Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Finnick spends a lot of time in the Capitol thinking about the deepest depths of the ocean.

It started with Annie, like most things in his life these days do. Annie or Snow- they decide him. (Annie would be furious if she heard the comparison). In her tribute parade, her stylist had dressed her as a sea witch, something deep and dark and dangerous. He, of course, had no idea what lay down there. No one did.

For Finnick, that started it.

—
The third day Annie was in the arena Gloss took him to the bookstore.

Mags had forced him to leave Mentor Central and it was hours before his next appointment. Finnick had already called every sponsor he could think of and he was left pacing in the lobby, too worked up to be alone in the District Four apartments and not wanting to brave the Capitol streets on his own. Even after years of spending much of his time in the Capitol he found trying to navigate it alone an intimidating experience. The last time he tried he got turned around in the university district and mobbed by fans.

Finnick started subtly when he felt breath on his neck and a hand on his elbow. That was his trick.

“Hey Finn,” Gloss murmured in his client voice before breaking into laughter. “Sorry. didn’t mean to scare you,” but he was grinning in a way that said he absolutely had meant to scare him.

“Mean,” Finnick pouted back in his own client voice, “What are you doing down here? Isn’t your girl still in?”

Gloss laughed again. He's more sober than Finnick had seen in a while, usually high on party drugs when forced to be in the Capitol. “Isn’t yours? Anyway, Cash just woke up and took over for me. She says I have to go get her tea from that one place with the pretty drinks.” As they talked Gloss was steering them towards the doors, hand still on Finnick’s elbow.

“So I'm coming with you?” Finnick replied, blinking at the bright Capitol sun after days either in Mentor Central or out after dark in cars speeding to apartments and mansions.

“Yep. You look like you could use a break. We’re going to Ulysses too, they have some books I ordered in.”

Finnick was, quite frankly, jealous of the way Gloss and Cashmere navigated the city so easily. They grew up in the main city of District One, a place even Capitolites went to on their shopping sprees. They hadn’t grown up wealthy or even well off, parentless and sent to the Career Academy like all the other pretty orphans of the district. Still, they could still figure out train timetables and street directions like Finnick had never needed to, growing up on the docks. They went shopping and put in orders with ease of practice. Finnick- well. He could call a cab.

Lost in his thoughts, Finnick jolted when Gloss shoved him onto the opening doors of the train. The car was nearly empty, the only occupant a neon man intently watching the games playing on a screen on the side of the car. it was ten in the morning and that was far too early for most Capitolites to be awake after a long night of celebrating the excitement of the games. Finnick hadn’t gotten back from his appointed party until three, but was too used to rising with the sun and too nervous about the games to spend much time in bed.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Gloss said exasperated right next to Finnick’s ear.

“No. Sorry.” Finnick responded. It was true. Gloss had been talking for the last five minutes and he hadn’t caught a word.

“Do you want to take something for that or just distracted?” Gloss asked. Gloss was a walking pharmacy of specialty drugs, with pills and powders and tonics for everything from improving focus to seeing everything in different colors.

“Just distracted. I have a lot on my mind.”

“It's your first year mentoring right? Now that you’re actually older than the kids?” Gloss said teasingly but with something like concern behind it. Gloss babied him. It probably had to do with his guilt over Finnick ending up with most of his clients, saving Gloss from Cashmere’s level of popularity with the Capitol and damning Finnick. Though admittedly, most of the victors babied Finnick.

“Yeah. It’s… weird.” There’s not much else he could say to a rival mentor. “Where are we going?”

Gloss looks up and then at the map on the train wall. “Another two stops. The tea place and Ulysses are both kind of by the university, on Tenth and Grant. Have you ever had boba?”

Finnick blinked at him. “What’s that?”

Gloss grinned, the slow, irresistible grin that had won him the games. “Oh you’ll love it. Balls in your mouth!”

—

Finnick did like boba. Gloss ordered him something incredibly sweet (“just like you, sweetheart.” Finnick absolutely didn’t think about how he used the same line during a joint appointment last games.) and violently sea blue. It contained fruit he’d never heard of and, just like Gloss promised, balls. Finnick chewed on them thoughtfully as he trailed after Gloss, carrying his drink and Cashmere’s. Gloss had also bought him a hat and put it firmly over his bronze curls and somehow that was enough for the sleepy city not to recognize him. The barista had recognized Gloss but Gloss had put a finger to his lips and said “our little secret” and she hadn’t even looked at Finnick lurking behind Gloss’s shoulder. she did insist on Gloss signing a cup. He did so with a smile.

