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Weeks later, Greyson was surprisingly walking into town with her satchel slung over her shoulder and her boots crunching against the gravel entryway that led to the Victors village – this was something she rarely ever did. The days were getting bitter and it was beginning to darken the mood of the usually always sunny District. Even Greyson despised the chilling winds that churned with the opaque ocean that happened to be a mile down from the apothecary. She'd much rather have the hot sand and melting skin than chapped lips and freezing temperatures.
Greyson nodded to a few Victors who were sitting on the porches of their homes, relaxing at the peak of dawn with small flutters of steam leaving their tightly grasped cups. This made her smile. At least some people, who've endured the worst in life, have finally gotten time to enjoy living. Not that she wasn't happy. Ever since the party, Finnick has been around more often than usual. And the usual had consisted of her acting like a neat-freak and scrubbing her bathroom floors until they were spotless.
Finnick was at her house over the weekend, insisting on helping her fix the broken record player that was collecting dust in her living room. Once an old tune started playing Finnick grabbed her by the waist and danced with her, ignoring her groans of protest and slight giggles when he dipped her to the floor. They both ended up sprawled on the couches and extremely exhausted.
Greyson smiled at the memory, bowing her head to her feet that began stepping on the cobblestone path that led to town. She subconsciously reached into her satchel where her money clunked and crinkled, making sure every penny was there. It made her content to be able to hand over money to the shop owners who needed it, she felt like she wasn't just using her money on pointless things but for a good cause and to help her people.
She opened the door to a bakery where the scent of their district bread and other pastries filled the air. There was a fire burning in the back of the shop where two older women were rolling out green dough and cutting it into small squares. The man behind the counter smiled graciously at Greyson with a look of respect in his eyes, knowing well that she was a Victor.
Greyson reached into her bag and pulled out a handful of cash and rested it on the cracked countertop. The man's eyes widened. She smiled warmly and directed her attention to the display case that was barely halfway full. "I'll take two loaves of bread please," she said without much thought.
For a second, the man gave her a blank stare before handing over her order and watching as she exited without another word. Greyson let out a small sigh, not feeling up to strolling through the town. Since Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark won their games last year things have gotten noticeably darker, like a war was coming. And she wasn't sure if she liked the idea. Some Districts were already weak, so how could they win against the Capitol's advanced weaponry and large masses of peacekeepers?
Greyson shook her head at the thoughts and returned to the village, her hands gripping tightly onto the warm bundles of bread. As she passed Finnick's house, she couldn't help but peer into his drawn curtained windows to see if there was any movement. But there was none. He must not be home then.
She entered her house and dropped off the bread in the kitchen, taking notice of the thick envelope waiting for her on the center counter, next to a vase of violet's that Finnick gave her two days ago. She picked up the note, eyes scanning every word to comprehend the message. It was from Haymitch, an acquaintance of hers from awhile back.
And he was requesting something great of her. So great that she feared she wouldn't be able to do it any justice. She was to protect Katniss Everdeen with her life, no matter who got hurt in the end as long as the Mockingjay lived.
If she were to accept this offer, she would be apart of the rebellion and against President Snow; the man who isolated her from Finnick and the general population of Panem. She would be sacrificing herself for the greater good, a cause of rebellion that would begin and end in the arena. The one place that wretched nightmares from the darkest corners of her mind.
Greyson paused as her finger hovered over the 'call' button on her house phone. Her only true reason was to get revenge on Snow and to stop the Hunger Games, then maybe, just maybe everything would be okay. She dialed Haymitch, after sucking in a sharp gasp of air and forcing her thumb down, and agreed that she would protect both Katniss and Peeta until she breathed her last breath. Never thinking of the consequences or dangers that could happen in the near future.
* * *
Finnick ended up at her house several hours later with a troublesome expression on his face. He had also received a letter of the same sort to which he also called Haymitch and agreed to be a babysitter for Everdeen and Mellark. He didn't mind really, they seemed like good people who were trying to stop prominent evil. And if that evil was Snow, then he was all for it.
Greyson handed him a warm cup of tea that tasted of cinnamon and mint, taking a seat next to him on her soft, plush couch. It was dark outside, beside the only light that glowed from the stars which shined against the navy blue sea of sky. A blanket was wrapped around them and could barely fit, which ended up with their arms brushing and their thighs pressed together intimately, sending a surge of warmth to pass throughout their bodies.
Finnick had the television on with a movie lowly playing and the lights dimmed so he could only see the outline of her face. "Did you . . . ?" He daringly whispered, hands wound tightly around the porcelain mug. It sounded as if he was afraid someone was listening.
Greyson barely nodded, her eyes transfixed on the screen. "I agreed."
"Me too," he murmured. "And I've decided that if either of us end up going back, that I'll help you get out of there. No matter the cost."
She abruptly turned to look at him, their faces both shockingly close. His warm breath fanned her nose and she urged herself not to crinkle it up on instinct. "You know I'd do the same for you in a heartbeat. But if both of us are chosen . . . ." Her eyes flickered down to his lips, to focus on anything but his piercing eyes.
"The offer still stands," he said with his index finger tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him and drown in the depths of his eyes. Greyson was about to respond but a deep yawn stretched through her, making them both pull away from their close proximity. Finnick smiled at her and placed his tea on the coffee table, standing up and with silent permission from Greyson, lifting her off of the couch and into his arms. "Time for you to go to bed," he said in a childish, teasing voice.
Greyson let out a small laugh as he carried her swiftly up the stairs, directing him to the bedroom on the right side of the short hallway.
Her room was as neat as could be, no clothes strewn along the floor or dirty plates askew her nightstand. Finnick laid her down and pulled the covers over her, making sure she was properly comfortable before turning to the door.
"Finnick. . ." Her voice caught on her words as she said his name, eyes full of fear from the darkness that would consume her mere thoughts tonight. Like all the other nights, she was afraid to fall asleep. He turned around and noticed her glassy state. "Can you stay for the night?" The words caught at her throat.
He walked over to the other side of the bed and slid in next to her, wrapping an arm around her body without a single beat of regret in his heart. "I thought you'd never ask," he breathed out. His chest was pounding like never before as her fingers curled around his, gripping them with enough strength to drag his attention onto her.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Finnick kissed the top of her head, his own damaged soul dancing with the shadows. "Anytime, Grey. Anytime."
