THG FIC: 69 (Killer Heels and Homebrew, The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of) (B/B)
Summary: If he didn't leave her alone right the hell now, Johanna was going to puke all over Finnick Odair's ugly suit. What's a girl gotta do to have a minor panic attack in peace around here, anyhow?
Disclaimer: The Hunger Games is the badass, twisted brainchild of Suzanne Collins. Make sure to leave a dollar on her bed stand altar on your way out. This story (and forthcoming series of stories) is rated T/M for strong language (I've been married to the military far too long to not have a mouth) and implied but not explicit violence and implied canonical, non-consensual sexual conduct. Spoilers are for both books and films, although I'm trying to keep this more book-centric.
Author's Note: So this is my first real foray into the world of THG, brought to you by Jeremy Jordan's phenomenal belting of Raise a Little Hell from Bonnie and Clyde, too many sleepless nights after plowing through THG, and my sister-in-law, who promised me I'd be okay once I got through the first book. I still think she lied to me, but I've come to love THG for the world Ms Collins didn't have the POV-ability to tell us about. I hope I can do it justice.
Thanks to
sabaceanbabe for all of her encouragement and taking it easy on me. Rock on, Sunshine!
Thank you for your time, whether you tell me about it or not. Enjoy! - Six
*
Killer Heels and Homebrew, Part A
Haymitch Abernathy tossed another shot back, his hair falling away from his eyes enough for Johanna to see that any and all traces of fun had been wiped away to reveal another The Haymitch Abernathy she didn't recognize. "What d'you know?"
Like that question wasn't a smartass answer waiting to happen. Johanna's lips curled, unsure of which comeback would beat it past her teeth first.
"Shush, you." Finnick cut her off, snatched back his bottle, downed enough for two quick shots, and handed it back to Haymitch. "Two," he held up one finger, "maybe three," he held up another finger, and then flipped his wrist to hike up his middle finger, "one-ish."
"That one?"
"Isn't it always?"
The perpetual whiskey-face flush across Haymitch Abernathy's cheeks bloomed almost purple without him taking a tug from the bottle. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard - maybe he'd had more to drink than she thought because now he looked about to puke all over her dress, and wouldn't that just be the kicker in the shit right now? - but once she could see his eyes again, they were clear of anything but hatred.
That was when she realized Haymitch Abernathy saw her. Or he saw through her. Around her. Whichever. Maybe shrewd wasn't the word she should've given his eyes, because the look he gave her wasn't the leer she expected from any other man seeing her laid wide open like this. More than anything, she thought he expected it and hated her for it. Victors aren't District anymore, not once the Capitol gets them with the frippery and excess, right? Of course she couldn't keep the virtue her mama gave her in the face of all the pretties and shoes and war paint. She took it back. She didn't want to wonder what he saw in her because whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
Twisting his wrist to hand the bottle down to her, he shook it a bit so the homebrew sloshed around like the acid in her insides, his invitation to her. She got the feeling he was testing her to find out if she saw the town drunk in his face, too, same as everyone else. Would she take the bottle like she's afraid of him, the Games' wasted clown? Is she afraid of him? Or would she take it to prove she's one of them now? Johanna felt Finnick watching them, casual but oh so very curious to see if she would pass this test he'd probably passed with flying colors. If a lot more rode on this one drink than she could or should imagine, neither of them said.
Hell no, she would not give this guy the satisfaction of seeing her think about it. Johanna ripped the bottle from him with a sure grip and downed one huge gulp, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth to hide the shocked pull on her cheeks. She could hold her liquor. She totally could. That wasn't a cough; it was a ladylike squeal of appreciation. And nope, those weren't tears, no siree.
Fuckity fuckall anyhow.
"Balls!" Haymitch laughed and swiped the bottle a hair faster than Finnick could get at it.
Johanna had no idea if she passed his test or not.
