𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄 - 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄

𝑿𝑰𝑿. 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

It was so quiet in her head. Too quiet. Everything was so silent. Nobody knew what to say. Nobody knew what to do.

The hovercraft had picked her up from the arena quickly after the announcement. She'd been scrubbed clean by the stylists as soon as she'd arrived on the train.

Mentors were the first allowed to officially see their tributes after the games. If they emerged as a victor, of course. But they had yet to make an appearance.

Her hands are shaking. They haven't stopped since the moment she stepped foot in the arena. There are so many bruises and scratches on her knuckles. And she's so cold. Even though the tribute quarters are warm.

She can't stop wringing her hands in her lap as she sits on the couch in district four's quarters. It feels hollow and empty; bare of any signs of life besides herself. If she can even be classified as alive; right now, she seems like just a ghost with a beating heart.

She longs to see someone. Her mother or sister. Silas or Bryony. Anybody that she loved. Though she wasn't sure if she even deserved to love. Was she a monster? She had killed more than a few in the arena. And she couldn't save him.

Every time she closes her eyes, that's all she can see. Nico bloodied and beaten. Dying a few feet away; and she's helpless to do anything. She'd been cleaned up, but she still felt dirty. Tarnished. Damaged.

Nova was so angry. She hadn't been able to sleep. Or eat. Everybody expected victors to be happy about winning the games. For killing others so you could survive. But that was never the case.

Her trance is broken at the sound of a door sliding open with a soft whoosh. She lifts her head slightly to look over. It's exactly who she thought it would be. Finnick and Mags. It's good to see another familiar face.

Finnick doesn't know where to begin. He knew the toll the games could take on it's victors. As twisted as it all was, he supposed a congratulations was in order. You never knew when the Capitol could be watching.

Mags takes a different approach. This was a tribute turned victor who was almost like a daughter to her. She heads towards her, placing a wrinkled hand on her cheek in a motherly embrace. Nova leans into almost immediately, softly nodding.

"Hi, Mags."

Mags smiles sympathetically. She knows how hard it is for some after the games. But she's prepared to be there for her in the only ways she knows how. She leaves the two alone after that. Finnick is closer in age to her, obviously. And his games were more recent.

"Congratulations. I guess."

"Thank you."

Nova's voice is soft and quiet; her eyes vacant, staring at nothing in particular.

"How are you feeling?"

Finnick asked her quietly; a soft frown on his face, his eyes darting over her. He could tell that she'd tuned out a bit. He didn't mind the spacing out. It wasn't that he hated her company, either; that was obvious. But being too quiet was something that concerned him.

"Do you... do you feel the victory? Happiness that you survived?"

"Am I expected to feel happiness from killing people to survive?"

Finnick doesn't speak for a long time, staring at her with his eyes slightly narrowed. It had taken him until now to recognize her expression.

She wasn't just spacing out. He'd seen this look on his own face before. It was numbness.

"Do you feel... sadness?"

"I don't know if I feel anything right now."

That stops him short for a moment. He'd heard stories of victors feeling absolutely nothing after their games. But it always wore off after a while. He could only hope she would be the same.

"That's okay."

Nova nods. She does feel things. But she doesn't know how to deal with it. Not without completely breaking down. Finnick can tell she's hiding them from him.

"Y'know, you're allowed to cry. It doesn't make you weak. It makes you human."

She looks at then; and her pain is clear as day. Her eyes are haunted. She nods, trying to speak.

"Yeah, I- I know. I know-"

Suddenly, it's like she can't hold it back anymore. Hearing him say that she didn't need to be strong broke the dam. She's utterly broken right now, trying to keep in her cries, but it's not of any use. She's heaving out harsh wails of anguish, her body sliding down against the seat.

Sobs beginning to wrack her body, Finnick can't make himself stay seated. He's up almost immediately, rushing over to her with a tenderness that is clearly more than a bond between a tribute and a mentor.

Finnick's pulling her into his side before he can even rationalize what he's doing, his hand coming instinctively to gently glide his hand over her head in a soothing manner. She is buried deep into his shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric slightly. Her voice is a mantra of muffled apologies.

He softly shushes her. She's in so much pain; not that he blames her, of course.

"I know, I know. It's okay. You're safe now. Everything's okay."

Nothing is okay. She's been through enough trauma to last a lifetime. But these are the words she needs to hear right now.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Nova. You did what you had to."

"I couldn't- I couldn't save him-"

"Hey, no, no. It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could."

In any other instance, Nova wouldn't have allowed herself to be this vulnerable. But this is Finnick. One of the only people who knows what she's going through right now. So she lets herself be rocked in his arms, lets herself be comforted.

Because this is a moment of calm before the storm. Before all the interviews. All the guts and glory. Before she goes home and faces her loved ones.

She may be wearing the same face, but she has been changed like any other victor. This is not something that just goes away. Every year, her private life becomes theirs. You never really get off the Capitol train. You can only make the best of it.