The Sterling Nightingale ⟷ Finnick Odair/OC

You are the center of this torrent,

Chapter Twenty Eight | You are the center of this torrent

"She was so close to him that her soft, loose hair was wafted against his cheek; her eyes, glowing with tears, maddened him, the music in her voice sent fire through his veins." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel

Twenty four hours left, and they are all sleeping. It's a necessary evil, Sil supposes. They need to get their strength up after the trying events of the last few days, but she still feels impatient. Finnick notices, of course. It's difficult not to when he's got her trapped against his chest and she keeps shifting around. ('Trapped' is probably a subjective word, but still.)

She knows the plans by heart, the manner in which they're going to get out of the arena. What comes after, too. Katniss and the others will be saved, and she...well, Sil has always known, in some way, that she is a pawn to District 13 just as much as she is to the Capitol. She's more use near President Snow, and like a mindless chess piece, she will move where the player wants her to. Even if it sends her to her death.

She shifts again, unable to find sleep even in the comfort of Finnick's arms. Arms that had wrapped around her in a surprisingly easy manner – another thoughtless but wildly significant action. Her heart aches when she allows herself to think, for one brief moment, that this man will soon be gone from her life, separated by the ironclad boundaries between the Capitol and the core of the rebellion. A rebellion that she has spent the better half of her life envisioning.

He will find out, soon, about who she is. It makes her shiver with a strange mix of adrenaline – a cocktail of fear and excitement.

"Sil, would you stop moving around so much? Some of us are trying to sleep," Finnick's tired voice whispers through the dark. He doesn't sound angry; just resigned and exhausted. She stops moving immediately, turning stiff as a board against him.

He sighs dramatically and jostles her closer, tucking his hand around her knee and jutting her leg up over the both of his. The move is just shy of unseemly, yet all Sil can think about is how perfectly her body fits to his, like a hidden message she's only just ciphered.

"Finnick," she mumbles against his chest, then trails off, because she's not sure if she means to chastise him or not. His fingers shift up her back in long, oddly comforting movements. Fire blisters in the wake of his touch.

"What is it?" he wonders quietly. His voice is softer now, gentler in a way she can't quite describe, only that it sounds intimate and she finds that she very much likes the depth of it.

Before she can answer, he frowns and lifts his hand to her head, where he had tied a piece of his own shirt around her to bind her headwound. In a firmer voice, he asks, "Are you feeling okay? It doesn't hurt, does it? Because I could take a look at – "

"'M fine, Finnick," she interrupts, and flicks the underside of his jaw.

She tells herself that the reason for the action is only because she's annoyed at all his worrying. At the way she's never quite sure if he means it or if he's only doing it for the cameras; creating a big, whirlwind love affair because it's what the Capitol expects. But really, she touches him because she's always wanted to run her fingers over his jaw and the light blonde stubble on it and this is probably as close as she's ever going to get.

He stops talking immediately, then grumbles, "Fine," as if he doesn't really want to admit that he had been worrying about her like a mother hen.

She turns her head a little to look up at him. It's a little too dark to get a clear image of his features. They had forgone a fire, not knowing where the Career pack is and not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to their beachside camp. Still, despite the lack of light, she's close enough to be able to admire the strong curve of his jaw and the shadows of his eyelashes as they dust across his cheeks.