"The kid here getting you settled in?" he asked her, even as he kicked at Finnick's side. Nope, not as drunk as he seemed then, not when he could keep his balance like that, not with Finnick's snatching his ankle out of the air and giving it a good hard yank.
Johanna couldn't help it. She hiccupped.
"That works, too." This time, Haymitch's foot kicked out for her knee. She wasn't as ready as Finnick, but she wasn't a victor by accident. When his heavily soled and worn shoe connected with her hand, she realized there wasn't any real power behind the kick at all. There was a helluva lot of affection, though.
Ten minutes later, Johanna knew she hadn't earned that affection, not yet, but she couldn't help appreciating his effort. A holler from the elevator doors reminded them they didn't have much time left tonight, so their conversation turned darker than her already encroaching buzz wanted it to be. Finnick talked Haymitch up about their tributes - kids, she realized they called them, always kids, as if they needed the reminder - while she strained to soak up every bit of it. Next year, it could be her in the control room trying to save some kid without a snowball's chance. Both men knew she was listening, too, and they didn't seem to mind. Maybe it wasn't affection she felt from either of them; there was a respect there, though.
Haymitch respected her. Huh. It was a place to start, at least. She'd take it.
(Take it, take it, yeah, fuck, take it.)
Okay, bad choice of words.
Bang. Whoosh.
Johanna dropped her head back against the concrete and tipped herself sideways until her arm scraped the floor. (Rooftop. Whatever.) It was probably a stupid thing to do, but she closed her eyes. She wasn't exactly lying, but okay, no, she didn't love her booze the way these guys seemed to. Not if this first taste was any indicator. Keeping up with them would take some practice. Dizzy, fuzzy practice.
Somewhere close a bell rang. A lot and far too loud.
Yep, Johanna needed practice, oodles and oodles.
Over her head, Finnick muttered a streak of curses that might've been impressive if Johanna knew what half of them were. With his thigh barely gracing the hard plastic of her hair, she felt the impact of his muscles tensing rock hard against her, though he didn't move an inch. It would probably be a violation of some sort to ask if he was all right, even after he'd done the same for her, right? From Haymitch? Maybe not so much. Johanna popped one eye open, hoping to catch his attention, only to be disappointed at the lack of any chance her plan would work. As tense as Finnick was, Haymitch's back was turned away from her with a deliberate hardness. Not from Finnick. Only her. So much for that whole Maybe they aren't so bad thing.
"Later," Haymitch said. Facing them again, his mouth tightened into a strong Don't Screw With Me On This line. Over Johanna's head, Finnick must've argued with him anyway, because the line skinned back from Haymitch's teeth into a full on snarl. "When you get back."
"Two, three, that one."
Haymitch threw his head back, clearly questioning the sky why him, what god could he possibly have diddled to deserve this obnoxious kid. He yanked both hands through his hair as if a good, hard tug could turn his sob into a laugh. It didn't work, and the breath sounded so damn painful that Johanna winced.
"You know you love me." Finnick's voice was all smiles again. Zip, whoosh, jerk, just like everybody else around here.
"Kid."
"I'm the kid brother you never wanted, and you know it, old man." Finnick's knee bounced. "Even the new girl here knows it. Wake up, new girl. Tell him you know it."
"I know nothing." Johanna faked a yawn, keeping her eyes squeezed shut tight. "Whatever he's thinking over there, I doubt brotherhood has anything to do with it."
Drama Boy threw his arms up. "The whole world's against me tonight, I swear. Here I share my booze, I give you my jacket, and this is the thanks I get? Next time, I'll let you puke on my shoes just to see what happens."
"And on that cheerful note." Haymitch dug into his jacket pocket and tossed something shiny at Finnick. The blur streaked across Johanna's line of sight too fast for her to see what it was, but it was definitely a mood killer for them both. Haymitch hesitated for a hitch, his lower lip curling over his teeth as he made some decision. His eyes shifted between Finnick and Johanna, but his words were definitely meant for Finnick. "Keep an extra eye open."
