𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑩𝑳𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑫𝑨𝑯𝑳𝑰𝑨, 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝑺𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔

Dahlia could see it in his eyes, the fear of existing in a world without her with him. She felt it too. All the time. It was the curse of finding something that you never want to lose. It was a scary thing, to love someone so much that you couldn't imagine continuing on if they weren't there. But if they had let fear win and never took the chance of opening up to the possibilities of love, they would never be happy. They would've died miserable and alone. Love gave them a reason to live. Love gave them something to fight for. And love gave them a person they could spend eternity with.

Inhaling deeply, Dahlia made a confession of her own, "When I was in the Capitol, the Madame taught me to never feel pain. To endure it and push through, because pain meant weakness. And weakness meant defeat. Eventually I got so used to the pain that I became numb to it. I couldn't feel anything at all... Apart from when I thought of you." Finnick stared at his wife in confusion as she told the story. She'd never mentioned any of this to him before. But, then again, she never liked to discuss her experience in the Capitol. He didn't know that he was the subconscious reason Dahlia was able to fight through. "It may have been anger or hate, but it was emotion. And it was there any time you were mentioned. You made me feel alive and human when everyone else made me a monster."

"You're not a monster." Finnick declared passionately, becoming enraged at the mere mention of the word they had used to manipulate Dahlia.

But his wife just laughed softly and muttered in realisation, "I never was... Because you were always there to save me. This time, I was there to save you." A radiantly bright grin was spread upon her lips, infectiously causing an identical smile to light up Finnick's features. She was proud of what she'd done, proud of how far she'd come. And it was all because she loved a golden boy who illuminated her life like the sun bringing hope with the dawn. "You are the reason I feel things, both the good and the bad. But that is not a weakness, it is a strength."

"You are my strength, little flower." Finnick murmured lovingly, kissing the top of Dahlia's hand before pulling her in to place another one on her lips.

"Too right, I am." Dahlia mumbled teasingly between brief kisses, flinging her arms around Finnick's neck and gazing up at him adoringly. The sweet moment is only ruined by Dahlia herself as she bluntly announced, "And it's alright to be in pain, because my side is fucking killing me."

Snickering at his wife's crude language, Finnick mumbled in agreement, "Yeah, my back is on fire. Those mutts certainly did some damage."

"Now I guess we both have scars on our backs from mutt attacks." Dahlia pointed out, referring to the scratches she received on her back from the monkey mutts in the Quarter Quell. "Hey, we'll match!" She exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm, huffing out a laugh before clutching her bruised side in pain. "You stay here. I'm going to see if Tigris has hidden any alcohol down here."

Finnick's body tensed with panic and his head snapped up to Dahlia as she pushed herself to her feet. "You said you weren't going to use alcohol on my back." He cried out in alarm, gripping Dahlia's hand securely to stop her escaping from him.

Chuckling at the sudden burst of fear Finnick had displayed, Dahlia reluctantly put him out of his misery and explained, "Technically, I didn't say anything. But the alcohol isn't for your back."

Relieved by that news, Finnick released his grip on Dahlia's hand and allowed her to leave his side to begin her search. But then, out of pure curiosity and definitely not because he was still concerned Dahlia would pour alcohol on his wound, Finnick asked, "So what do you need it for?"

"Me." Dahlia called out over her shoulder in reply, desperate for just one sip after all the shit she'd been through. "I need it for me."

Strutting away from her amused husband, Dahlia started to explore the dingy basement they had temporarily claimed for their own. Stacks of boxes lined the shelves, meticulously labelled with detailed descriptions of fabrics and materials. There were various fashion sketches scattered about inside them, each one more elaborate than the last with explosions of fur and sequins, colourful feathers and intricate patterns. The selections were clearly aimed towards the refined and unusual tastes of the Capitol citizens, the types of outfits Dahlia and Finnick would've ridiculed at the high-end parties they were forced to attend. Each one made Dahlia cringe in distaste and move on to the next, until she arrived at a box which was documented in a different style of handwriting. Only one word was printed upon the tag; Petal... This was Juno's.