Hurricane • F. Odair

nineteen » cheeries & sweet cream

A L T H E A

Her eyes opened to a blinding sun. She scrubbed at them with the heels of her palms, willing away any remnant of sleep.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Thatcher called from a few roots over.
"What time is it?" She rasped.
"I actually slept really well and I'm glad you are still alive, Thatcher," he said in a pitched tone that sounded nothing like her. "Oh, and you made me breakfast too? Have I mentioned that I'm hopelessly in love with you and will forever be indebted to you for this most delicious meal?"
Althea pulled her arms over her head, groaning at the soreness in her body. "I could still kill you."
"But then you wouldn't—" a whistle and a thud stopped his words cold, a spurt of blood coating his lips.
Althea was already throwing the knife with a battle cry and shaking hands.
Chaff dropped to his knees and hit the ground with a dagger between his eyes.
She slid across the earth to catch Thatcher, to save him from hitting the ground. Rocks and sticks pulled at the skin on her knees and the spear in Thatcher's chest pulled a strangled whimper from her own.
"Thatcher, stay with me," she begged. Blood from the mouth was bad, she knew that. There was nothing she could do. If she pulled the spear out, it would only cause more damage and increase his blood loss.
He grabbed his locket and weakly pulled it from his neck. "Cass," he coughed.
She took it and put it around her own neck. "I know. Come on, stay with me, Thatch."
More blood spilled from his lips as he coughed again.
"Please, please, please..." she continued to beg. Was her throat swollen shut? Why couldn't she breathe?
His green eyes looked at her with all the love in the world before they looked at nothing.
"Please, please, please!" Each plea grew frantically until hysterical screaming ricocheted off of the trees around them. Her hands flitted over him as if she could send their tremors to his heart.
The ground began to rumble. An earthquake would have been an understatement with how the trees fell and the ground cracked.
Althea locked Thatcher to her chest, unwilling to let whatever fucked up game this was take his body from her. A roaring sound filled her ears and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Water slammed into her with the force of getting hit by a train.
"What are you doing, Thea?"
Her eyes snapped open to find herself looking in a mirror. But the woman before her had gray steaks in her dark hair and kind, hazel eyes.
"Mama?"
Elizabeth's eyes softened further. "Hi baby." She smoothed Althea's hair. "The world hasn't been kind to you, has it?"
   Althea burst into chest wracking sobs as her mother pulled her into her chest. Elizabeth still smelled like cherries and sweet cream.
   "As much as I've missed you, you need to wake up."
   Althea pulled back, brows knitted. "Am I dead?"
   Elizabeth kissed her head.  "Not yet, Thea."
   "Mama?"
   "Come on!" Elizabeth's mouth formed the words, but Althea shot back as Finnick's voice, ragged, tumbled out of her mother's lips. Water started to dribble out of Althea's lips as Finnick's voice resonated from within her mother.
   Althea rolled over as bile rose in her throat. She vomited water into the sand below her. Since when had there been sand?
   Her hand flew to her back, but her sword was gone. Her knife was embedded in Chaff's skull.
   Chaff.
   Thatcher.
   She wretched again, acid burning all the way up.
   A hand mistakenly found its way to her shoulder, which she grabbed at the wrist and flipped the person over her shoulder.
   A scared Peeta Mellark stared up at her.
   "You're alive." She yanked her arm off of his neck. Her throat burned, acid, salt, and screaming having scrubbed it raw.
   "So far," the boy confirmed, watching her warily. Chest aching, she pulled herself off of him. She knelt in front of him. The relief she felt at him being alive was enough to sting her eyes with tears. She reached out weakly, ruffling his hair.
   "I knew you would be." Peeta seemed to glow a bit at her comment, his skin peeling and a sickly shade of green.
   "I have your sword." The rasping voice of Katniss cut through. She looked a little worse for wear, only slightly better than Peeta. Althea's sword was leaned against the seventeen year old's leg.
   Just a few feet from where Althea knelt, Finnick sat in a similar position.
   "I must have you to thank for the sore ribs," she said quietly. He had taught her CPR and she had seen him save many people in District Four.
   He simply stared at her.
   "Your cannon went off," Katniss said with crossed arms.
   "He has a habit of reviving dead people," Peeta added quickly.
   Finnick's eyes were a storm of relief, disbelief, and terror. His hands laid limp over his folded knees.
   She opened her arms ever so slightly. His hand encased her wrist and she was surrounded by him. Salt and sweat. Muscle and strong bones. His skin seared hers where they touched, and she could have cared less that he was hurting her with his arms around her ribcage.
   He was here.
   He was alive.
   And he was holding onto her as though his life depended on it.
   She knew that hers did. If he let go within the next few lifetimes, she was sure her soul would shatter into ragged bits of sharp glass.
   God, he was alive.
   He was in her arms. Breathing. Heart beating.
   Her chest caved at the thought of losing them both, and she tightened her arms around his shoulders.
   "Angelfish build their homes and defend them in pairs," he whispered into her neck.
   If she hadn't been kneeling already, her knees would've buckled underneath her. He had called her angelfish for years.
   His arms began to loosen, but she tightened her grip with panic crawling up her throat.
   "Don't!" She yelped quietly. Don't let go of me. Please don't ever let go.
    Finnick spread his knees apart slightly, bringing her between them so that he could hold her closer. "Peeta, will you get her some water, please?"
   The boy nodded, unable to tear his eyes from the woman. At the lack of her district partner, he was smart enough to know what could have caused the woman to act the way she was. But it was hard to imagine that this woman was the same he had met not a week ago.
   "Peeta," Katniss snapped.
   Althea could barely peel herself away from Finnick when Peeta held a large leaf of water to her lips. The liquid helped soothe the rawness of her throat. It took everything she had to pull away from Finnick, but she needed to get herself together.
   They were still in a war zone, after all.
   She could cope when she was dead.
    "Katniss says I don't look pretty anymore," Finnick teased lightly.
   Althea frowned. Finnick would always be beautiful to her, peeling and green, or not. "She's right," she mused. "You look like a decaying corpse." A brief look at the teenagers, who shared in Finnick's condition, made her frown deepen.
   They were in this arena because of two kids.
   Thatcher was dead because of them.
   Peeta's blue eyes, filled with hope and determination, and Katniss' unintentional promise of revolution begged her to deem it worth it.
   Thatcher's laugh played in her head.
   And never hearing it again didn't feel worth it at all.

K I might've sobbed writing this. Please don't hate me.
Finthea reunion though???