"All over it."
"Right. Chaff's waiting for me."
Johanna gave Haymitch an abrupt wave he wouldn't see, not with how fast he took off for the elevator. "Is he always like that?"
"Thanks for that." Either he didn't hear the question or Finnick chose to ignore it. "Haymitch can be … " The shiny on his palms from the oil had his attention much more than Johanna did. "The night before can get, well, anyway, thanks. Like he said, happy note, we should get going. You should get going."
Okay, what the hell? No time like the present, right? Out loud was a luxury now. No one at home would believe her, and no one here had the time, not when they had tributes to try to keep alive or sponsors of their own to thank from the bottoms of their so grateful little shriveling hearts. Johanna spit it out before she could take it back. "I don't think I can."
"You have to." So damned to their knees grateful.
"Why? I mean, for argument's sake, what could he really do?"
"Don't ask me that."
"I'm asking."
"Fine, no more good stuff for you. Clearly, you can't hold your hooch. Not that I'm complaining. More for the rest of us when the bloodbath is over. Tip for the gong, by the way? Popcorn. Eat as much of it as you can, as salty as you can take it. It's counterintuitive, but it'll make it easier to stomach some of what you'll see in the control room. And pancakes for breakfast. That old buzzard Po from Eleven swears by them. Talk about your gut bombs."
"I'm asking."
"Eat me raw, new girl."
If Finnick - because he was irrevocably Finnick now, no matter how he talked to her - thought that could derail her speeding thought train, he had a spike to the head coming. All he'd done was make her want to know more. She crossed her arms over her chest and popped her eyes wide. They might look a little ridiculous and against the point under all the eye gunk her prep team had painted on her, but there were other methods to force the issue if she had to.
"Asking," she pouted. That was what she was doing with her lips, right? Pouting? Her prep team had tried to teach her this part, but it wasn't really coming yet.
"No."
Okay, so it would make her puke, but if she could learn what she did last year, she could learn this. Johanna bent her knees so she hid her bits and put her bare foot in his lap instead. Her toes teased his crotch as if they remembered the lessons, even if she didn't. "Please?"
Grabbing her foot and holding it tight but not tight enough to hurt, Finnick moved her toes barely out of reach. "You don't know any of us yet, so it's not really your fault if you don't believe me, but I'm telling you: do it." Finnick laughed at some joke that wasn't the obvious double entendre she picked up on like a seven-year-old boy in the bushes behind school. "But you're new. You'll try to fight back like the rest of us did when we thought we had a clue how any of this works, and then one day real damn quick you'll realize you should've listened when we told you to not be the same idiot we all were. And you won't see it, not now, not like we do. Those of us who know better, we're the ones who - "
Finnick's throat caught on something he held on to for dear life until his cheeks burned red. He still didn't let it go, not until it looked like he'd decided if he should finish that thought or not. And why not? She was new. Maybe he needed to fuck her over, too, for her own good. He certainly looked like he hated himself enough for telling her what to do that screwing her over would be better in the long run. Let her figure it out for herself. Good luck, kid; you're gonna need it. Now off you go.
"Do what you have to," he finally said after a good puff. He brought her foot up close to his lips, placed the gentlest of kisses on the top, and put it back in his lap, both hands wrapped around it now. She wasn't sure if it was a thing of forgiveness or pity that she tried to be Capitol on him, but there wasn't the anger she expected. Not from him, apparently. "But do me a favor? When it's over, don't tell Haymitch. You can find me if you want, but don't tell him. Not this year."
She must've looked confused; she sure felt confused. Finnick wouldn't look at her now, not that his eyes seemed to be seeing anything at all. He was watching a dirty movie playing against the concrete planter across from them, for all she could tell.
