Her throat throbbed with pain, but she didn't care. She watched him with bated breath, willing him to respond.
A flicker.
His brow furrowed ever so slightly, a ghost of movement that made her heart leap. His fingers twitched—just a fraction—but it was enough.
He's alive.
Relief surged through her, a tidal wave of emotion that left her gasping. Tears spilt freely down her cheeks as she lay helpless, her body too weak to move, her soul too strong to give up. She wanted to reach for him, to touch his hand, to hold on to the warmth of his life. But the tubes held her down, a cruel reminder of her own fragility.
"Don't move," a voice murmured suddenly, breaking the silence.
Liberty flinched, her head jerking toward the sound. A woman in a pristine white uniform stood at the door, her expression calm, composed, and coldly professional. Capitol.
The sight of her sent a chill down Liberty's spine.
"You need rest," the woman said, stepping closer with a tray of medical supplies. Her tone was smooth, almost soothing, but it carried the weight of authority. "You've been through a great deal."
Liberty's mind raced. She forced her lips to move, her voice barely more than a rasp. "Where... where are we?"
The woman's mask of composure faltered, if only for a heartbeat. "You're safe," she replied. "That's all you need to know."
Safe.
The word rang hollow, an empty promise. Liberty's gaze flickered back to Finnick, her chest tightening.
"Why isn't he awake?"
The woman's hands moved with practised efficiency as she adjusted the monitors beside Finnick's bed. "He's stable. His body endured severe trauma. He needs time to heal."
Time.
Liberty clenched her fists, frustration burning in her chest. Questions stormed her mind—questions about where they were, what had happened, and what would come next—but her strength ebbed, slipping away like sand through her fingers.
The woman's voice softened as she turned toward her again. "Rest, Liberty Bird," she whispered. "You'll need your strength for what lies ahead."
As much as she wanted to fight, her body betrayed her. Her eyelids grew heavy, her vision blurring. She clung to the sight of Finnick—his stillness, his breath—and held on to hope.
And then, once more, the world faded to black.
...
Finnick's consciousness stirred like a flickering candle in the wind—unstable yet gradually growing brighter with each passing moment. His body felt as if it were being weighed down by an invisible force, every limb heavy and foreign, as though it were no longer his own. The first sensation that reached his scattered awareness was the sharp, searing pain in his arm, followed closely by the relentless beeping of machines, their sound like an irritating reminder of his current state.
He struggled to open his eyes, the effort sluggish, as his surroundings came into focus. The white of the room was blinding, an unyielding sterile light that seemed to pierce straight into his skull. He attempted to move, but his body seemed to protest every small motion as if it had forgotten how to function. His head felt thick, and his vision blurred. When the haze began to lift, and he could finally make out the shapes around him, he turned his head—and his heart nearly stopped in his chest.
There, beside him, lay Liberty. Her face was pale, almost ghostly, and her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each one a painful reminder that she was still here, but barely. A woman, dressed in the cold, clinical garb of the Capitol, stood beside her, fiddling with something on the machines by Liberty's bedside.
A wave of panic surged through Finnick's chest, fierce and uncontrolled. What have they done to her? he thought, his mind racing. His heart thundered in his ears, and his pulse quickened as he wrenched his gaze from Liberty and focused on the Capitol woman. Her appearance, so clean and detached, made his blood boil with an intensity he hadn't felt in a long time.
"What are you doing to her?!" he growled, his voice hoarse and raw, thick with anger and fear.
The woman turned to him in surprise, her eyes widening slightly at the outburst. "You need to stay calm—"
But Finnick was far from calm. Rage consumed him. Without thinking, he ripped the IV from his arm, the pain of the motion barely registering as the surge of adrenaline took over his body. He tried to sit up, his muscles protesting, but he pushed through the pain, each movement more difficult than the last. He stumbled toward the woman, his legs unsteady but driven by an overwhelming need to protect Liberty.
"Get away from her!" he roared, his voice shaking with fury, his vision narrowing as his focus centred solely on the woman in front of him.
The Capitol woman instinctively backed away, her hands raised in a defensive gesture. But Finnick wasn't about to stop. His chest heaved with each breath, his mind clouded by rage and fear. He was ready to strike when, suddenly, strong arms gripped him from behind, holding him back with a force that caught him off guard.
