BLOOD ON MY HANDS || Finnick Odair

nineteen; recap.

Exactly one week later, almost down to the hour, Eden stood where he found out he was having a baby girl. He had been dressed in a carefully sewn loose white shirt made of linen and dark pants that fit his measurements exactly. Fawke had given his hair a trim earlier that day as it looked more than unkempt, and had styled it away from his face.

The makeup they put on him made him look younger, and hid the deep bruises of exhaustion that had made themselves home beneath his eyes. It gave his face more colour and depth, brought back that youthful determination the Capitol must have adored before the games. Eden didn't care.

He couldn't give any less of a shit about what the Capitol loved or hated about him because it truthfully didn't matter. All that mattered was the fact that he had a baby without a mother, and he was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

Multi-coloured lights and loud introductory music flared up across the stage in front of him and then a man with a headset was nudging him out into the open space. Cesar Flickerman, his signature colour this year being purple, was dressed in a deep plum suit and lavender tie. The rest of him was an array of similar shades.

Immediately, Eden was smiling. His cheeks ached at the effort it took and he was certain it didn't reach his eyes, but he was smiling. Cesar was beaming as he pulled him in for a tight, congratulatory hug that ended with a pat on the back.

They sat down in their designated leather chairs, and the music slowly faded into the background. "Eden Koyle," Cesar said as a way of greeting.

Charmingly, Eden grinned back. "Cesar Flickerman."

That earned him a faint laugh from the crowd, who then quieted.

They chatted back and fifth for a little while, just keeping the crowd engaged until the games producer announced through his ear piece that they were ready.

On the screen in front of him they played through the 24 reaping tapes, taking special pause over his and Flora's. Seeing the crestfallen, terrified yet determined look on her face as she'd settled a hand over her swollen belly was enough to have him curling in on himself, but he kept his composure.

He knew the cameras were on him, though, so he made his eyes close and shoulders curve like he was trying to hide. The audience could make what they wanted to of that.

Eden sat silently and watched as they played the tribute parade, and the sight of those pretty flowers woven throughout her hair made him ache. All he wanted was Flora back.

To hold her, and gently comb his fingers through the tangles in her hair. Rest his hand on her belly while she held Cissy's small body in her arms. To hold both of his girls.

He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a slow breath, holding the pieces of himself much more tightly together.

Later.

He could fall apart later. When there was no prying eyes and ears.

Later.

When he opened his eyes again all twenty four tributes were standing on their pedestals around the Cornucopia, the timer above them counting down from sixty. He remembered how it felt, standing there. The racing of his heart, trembling of his hands, unevenness of his breaths.

He used to believe that it was the worst feeling in the world, that it would be the worst memory of his life. But now, after seeing the determination scrawled across his own face, he knew he was wrong.

Seeing just how set he had been on dying for the woman he wanted to marry so she could live, and then knowing that he was mere days away from holding her lifeless body just days away from the time of the clip was so much worse. Knowing her blood would be all over his hands was enough to kill him.