"Every year, it's pretty much a given when he takes two bodies home to their parents, who beg him to explain what he couldn't do to get their kids what they needed to survive. In sixty-eight years, Twelve has had all of two victors. Sponsors couldn't care less about Twelve, but he has to go through all the motions anyway. You'll see. The promises. The things people expect. He does it all. And when it's done, he has to deal with the guilt from every single one of the bodies that collect every time one of us doesn't do our part to help people survive either. Because it's never enough. One of us always screws up. There's always another body. One way or another, no one survives but him. Snow makes sure of it. I won't let you give him another grave to dig for that old boneyard in his head. I won't. It's full enough as it is."
A scream in her wanted a hatchet to hack her way into his head just to see if the squishy insides were as dense as he sounded. He didn't get it. All this talk, like he knew anything about anything. People here loved him, loved everything about him. They didn't do the things to him that were done to her. Not like that. She might be quick enough to snatch the nearly empty bottle from him before he knew what she wanted. If she couldn't bust the bottom off to snag his carotid on the end, it felt heavy enough in her hands for her to knock him out with the bulk. Just because he got her breathing again didn't mean she owed him. She didn't need his advice. He had no fucking clue.
"He'd understand. I mean, you saw him; he always understands. It doesn't do any of us a damn bit of good, but he understands."
Okay, him emphasizing every single thing he said with taking shots had grown very, very tired. Something hidden in what he said that time had him sucking back twice to empty the bottle. His knuckles were too white around the neck for her to take it now. Damn it. She pressed her skirt down around her knees instead.
"You don't get it yet." He scrunched up his face, a twisted semblance of a laugh that might be an imitation of Haymitch. "You gotta toughen up, new girl, or this town will eat you alive."
"Hey, you're the one who brought me up here. I would've been fine without your help, you know."
"Didn't say you wouldn't." Sure you would, added the drop off to his tone.
"Everybody else walked around me without stopping," she said, chin up, as if that proved they all knew only what she wanted them to know.
The look on Finnick's face said it didn't prove a godforsaken thing. "I knew what I was seeing. They didn't. Most of them don't." Finnick squeezed her foot. Johanna had to curl her toes to keep from letting it tickle her. He smiled back at the giggle she couldn't control, but it wasn't the glittery happy smile she was so used to seeing on television. "Happy birthday, by the way. It's a helluva present, huh?"
For half a second, she thought she'd heard him wrong. Because there was no way. No. Because Blight wouldn't have - It was his idea for her to get in with Finnick. He told her. This guy who was such an actor he could turn even his eyes on and off for the occasion, this guy who so far had been the one light of kindness without judgment since she'd come back to this pit of scuzz-covered fangs meant to devour every last bit of her, this guy …
This time she did grab for that bottle, smashing the end off on the wall right next to his ear.
Fucker didn't even flinch.
"You knew! Didn't you, you, you - Fuck!" she screamed. At least, she thought she screamed. The howling was back in her ears, and quite frankly, it was hard to hear over that and the cannon of her heart launching a rough seas assault. And obviously it had no effect on the joker sitting there staring at her so calm and cool like he'd heard it all before. Cork on a cracker, this guy. "What is the matter with you? How do you not warn me? I never would've - "
"Won?" The whisper caught her off guard. It was the same soothing from before, when all she could do was keep her head to her knees and hope to hell no one tried to touch her because, oh hell, the touching. But Finnick Odair wouldn't touch. He was even sitting on his hands now. That guy was back. Even if his words didn't quite mesh, his tone did. "And then what? You make it work, Johanna."
"I thought it was a fluke."
There. It was small, but for the first time, she'd surprised him. He covered it fast, but his eyes gave her an honest flash of something. "Which part?"
"The people on my tour. There were private dinners in all the stops, but no one did anything except in Two. Greta stepped in the room to remind him I wouldn't be available until I came back for the Games this year. I guess I thought she meant the alcohol he kept trying to give me. But then last night, well, you know, last night."
"Snow had you in his office."
