FAILURE TO COMPLY ┃ f. odair

5.11 maniacs

Calypso was so tired. She wanted desperately to sleep, but her body would not let her. There were just nights like these now where she could not shut herself, an after effect of lacking sleep for so long. She'd found solace in Finnick's arms most nights to combat it, but apparently being in an active war zone cancelled out any help he provided. She was sunken deep into the crook of his shoulder, and still she could not wind down.

"If you fidget one more time, I'm gonna push you away," he whispered playfully. She smiled in the darkness. "You finally gonna talk to me about what's got you so tense, or do I have to listen to you threaten Gale all day tomorrow too?"

"I didn't mean to," she replied. He made a sound of disbelief. "He was asking for it. Peeta's not here because he wants to be. And he's in control, despite what everyone thinks. If he wasn't Katniss would be dead already. Peeta and I are both doing great, all things considered."

"And I'm proud of you for it," he said, pressing a kiss to her head. "But I know you, Cal, extremely well. So does Monica. So do Peeta and Katniss, even. At least, they get you on a level that the others don't. You have to remember that. They're here fighting a war against the Capitol. You're here fighting a war against Snow."

"So are they," she countered. "Saying we're fighting the Capitol is just untrue. We're not fighting the civilians, we're fighting him. Him and his Peacekeepers. I'm just tired of... I'm just tired."

"Then sleep," he urged every so softly. "Please."

Calypso did not reply. She tucked herself deeper into the groove of his arm and drank up his warmth. In the background, they could hear the sound of bombs dropping in distant streets, of fires raging and very faint gunfire going on and on and on. It was quiet enough that she could sleep, if her mind actually let her. But it didn't.

"We've been here before, you know," Peeta spoke up to a watching Katniss. Calypso scrunched her eyes closed, but welcomed a different sound to the ruinous city ambience.

"What?"

"That look," Peeta said. She could imagine it on Katniss' face: wary, troubled, calculating. "I've seen that look. You're trying to decide whether or not you should kill me."

"I never wanted to kill you," the girl replied, quick enough that it seemed to be an honest answer. "And that's not what I'm doing."

"I saw it with my own eyes. In the first games."

"In the first games, I thought you were trying to help the careers kill me. After that, I always saw you as an ally."

Calypso wanted them to be quiet now. She did not want to hear Peeta and Katniss squabble about their games and any kind of hateful feelings they harboured for one another. Beside her, Finnick was beginning to tense in a way that only happened when he thought of his own games, 65th or 75th. She put a hand to his chest, making them both focus on the way it rose and fell with his breaths.

"Friend, lover, victor, fiancé, enemy, target, mutt," Peeta listed off all the labels he knew for himself, growing more and more frustrated. It was something Calypso often did, whether with her labels or with the names of the people she'd lost or killed. Legacy, victor, friend, lover, rebel, wife. Blood Mutt. Death Herself. "And now ally? Yeah, I'll add that to the list of words I try to use to figure you out."

Finnick sat up, having to remove his arm from around Calypso. She let him go, but let him take hold of the arm that had been on his chest instead, now in his lap. Whether he was making his consciousness known to the younger pair because he wanted to join the discussion or because he wanted them to be quiet, she did not know.

"I'm sorry," Peeta mumbled. "I... I just can't tell what's real and what's made up anymore."

"Then ask," Finnick interjected. "It's what Calypso does."