Now Gloss was walking with extreme purpose toward Ulysses, the bookstore Finnick had heard him gush over but never been to.

Ulysses was in one of the myths Finnick had been told by Mags. It was a story of a man trying to get home to his wife and beset by angry gods yet getting out of trouble by virtue of cleverness. His cleverness had been a curse and a blessing. (Kind of like his own beauty.)

Finnick hadn’t known Ulysses was also part of a book, one people in the Capitol had read in school. He had felt a tinge of betrayal when he found out. What would the Capitol know about coming home and finding it unrecognizable? About coming home and being unrecognizable as the same person that left?

Ulysses was a beautiful building, all white columns and marble statues. Gloss explained it was supposed to look like a temple to one of the old gods, the gods of the myths. The counter looked like an altar, the type animal sacrifices were performed on. Walking up to it Finnick felt like they were going to be seized by the shoulders and dragged to it, throat slit to appease his betters. (That, however, had already happened. He’d survived.) When they got to the counter all that happened was that Gloss chatted amiably with the clerk, someone he clearly knew from repeated trips to the store.

While they talked new releases Finnick started wandering. Gloss had promised there was a section on the ocean. The store was huge and he found himself lost in minutes. On the sea, in the arena, Finnick had been good with directions. He knew all sorts of ways to find his way home. In this city, there were no stars to tell him which way was north.

Eventually, Finnick picked a direction and started walking. After observing the section titles, he realized they were alphabetical and with new-found confidence in his direction, he set off toward the O section. The ocean section was depressingly small. There was a couple books on marine life and he picked out one of them. Annie would like this, he found himself thinking. He barely knew her but he could tell already. She had a million interesting facts about everything around them, from the different tree species they passed on the train to the origins of the different sea foods they had been served for dinner. She was like Gloss that way, though Gloss’s information tended more literary. He scanned the shelf and picked up another book called simply How Deep is the Sea? That one seemed to be about the ocean generally.

Before he could look further, Finnick heard Gloss calling for him. Not using his name, but a loud “Hey! Ready to go?” Finnick grabbed both books and walked back to the front, putting them on the counter. Before he could pull out his special victor money card Gloss said “Just charge it to my account” dismissively to the clerk.

“You really don’t have to,” Finnick murmured to him as they left, Gloss with a large bag and Finnick a small one.

“We both have more money than we know what to do with. You can buy me something nice next time we go out. Hurry up, we’re going to miss the train.”

Finnick thought somewhat longingly that he wouldn’t mind missing the train. Not this time.

Chapter Text

Finnick got Annie&Caspian watch from three to eight that morning. He liked the early morning watches well enough, boring enough that he didn’t have to make real life and death decisions for their tributes but still feeling like he was pulling his weight. If the Capitol was going to drug him awake he could make the most of it and let Mags sleep. She’s certainly done enough for him, whatever she thought. 

Mentor Central was quiet that night. Had been for the last couple days. Maybe too quiet. Too quiet was when the Gamemakers got creative. His clients did too. 

For now, Annie was on watch over the Pack. She perched on the Cornucopia, where she could see the whole of the canyon floor surrounding it. Her face was perfectly calm and alert. Finnick hadn’t been half as diligent about watch when he was in the arena. Then again, he had been a somewhat trained antsy prodigy fourteen-year-old to Annie’s well-prepared, perfectly-tempered eighteen. They had both been made for the arena, but Finnick by chance and talent and Annie by dedication and choice. 

“Hey kid,” Beetee’s voice broke his stare at Annie and he whipped around to look at his fellow mentor, who had patiently waited out Finnick’s reaction, “coffee? I’m going to order some up.”

“No, I’m wired enough,” Finnick thought through the menu, “Though if you’re taking orders can I get hot cocoa?”

“Extra whipped cream?” Beetee laughed.

“And marshmallows please.” Finnick added. 

“At that rate, I’ll see if I can get extra chocolate too.” Beetee said, turning away, 

Finnick turned back to the screen and after another look at Annie, luminous against the shadows, he picked up the sea book. Maybe he’d learn something to tell her when she won.