Johanna shook her head, hard enough to see sparkles of light behind her squeezed eyes. "That wasn't until this morning."
"This - " If she dared look at him, Finnick's face must have turned a spectacular shade of blue from oxygen deprivation as he cursed their benevolent presidential benefactor from one end of Panem to the other. How he could talk at all with his jaw clenched like that was pretty impressive, too. He made her mouth hurt just listening to it. "He didn't give you the talk ahead of time?" he finally asked when he came out of it.
There was that eloquence she was missing again. Shake the head. Hope he sees it. Because, yeah, she was a little too messed up to talk right now.
"Johanna, did Greta make the trip in with you the other day?"
Shake, shake, shake.
Finnick pried himself from the floor and made his way to the planter for Seven's scraggly offerings. Johanna watched him search the tree limbs for something, moving some of the wind chimes aside with a careful, almost reverent back of his hand. Whatever he was looking for, he found it. His eyes closed and his chest puffed with two, three long breaths. She wondered if he had any idea how much he looked like Haymitch just then.
"Last night, he was the mayor from Two?"
Breath. Nod. Oh, hell. Nod nod nod.
Finnick reached up a hand to one of the wind chimes and flicked it, thoughtful, like it should mean something. "What time is your appointment tonight?"
Okay, hyperventilating didn't go well with a stomach filled with nothing but homebrew. Not even good homebrew, if that was what good homebrew tasted like. Her fingers started to get both stiff and tingly, which seemed like the strangest combination until she realized she couldn't move her fingers anymore.
"Breathe." This time, it wasn't offered like a choice. "I'm sorry. Just breathe, okay?"
Shake, shake, hell no, shake.
"You need to."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I can't - give you the-the satisfaction right now."
Apparently Finnick found stubborn amusing. Grammers always said it was unbecoming. Johanna couldn't help wondering which one was right. Either way, it was a weapon she intended to keep handy.
Finnick put his hand on the wall, barely an inch above her shoulder, like he wanted to reassure her with a good, solid grip but didn't dare actually touch her. He dipped his head, shaking it with a snort. He did grip her then, squeezing her upper arm with a surprisingly light touch. "You are certainly going to make things interesting around here."
Johanna punched at his straightened elbow. Hard. He was quick enough to get out of the way, and she was drunk enough to swing wide.
"See? You're learning already."
"Meaning?"
"Give as good as you get, especially around here. Surviving gets you in the door, but after." Finnick scratched at one eyebrow, like he needed time to figure out how to not say what the after was. He blinked the answer away and shrugged instead. "After takes a little bit. Give it time. The others will respect you. They just need to see it."
In other words, they all stepped around her downstairs for a reason, and it wasn't because she was obviously so adjusted that she didn't need a friend. Finnick stopped this time. Haymitch stuck around this time. Now she had to suck it up and earn it. Terrific.
"So they know? What I walked into? What I'm supposed to walk into tonight?"
"Depends. Not all. Some of us more than others."
"Haymitch?"
"You were up here with me." He rolled his eyes toward her, emphasizing what she seemed to have missed. "He knows."
Because Finnick wasn't up here with her. She was up here with him.
Haymitch had been looking for Finnick. In his punky suit. Sitting there without a care how she'd been giving him a show. A show he'd obviously seen before. Because he was Capitol.
Because she was Capitol.
Wow. Buckets of puke-spewing wow.
"I'll be late," she said. That bitter liquid of gotta get outta here, somebody let me out in her throat? She wondered if he knew about that, too. Something yellow and acidic made her think he did. She didn't mean to hurt him, not him in particular, when she muttered, "Wouldn't want that."
"No, you don't."
Under the sounds of the wind chimes picking up with the breeze, the elevator bell dinged. Chaff and Haymitch spilled out with a roll of laughter carrying Haymitch across the threshold. He was the relaxed, monosyllabic Haymitch Abernathy again, if the way he grunted back and forth with Chaff was any indication. They both stopped short, too instantly sober to trip over each other, making her wonder exactly how much every single one of them acted for the cameras until they set foot up here.
