There was nothing else for the surviving members of Squad 451 to do other than wait out the relentless search taking place on the surface in the basement of Tigris' shop. Though it was a tense time hiding themselves away from the dangers outside, it gave them all a chance to recover and heal in the safest environment they would be able to find in the Capitol. And it gave Dahlia a chance to pester Finnick about his injury. Despite his insistence that there was no need to check the wound that the mutts had left in his back, one stern look from Dahlia had him obediently stripping off his tactical gear and submitting himself to his wife's scrutinising touch.

"I'm telling you, Lia, it doesn't hur-- Ow!" Finnick's attempt at convincing her was immediately shut down the second Dahlia put any pressure on his wound.

Scoffing under her breath, Dahlia mocked him teasingly, "Doesn't hurt, you say? Well, I suppose you won't mind if I ask Tigris for some alcohol to clean it then. Shouldn't hurt too much if it's just a little scratch like you claim."

Just as Dahlia was standing up to go through with her joke, Finnick's hand clamped down on her wrist to halt her. Dahlia's smirking face turned to the man smugly as she noticed the panicked expression on his face and the pleading look in his eyes. "Please. Don't do that." He begged quickly, shaking his head profusely as his tough guy facade melted away. With a childish pout and puppy eyes, he whined, "It hurts."

"Why didn't you just say so?" Dahlia asked, grinning in triumph at Finnick's admittance.

Sighing to himself, Finnick pulled Dahlia to sit in front of him and gazed into her eyes as he confessed, "You are always so strong and tough. You push through your pain like it's nothing. I guess I just thought that I needed to do the same so I didn't worry you too much."

"I'll always worry about you, Finn." Dahlia retorted, squeezing Finnick's hand in her own as she lifted them up in front of her. "And you'll always worry about me. That's just what comes as part of being in a relationship. But it doesn't mean we should hide our pain from each other."

"And it doesn't mean we should put ourselves in harm's way for each other." Finnick sharply retaliated, his voice heavy with emotion as Dahlia realised what he was referring to. Now they were getting to the root of the problem. "You did a really reckless thing in those tunnels. You shouldn't have risked yourself like that. You should have let me go and left."

Dahlia dipped her head at the audible disappointment in Finnick's tone as he reprimanded her. "You're probably right. I should've left... But I didn't. And I don't regret it." She declared fiercely, refusing to let anyone make her feel silly for a choice she had made. No one would tell her what she could or couldn't do anymore. "I would do it again if I had to. Over and over and over again, if it would guarantee your life."

"And I would do the same for you." Finnick conceded, knowing there was no hiding the fact that if their positions were switched, he would've taken the same risk to ensure Dahlia's safety. "But I've lost you too many times to cope with losing you for good."

Dahlia could see it in his eyes, the fear of existing in a world without her with him. She felt it too. All the time. It was the curse of finding something that you never want to lose. It was a scary thing, to love someone so much that you couldn't imagine continuing on if they weren't there. But if they had let fear win and never took the chance of opening up to the possibilities of love, they would never be happy. They would've died miserable and alone. Love gave them a reason to live. Love gave them something to fight for. And love gave them a person they could spend eternity with.

Inhaling deeply, Dahlia made a confession of her own, "When I was in the Capitol, the Madame taught me to never feel pain. To endure it and push through, because pain meant weakness. And weakness meant defeat. Eventually I got so used to the pain that I became numb to it. I couldn't feel anything at all... Apart from when I thought of you." Finnick stared at his wife in confusion as she told the story. She'd never mentioned any of this to him before. But, then again, she never liked to discuss her experience in the Capitol. He didn't know that he was the subconscious reason Dahlia was able to fight through. "It may have been anger or hate, but it was emotion. And it was there any time you were mentioned. You made me feel alive and human when everyone else made me a monster."

"You're not a monster." Finnick declared passionately, becoming enraged at the mere mention of the word they had used to manipulate Dahlia.

But his wife just laughed softly and muttered in realisation, "I never was... Because you were always there to save me. This time, I was there to save you." A radiantly bright grin was spread upon her lips, infectiously causing an identical smile to light up Finnick's features. She was proud of what she'd done, proud of how far she'd come. And it was all because she loved a golden boy who illuminated her life like the sun bringing hope with the dawn. "You are the reason I feel things, both the good and the bad. But that is not a weakness, it is a strength."

"You are my strength, little flower." Finnick murmured lovingly, kissing the top of Dahlia's hand before pulling her in to place another one on her lips.

"Too right, I am." Dahlia mumbled teasingly between brief kisses, flinging her arms around Finnick's neck and gazing up at him adoringly. The sweet moment is only ruined by Dahlia herself as she bluntly announced, "And it's alright to be in pain, because my side is fucking killing me."

Snickering at his wife's crude language, Finnick mumbled in agreement, "Yeah, my back is on fire. Those mutts certainly did some damage."

"Now I guess we both have scars on our backs from mutt attacks." Dahlia pointed out, referring to the scratches she received on her back from the monkey mutts in the Quarter Quell. "Hey, we'll match!" She exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm, huffing out a laugh before clutching her bruised side in pain. "You stay here. I'm going to see if Tigris has hidden any alcohol down here."

Finnick's body tensed with panic and his head snapped up to Dahlia as she pushed herself to her feet. "You said you weren't going to use alcohol on my back." He cried out in alarm, gripping Dahlia's hand securely to stop her escaping from him.

