Hurricane • F. Odair

nine » fresh lemonade

A L T H E A

When Laguna and Logan woke them up for breakfast the next morning, Althea and Thatcher were cuddled up on the couch. They had fallen asleep while he held her, so she was snuggled on his chest and fitted between his legs. In their few hours of sleep, he had maneuvered himself so that his body shielded hers from anything beyond the couch. When they woke, Althea blushed, but neither seemed embarrassed to be found in that position.
"My, you two sure look comfortable." Laguna shimmied her shoulders playfully.
Althea shoved her hair out of her eyes. "Yeah, if you consider sleeping on rocks comfortable," she teased snappily. Thatcher only laughed, lightly smacking his abs for effect. Laguna's purple cheeks darkened ever so slightly at the sight of his chiseled chest.
Yeah, join the club, kid.
Sitting at the table, Althea's stomach grumbles as an Avox sat a plate in front of her. An unidentifiable meat was shredded and mixed with rice and scrambled eggs and then drizzled with an orange sauce. On her first trip to the Capitol, she'd been unable to eat. That had long since stopped being the case. Yet she still remembered each of the hungry citizens of Panem each time she feasted.
"Today I want you to spend time with Katniss and Peeta," Logan suggested, biting into his breakfast.
Thatcher merely shrugged. "I should probably learn how to make a snare. Katniss is good at those," he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs and rice. A few pieces even fell out.
Gross.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, dumbass," Althea scolded with a smile.
He grinned, teeth covered in chewed food, like an absolute child. Althea gagged theatrically, earning a little snicker from Laguna.
"Althea." Logan's tone was stern, something she would hear as a child after messing with Blaze one too many times.
She cleared her throat. "Peeta's swordsmanship needs work. He's strong, but his form is severely lacking."
   "Yeah, the kid is crap," Thatcher agreed.
   "Alright. Eat up. It's going to be a long day," Logan ended the conversation.
   And it would be a long day.
   Following breakfast, Laguna left for a wig fitting. Logan left to see some sponsors and other mentors, but not before giving Althea a kiss on the cheek.
   Althea's outfit for the day was identical to the last. She slipped it on with ease. Today she would attempt to teach Peeta how to properly wield a sword should his strength fail to be enough. He was a solid, stocky boy with years of lifting built into his shoulders, and he would need to guard that prosthetic leg of his well. His personality itself was a refresher — he was sweet, eager to learn, and loving in a world where love meant little.
   At least until now.
   She stopped herself short while braiding her long hair into twin braids on her skull.
   Love? She shook her head. She couldn't afford to love anyone, so of course she'd been thinking about Katniss and Peeta.
   Of course.
   But as she continued to braid her hair, she remembered the way Finnick had spent countless sleepless night with her when the nightmares were bad. The way his hands felt on her own as he tried to teach her how to tie a decent knot, and the way he protected her even when he didn't know what he was protecting her from.
   And she thought about how she would fight in every games for the rest of her life if it meant Finnick would never be touched by a Capitol citizen ever again. She recognized that she looked for him in crowded rooms and stole glances every chance she got. It was pretty easy to understand what she was feeling.
   But she refused to admit it to even herself.
   Maybe he—
   No. Stop.
   She finished her braids, brushed her teeth, and left her bedroom.
   Thatcher waited for her at the elevator. He gave her a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. They entered the elevator, her friend hitting the ground floor button. His eyes narrowed when she hit the button for District Four's floor, but said nothing of it when he spoke next.
   "I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to be in the same room with them and not go ballistic," he murmured, fists clenching and unclenching.
   "You can do it. I've been doing it for nine years." The doors opened to reveal an ocean themed living space. "You always tell Cassia not to fight at school, it's kind of similar."
   He scoffed, leaning forward to hold the doors open. "You're my little sister too, Althea."
   Her heart fluttered at the achingly sweet statement, but she would cry about the sweetness later. "Just save the killing for two more days. We should be down after lunch at the latest." Patting his arm, she stepped out and watched it close.
   "Althea?" The voice was startling, but familiar. Delta Whiterock — Finnick's stylist. Her ebony skin contrasted literally everything else about her. Eyelashes, irises, eyebrows, braids, clothes, shoes, and even jewelry. It was all white.
   "Delta. Hi," Althea greeted. "How are you?"
   "You're not here to make small talk. He's in his room. Those damn bastards left bruises again."
   Althea balked for a second, but wasn't given a chance to respond when Delta left. She swallowed, nauseated by Delta's statement about the bruises. Taking a few deep breaths, she went to his room. She kicked off her shoes by the door before opening it.
   Finnick was lying flat on his back, shirtless. Under different circumstances, it might've flustered her to seen him this way without warning. But the bruises she could see on his sides that reached underneath him to his back made her seethe. He was fast asleep, but the light of the rising sun worried her that he would be woken up by the brightness.
   The remote to his window wall was on the other side of his bed. She walked as quietly as she could to grasp the remote. In the space that the remote previously occupied, she sat as softly as possible as not to jostle him. With a few clicks of the remote, the window was nearly black with shade.
   "Hey, angelfish," Finnick grumbled, eyes still closed. Althea turned her torso to face him.
   "Hey, I didn't mean to wake you," she murmured. He had hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. Usually she would wipe it away, but after nights like the one he just had, he generally didn't like being touched.
   "You smell like fresh lemonade. I always know when you're here." He tried to scoot away from her to allow her more room, but ended up hissing in pain instead.
   Althea winced, hands fluttering to find something she could do to help him. "What can I do?"
   "Just lay here and hold my hand?" His sea green eyes opened just barely. She was already curling up in the space she was given before he even finished. She kept ample space between them, but intertwined their fingers. He sighed and closed his eyes again. "I wish we could stay like this forever."
   Althea's own breathing hitched at his words as his feel into a steady rhythm, sleeping finding him again.
   "Me too, Finn. Me too."

A/N: I will admit, I briefly thought about having a lil triangle here, but a) I respect both men wayyyy to much to do that, b) I adore sibling-type relationships with people who aren't related, and c) I have other plans for Thatcher.

thoughts? what did you think? keep taking care of yourselves, kiddos. xoxo