Haymitch's "Johanna" had the same warning underscoring it as Finnick's No, you don't. Chaff's eyes narrowed so the slightest dilation of his pupils was only a flash, something she could easily have imagined if she hadn't seen it from all three men now in the last few hours. How many of these guys knew what was waiting for her anyway?
"Yeah." She started patting around her hips to grab her shoes.
Oh holy hell, she really had to leave. She had to go downstairs and wait until she - and do those things that - and yep, she needed to laugh right now because it was coming for her again, and this time there was no blood red carpet to catch her guts or her fall.
"Wait." Finnick put his hand on Johanna's forearm and squeezed. He jutted his chin toward them, even as more laughing victors filed in behind and around them. "Chaff, did you meet Johanna yet?"
She couldn't help it. Johanna flinched at the Did you know she's one of us? in the tonal push he gave them toward each other. She found her eyes flitting toward Haymitch to get a read on what he thought. The tight-lipped nod she saw him give Finnick easily could've been one of approval or I'm gonna kick your ass as soon as she's gone. Chaff's clapping her roughly on her upper arm, lightened by his truly warm laugh, tried to steer her in the approval direction. She hoped it was the right one.
Five loud, whiskey-soaked minutes later, Haymitch again tried to get rid of her through Finnick. "She's late, kiddo."
Sure, old man, sucker punch the fun right out of her. Why not?
Chaff faltered in his smile, which was obviously meant to distract her from Haymitch whispering something sympathetic and low at Finnick.
Defiant now, Finnick straightened and met Haymitch eye to eye. "I know. Do you?"
"Finnick," Chaff said, his face paling with soft warning.
"No," Johanna interrupted. She wasn't sure if the war of hurt and angry expressions was specifically about her, but she wasn't going to let them do that. She had to give as good as she got, right? Well, Finnick had given pretty good tonight. He wouldn't be at odds with them for her. She smiled over the acid of please, please, please don't make me go because all she wanted was to stay here and not say a word, maybe even more than she didn't want to step into the tube to take her into the arena last year. But Finnick wasn't as all-powerful as the producers liked to make him seem, not over this. Not over anything. No more than she was, and that was pretty damn un-powerful. "I'm good. I mean, I got all dressed up, right? It'll be fun to sit through the interviews without having to actually say anything this time. It's fine."
Finnick didn't say anything, just looked damn sick. He held his hand up for her, though, his arm and wrist locked for her to lever herself and the dead weight of her dress up. Her dad used to do that, back when he thought she'd grow up to be a lady like his mother and wife, back before he was afraid to touch what she'd become instead. Despite their Capitol smoothness, she couldn't help thinking Finnick's hands were a lot stronger than her old man's. Good. Somebody in her life needed to be.
"Johanna?" She hummed the requisite question back since he didn't wait for anything else and nodded sadly at her new shoes. "In the lobby, under the desk. I don't know if you've ever had one out Seven way, but tell the concierge you want a cola. Pour some on the sidewalk and soak the soles in it. Trust me; it'll help."
If he saw her shrugged thanks, he didn't say.
"G'night," she told them all.
When Finnick called her name again, she was so close to the elevator door she almost didn't stop. His voice sounded sad, ominous, too Welcome to the Victors' Club, Wish You Weren't Here. She couldn't look at him, but she kept herself from running away with her hands over her ears by bracing herself with both hands white-knuckling the doorframe.
"Keep breathing, and we'll have a chair for you by the popcorn popper. Deal?"
Johanna smiled her last real smile of the night back at him. At least someone around here gave her a choice about something, even if it wasn't real. Maybe tomorrow she'd decide if she wanted a friend here. Then again, maybe she wouldn't.
(October 2013)
(Edited May 2014)