"Finnick!" a voice called, sharp and commanding.
He thrashed violently, the adrenaline pushing him into a frenzy. "Let me go! She needs me! They've done something to her!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
"Finnick, stop!" Another voice, one he recognized, cut through his hysteria.
Finnick froze, his chest heaving, his breath ragged as he turned his head to see Vicente standing behind him, with Calypso beside him, both looking tense and worried.
"W-what—what are you doing here?!" Finnick demanded, his voice breaking with confusion. "Why are you with them? Why are we in the Capitol?!"
Vicente and Calypso exchanged a glance, their faces marked by frustration and concern.
"Finnick, listen to me," Vicente said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You're not in the Capitol. You're safe. You're—"
"Safe?" Finnick snapped, cutting him off. "Safe? Look around! This is their doing!" His arm swept across the room, gesturing to the cold, sterile surroundings, to Liberty lying motionless beside him, to the woman from the Capitol who stood trembling in the corner. "I trusted you, and you brought me here?!" His voice cracked with disbelief and betrayal.
"You need to calm down!" Calypso's voice rang out sharply, stepping closer to him, but Finnick could barely hear her over the pounding in his head.
"No! Not until you tell me what's going on!" Finnick fought against Vicente's grip, his body trembling with the effort. "Why would you—why would you let them do this to her?"
Vicente let out a long, exhausted sigh, his expression one of heavy resignation. "You're too hysterical to listen right now."
"I'm not—"
Before Finnick could finish, Vicente acted swiftly, delivering a precise hit to the side of Finnick's neck. The world spun as his legs gave out beneath him, and the fight drained from his body. He crumpled to the ground, his vision going black as the overwhelming exhaustion finally took over. Calypso caught him before he hit the floor, gently easing him back into the bed.
"Sorry, Finnick," Vicente muttered quietly, his face grim. "We didn't have a choice."
As Finnick's consciousness slipped away again, his last thought was of Liberty, lying still beside him. He couldn't bear to see her like this.
And then, the darkness claimed him once more.
The darkness that enveloped Finnick was not suffocating; it was warm, almost comforting, like a soft blanket wrapping around him, offering a gentle reprieve from the chaos. Yet, even within the tranquillity, something began to pierce the veil of unconsciousness—a faint murmuring, voices just beyond his reach.
At first, the words were garbled, indistinct, nothing more than a dull hum in the background. Slowly, though, they began to sharpen, becoming clearer. He recognized the voices. Calypso and Vicente. They were arguing, their words laced with tension.
"...not ready... we need more time," one voice said, low and urgent.
"Time is the one thing we don't have," the other responded sharply, filled with an edge of frustration.
Finnick tried to focus, but his body remained unresponsive, heavy and unwilling to follow his commands. His head was a leaden weight, his limbs stiff and useless. The voices faded back into a blur, slipping away once more into the haze.
Then, through the fog, something else emerged—a soft sound, like a whisper. Her voice.
Liberty. His Liberty.
It was faint, delicate, a whisper cutting through the darkness. He couldn't make out the words, but there was no mistaking it. It was her—her voice, even weakened and frail. It reached into him, a lifeline, pulling him back from the abyss.
The tightness in his chest eased just a little. She was awake. She was alive.
Her voice wavered, fading in and out like waves on a shore, but Finnick strained to hear more. The exhaustion tugged at him, pulling him back into unconsciousness, but he held on, clinging to the sound of her, the warmth of her presence.
That was enough. For now, it was enough.
When Finnick's eyes opened again, there was no blinding white, no sterile surroundings. He found himself holding Liberty's hand, her warmth against him a grounding comfort. He looked into her eyes, seeing the confusion, the uncertainty that mirrored his own. She smiled faintly, but it was uncertain, fragile.
"Where?" he asked, his voice steadier now, his grip tightening around hers. "Where are we, Liberty? Who brought us here?"
Liberty hesitated, her smile faltering as she inhaled deeply. "It's... complicated," she began, her voice low. "Even I can hardly believe it—"
But before she could finish her thought, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed outside the room. Finnick's body tensed, his eyes snapping toward the door. Muffled voices followed, growing louder as they neared.
an: this one is a long one everyone~! and this concludes catching fire!!
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