He'd pledged his life for Katniss Everdeen. He'd done it before he'd even met her, before he'd come to respect the cool disdain she'd shown for the charm he knows could have drawn half the Capitol into his arms if he'd wanted it to. Before he'd watched her hair-trigger unease around him soften into the strange partnership of arena allies. Before he'd heard her screaming after Peeta hit the forcefield. Before they'd faced the jabberjays together.
Now, she's one of the few people he could even begin to trust if they showed their faces here: Katniss, Annie, Peeta, Johanna, the other conspirators. There's nobody else, nobody he trusts not to be a part of a Capitol game. Not willingly, at least.
He watches the bow, for a moment, remembering how wound up he'd been when he'd arrived, how long it had taken Doctor Bashir to persuade him even to let him treat the wounds of the arena. Katniss, though, doesn't go for the bow.
The alliance still stands.
There's more to it than that, though. When Katniss looks up at him, it's not with the relief of someone finally seeing a familiar face. When they first met, back before so many things happened in so few days, she'd told him that everyone else knew her secrets before she did, and he'd agreed with her. But there's no hidden trick to reading Katniss' secrets. They're there in her eyes, an easy confession to read for someone as experienced in secrets as Finnick.
Katniss has never looked at him like that, never spoken of him in a voice like that. Never whispered his name like she can't believe she's saying it.
"Katniss?" he asks, arch, half a smile creeping over his mouth, almost even real.
She's surely overreacting.
"When did you get here?" he asks, carefully maintaining a layer of cover over the very genuine question as he takes another few steps towards her. "Have you seen any of the others?"
no subject
Now, she's one of the few people he could even begin to trust if they showed their faces here: Katniss, Annie, Peeta, Johanna, the other conspirators. There's nobody else, nobody he trusts not to be a part of a Capitol game. Not willingly, at least.
He watches the bow, for a moment, remembering how wound up he'd been when he'd arrived, how long it had taken Doctor Bashir to persuade him even to let him treat the wounds of the arena. Katniss, though, doesn't go for the bow.
The alliance still stands.
There's more to it than that, though. When Katniss looks up at him, it's not with the relief of someone finally seeing a familiar face. When they first met, back before so many things happened in so few days, she'd told him that everyone else knew her secrets before she did, and he'd agreed with her. But there's no hidden trick to reading Katniss' secrets. They're there in her eyes, an easy confession to read for someone as experienced in secrets as Finnick.
Katniss has never looked at him like that, never spoken of him in a voice like that. Never whispered his name like she can't believe she's saying it.
"Katniss?" he asks, arch, half a smile creeping over his mouth, almost even real.
She's surely overreacting.
"When did you get here?" he asks, carefully maintaining a layer of cover over the very genuine question as he takes another few steps towards her. "Have you seen any of the others?"