By the time Beetee came back with the hot cocoa, he had learned that the deepest part of the sea was called the Mariana Trench. Mariana was the Four tribute who died Cashmere’s year. He wondered if her parents had known what they named her for. 

—

Being a celebrity is way more work than Finnick thought when he first won. Not just for him- really, his job was to sit and look pretty and try to deal with the consequences- but for everyone around him.

He had his own personal stylist when in the Capitol because he alone was a full-time job. Prep team, appointment manager, Avoxes, whoever watches the bugs in his house and apartment, driver, media manager, and so many more. In Four, he hired someone to clean his house, buys the good food most in Four can’t afford from the baker and the butcher, pays the local kids to carry his suitcases.  

The deepest depths of the ocean have very little nutrition coming in. No light, so little grows. Yet things live there, clinging on to life. They rely on marine snow, bits of matter that fall from the surface. It’s a struggle. 

When Finnick thought about winning, he thought of a full stomach. Of Merrigan not snatching up every extra shift on the trawlers, of Maris having fancy Capitol medicine instead of licorice and hope. Of Coral keeping her baby instead of going to the woman who lived alone and coming back ashen and shaking. 

Whale fall changes everything. All of a sudden, there’s a feast for the creatures of the deep. Entire ecosystems spring up around the giant carcass. First the sharks and fish come and take the choicest meal of meat. Then, scavengers devour the remaining flesh, sending bits of meat to the ocean floor for even the crustaceans to feed off of. Once only skeleton is left, worms eat even that. With the death- the sacrifice- of one animal millions more can live. 

Everyone wants a piece of flesh. 

But for this banquet to happen, the whale must die.

Chapter Text

Finnick’s not watching the fateful moment the Five boy saws Caspian’s head from his shoulders. He’s posing for a magazine spread advertising toothpaste with Enobaria (whose idea of a joke was that?) that for some reason required them both in underwear. 

The windowless studio they were photographed in always made him lose track of time. He’s had his hand on Enobaria’s bare back forever. She’s been digging her nails into his bicep for what felt like hours. His mouth was dry, dry, dry. No water on photo days, because water ruined his ab definition. This was the first photoshoot of the day and felt like the millionth. 

Enobaria was trembling slightly under his hand. She hissed at him when he adjusted it. “Your hand stays exactly where it is.” She murmured to him, smile still sharp and white. 

“It’s so sweaty though,” He whispered back, “Do you think we can ask for a bathroom break? I need to piss and check up on Annie.”

“Keep that to yourself, Odair, I don’t want to hear about your bladder issues.” 

“Why are you like this?”

“Why are you like this?”

“Whatever. Can you ask? This director hates me.”

Enobaria dug her nails in harder. “Fine. You owe me.”

Still standing in their assigned pose, she smiled sweetly (he didn’t know she was capable of that) at that director when he bustled over to readjust them. Finnick zoned out while she spoke to him, only coming back when her hand left him and she stepped away. 

“We get fifteen,” she said, “Don’t talk to me until it’s done.” Finnick watched, somewhat unsteady on his feet without her, as she sauntered away and tried to remember what he was going to do again. This was the worst part of shoots- beyond being boring, the process of dehydration and carb-loading (what does that even mean ) that his team usually put him through in preparation to make his body look ripped made him horribly dizzy and foggy. 

Annie. Bathroom. Jelly beans?

Later, he wondered if it would have made a difference if he had been watching Caspian’s death live. Watching it on replay, so disoriented he could barely focus on the not-quick-enough motion of Five’s blade as it slowly cut through his throat, the muscles of his neck- what kind of mentor was he?

In the ocean, sound travels faster than in the air. Something about the density. Sound goes farther, too. With this, whales can communicate across hundreds of miles 

(Is there hundreds of miles of ocean? There must be). One whale’s call can be heard by their family, their allies, quicker and from farther than a human could scream for help on land. 

Caspian’s cut off scream was enough to summon Annie. It was not enough to summon Finnick. 

Perhaps it would have been better if it never reached Annie, if Caspian simply vanished and the Pack stumbled across his decapitated corpse together. 

The fifteen minutes were up. Enobaria gave him a sharp, sharp smile. “I think it’ll be a Two year,” she murmured, “Don’t you?” 

Her nails dug into his bicep and the director began to yell instructions again