Chuckling at the sudden burst of fear Finnick had displayed, Dahlia reluctantly put him out of his misery and explained, "Technically, I didn't say anything. But the alcohol isn't for your back."

Relieved by that news, Finnick released his grip on Dahlia's hand and allowed her to leave his side to begin her search. But then, out of pure curiosity and definitely not because he was still concerned Dahlia would pour alcohol on his wound, Finnick asked, "So what do you need it for?"

"Me." Dahlia called out over her shoulder in reply, desperate for just one sip after all the shit she'd been through. "I need it for me."

Strutting away from her amused husband, Dahlia started to explore the dingy basement they had temporarily claimed for their own. Stacks of boxes lined the shelves, meticulously labelled with detailed descriptions of fabrics and materials. There were various fashion sketches scattered about inside them, each one more elaborate than the last with explosions of fur and sequins, colourful feathers and intricate patterns. The selections were clearly aimed towards the refined and unusual tastes of the Capitol citizens, the types of outfits Dahlia and Finnick would've ridiculed at the high-end parties they were forced to attend. Each one made Dahlia cringe in distaste and move on to the next, until she arrived at a box which was documented in a different style of handwriting. Only one word was printed upon the tag; Petal... This was Juno's.

Dahlia practically ripped the lid from the box, desperate to see what items were left of her old friend. Inside she found a leather-bound sketchbook which began with colourfully extravagant ensembles drawn in uncertain pencil lines before abruptly changing to simple and dark looks detailed with confident strokes of a pen. The change had taken place the day of Dahlia's reaping. The day she became the Black Dahlia.

Flicking through the pages, Dahlia watched the evolution of Juno's sketches as President Snow began to meddle in her outfits. There were numerous notes jotted around the pages, 'Snow wants more skin', 'Snow asked for sheer fabric', 'Snow needs more drama'... The annotations grew more frantic the further Dahlia searched, like Juno was receiving more pressure from Snow to turn the Victor into a spectacle.

Saddened by the sight of Juno's spiralling loss of control over Dahlia's wardrobe, the girl set the book to one side and dug through the other items in the box. She sifted past Black Dahlia memorabilia Juno had collected over the years, magazine clippings and articles dating all the way back to when the girl first emerged from the Games. Juno had followed Dahlia's journey from the beginning. Watched her grow, watched her learn... Juno had followed Dahlia's journey right up until her death.

Hidden at the bottom of the box were items which were very familiar to Dahlia. Not much remained of her stolen Capitol collection. A few small pieces of jewellery she had been certain were fakes, a strange figurine she could never quite grasp the shape of and the pair of cut-crystal whiskey glasses she had gifted to Alaric. But nothing caught her eye quite like the black dahlia hair piece nestled on a bed of dark silk.

For a moment, Dahlia wasn't sure it was the same one from her original Games. She had left that hair piece with Juno to honour all that the stylist had done for her. That flower was exhausted from years of wear and tear, the effect of a decade of love taking its toll on the treasured item. However, this flower's petals had been neatly ironed out to remove the wrinkles and creases. It had been stored carefully, to preserve a lasting legacy, and affectionately returned to its former glory.

But the colour was something that couldn't be changed. That specific shade of faded black had been a physical representation of her connection to the Black Dahlia character. As the colour became paler through years of exposure to the light, Dahlia's tether to her murderous persona grew weaker after each interaction with her light. Her Finnick. All it did now was remind her of how far they'd all come.

But there was no doubt in her mind now. This was the same hair piece she had worn through both of her Tribute Parades, the one that Finnick had kept in his possession for years, the one that she had placed in Juno's lifeless hands. Once again, it brought back floods of memories.

Smiling softly at the flower, Dahlia delicately scooped it up and headed back to where Finnick sat waiting for her. "So, I couldn't find a single drop of alcohol," She announced disappointingly as she knelt down next to him. "But I did find this."

Transferring the flower into Finnick's hands, she watched the recognition cloud his eyes and a melancholic grin tug at his lips. "Never thought I'd see this again." He muttered wistfully, admiring the flower that had once been his dearest companion in those long periods apart from Dahlia.

"Juno kept it safe for us." Dahlia explained downheartedly with a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's what she used to help me remember you again... just before I was ordered to kill her."

As Dahlia's head hung in remorse, Finnick reached out and engulfed her hand in his own. "You know that wasn't your fault, right?" He asked compassionately, offering her comfort while she grieved for her former stylist and her friend.

"Yeah, I just..." She sniffled weakly, gazing sorrowfully at the flower that had survived through war, suffering and heartbreak. "All the people I lost... I never got to mourn them."

It was such a small thing to notice, but it meant everything to Dahlia. She never got the chance to mourn for the people who had meant so much to her. One minute they were there and the next they weren't, and she was just expected to get over that like it was nothing. Like their absence didn't leave an aching pain in her heart, like she didn't yearn to have one final conversation with them, like she didn't miss them every second they were gone... But grief was the price they paid for love, and no one could deny that Dahlia loved with every inch of her soul.

"They're never truly gone." Finnick murmured softly, squeezing her hand three times to remind her of just how many people were blessed enough to have been loved by her. "We keep their memories alive and we tell their stories so that history will remember their names. None of them died in vain, and none of them died unloved. And we will get through this together."

Dahlia smiled at her husband gratefully and blissfully replied, "We always do."

Then with a loving gleam in his eye, Finnick carefully tucked the dahlia hair piece behind her ear and placed an adoring kiss on the tip of her nose. How grateful they were to have survived this long, and how fiercely they would fight to ensure their happiness would last a lifetime.