All for what? -A Finnick Odair x OC fic

Sixteen

     "Have I ever told you how much I hate you?" I cock an eyebrow at Finnick, who has ties a noose and placed it around his neck while showing Katniss how to tie knots. 

 "A few times yes," and as I close the distance between us he places a kiss on my forehead. 

  "I'm sorry he was practically raised by the fish, would you like to actually learn something?" 

 The look of shock that crosses Katniss's face makes me chuckle, "Go on, remind everyone how big your muscles are, fight with Johanna for a while," I nudge Finnick away.

  Katniss still hasn't spoken since I butted into her and Finnick's conversation, so I add, "I was always better with knots and fish hooks anyway."

  "Okay," she nods, "I just want to pick up some simple things."

  "Alright, watch what I do and repeat," I hand her a piece of line the same size as mine, along with a hook and some feathers. 

  I tie the twine to my hook and attach the feather once quickly, then again slower. As we are beginning the third, Katniss's second, she stops to look at me, "Why didn't you and Finnick ever get married?"

   My fingers twitch and I drop my hook. Slowly, I pick it back up, redirecting the converstion I say, "Getting cold feet?"

  The talk of Katniss and Peeta's engagement had been plastered everywhere for months. She shakes her head, "No, it's just, Snow wanted it."

  I assumed as much, but never thought she'd admit it. I nod my head, understanding, "Snow didn't want Finnick and I to be married."

   In that moment I felt a connection between the young girl and I. Both of us, forced into something we never wanted by the sickened old President Snow. Childhoods taken from us and forced to be adults long before we should have been. Two sides of the same coin, a forced marriage and a forbidden one. Snow's attempt at control. Then again, everyone in this room could tell their version of this same story. 

   I agreed to throw knifes for Katniss to see if she would shoot her bow for me to watch. The only way I could think of to get her to shoot was for me to go in first and show my skills. I pick up a row of knifes and latch them into a vest, with a variety of pockets. The rooms are glass, closed in with holograms. I fumble with the keypad for a moment, then the door shuts behind me and a pad in the center of the room lights up orange. 

  I step onto the pad, placing a single knife in my hand, then an orange hologram of a man with an axe runs at me. I turn my body, swinging my arm and throw the blade, the hologram bursts into hundreds of squares until it falls to the floor. 

  Another comes at me, and another one after that. Like muscle memory, I throw each and every one.  The years I spent with a knife under my pillow, time I spent throwing kitchen knifes at targets until finally buying some throwing knifes while on a trip to the capital. I never felt safe enough to let go of the skill and it has paid off. 

   I exit the room to find Katniss and Peeta standing together. Finnick and Johanna talking a few feet behind them, trying to to make it seem as if they are watching. "All you now, Everdeen."

  She nods, grabbing the bow and arrows off the rack of weapons. I watch as she enters the room, pushing the keys, and the door slides shut. 

 Peeta moves a bit closer to me, "Did you know Haymitch trained with us over the past few months?"

  I still, "He did?" I suppose I can't be too shocked, he would do anything to keep these two alive. 

  "He taught us to throw knifes," Peeta smiles now, watching Katniss shoot. Other tributes begin to join us in watching too. Peeta leans closer to me and adds, "Haymitch throws just like you do."

    "Abernathy!"  I stomp across the rooftop. 

A silver glint catches my eye before it flies by my head. "Missed me darlin'," I mock.

   Haymitch sits straight up, eyes widening, "You know not to sneak up on me! You'll get yourself killed."

  "God I wish, you suck at throwing," I laugh. 

   I move towards him, taking a seat beside him, "I came up here to yell at you, my whiskey is missing, but-" I slide the kitchen knife I keep in my pocket out, "Instead I'll show you-" I pause again, moving my fingers to the blade. I make a point to throw the knife slowly and less than a foot from us, "How to actually hit something." 

   "Now I'm glad I stole your whiskey," Haymitch grunts, but I know if he was really angry with me, he'd tell me. Haymitch instead, has given me his full attention, or at least whatever is left of it.