FAILURE TO COMPLY ┃ f. odair

2.11 cinna

It was only when Finnick returned to the Capitol that Calypso started to feel at least a little bit alive again. She didn't want to feel this way because of what it meant for her own heart, but also because it felt selfish to enjoy the time in a place where they were both little more than show ponies and sexual puppets.

But his words and his touches were all too comforting. Every time they got together, he found comfort in telling her about his poems and tracing random lines over her left arm across both metal and skin. He did that now while they sat on the king size bed of Cinna's guest room. Usually, they simply laid in each other's arms, but it had been long enough that all they wanted was to sit up and chat.

"The day the moon disappeared, the tides did not break or rise or rage," he spoke softly, tracing a line with his thumb from inner elbow to wrist. The steel of her prosthetic was cold and lifeless, but Calypso had gotten good at pretending she could properly feel his touch. "They simply stilled, as if in wait. Waiting, waiting, for years, years of stagnant existence. Until one night, the moon awoke once more..."

Finnick switched his hands, so that one was gently holding her arm in place while the other made tiny motions to replicate the movement of waves.

"...And the tides did rise and rage, raged that they still could not reach her."

"What's the meaning of this poem, then?" she questioned. His eyes shifted up to her for more than a comfortable second, and then back down to where his fingers were tracing lines.

"I was just sitting by the water one day and it came to me," he replied nonchalantly, pulling his fingers away from her arm. Calypso felt the absence even without feeling it. "How's Johanna?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "She hasn't spoken to me since we last saw each other."

"What, you two haven't called each other?" he questioned.

"I've been in the Capitol, Finnick," Calypso reminded him. "And I'd rather not get my tongue cut out because of something Johanna says over the phone. She's more reckless than ever, I think. Have you not called her?"

"I have but she hasn't told me anything," he said. "She's like you in that way. I just figured you would've been able to get more out of her since she went to you first."

Calypso narrowed her eyes a little, trying to discern what he meant by those words. At her core, she knew it was pretty obvious. She was standoffish and miserable and often made it other people's problem.

"Only because I was there. What do you mean 'like me in that way'?"

"Well... she's just closed off," Finnick explained with a hesitant shrug of his shoulders. "She doesn't speak to anyone unless they speak to her first... That is to say, I'd just like it if you reached out more from home instead of just these clandestine Capitol meetings."

A sweet sentiment, despite the underlying complaints. He had every right to make them, even more so because she agreed with him. Yes, it would've been nice for her to talk to him anywhere other than the place where they were essentially prisoners. But there were rules in place to prevent that very kind of thing, rules that were only defied once before by Roman and Priya Silva. And look where it got them.

"It's not like I could just hop on a train to Four without raising eyebrows."

"No, but like I said, you could pick up a phone," he suggested. "I like your company, Calypso. I like you."

Calypso's eyebrows twitched in surprise, her mind unable to come up with a worthy response to his confession. He liked her. It wasn't a big deal. And yet, Finnick Odair with his perfect charming grin was grimacing like he'd been caught stealing the last cookie from the cookie jar. It made her want to laugh and cry at the same time.