Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            Finnick stands at the opening, dressed in a fine suit. His whole appearance is too pristinely sculpted to be for usual business, he’s out to see a very particular type of client. He doesn’t make a move forward, eyes raking with condemning severity over the scene in front of him.

            “Going down?” Gloss finally breaks the silence, not bothering to subdue his breath that comes in pants.

            “Yep, you as well?” Finnick asks in return, surprisingly level toned.

            “I’m here to see that Fara gets to bed safely,” Gloss answers with the same coolness, leading us to step out of the elevator.

            “What a gentleman. The matching lipstick is a great look.” He pushes past the two of us into the lift.

            I don’t stick around to talk it out, but instead rush to my room. I head directly to look in the mirror. My dark lipstick is smeared messily around my mouth. When Gloss joins me in the bathroom, I see a similar sight on his face. Tears prickle in my eyes, stinging and unwelcome. When he gets a glimpse in the mirror he simply laughs, loud and brash. Only when he turns to see me does he quiet his reaction.

            “Don’t let him get to you. He’s just bitter.” Gloss reaches a thumb forward to wipe the drop falling from the corner of my eye. I sniffle lightly and nod. “Would you like me to leave?” he asks. I simply shake my head. When I’ve recovered enough to stem the flow of tears, he snorts and tries to make light of things as usual. “I told you that you’re a cryer.”

            After punching him lightly on the arm, I turn to removing the smeared makeup from my face and he walks back into the bedroom. When I finally have a bare face and my mess of hair tied into a thick knot, I join him. He sits on my bed, holding a stout cup of his dark drink in one hand and a tall glass of purple liquid in the other. I take the procured beverage in a couple of gulps, needing to lose the feeling of embarrassment. I take two more of the bright drinks before I remember nothing more.

            The grogginess that greets me when I wake up is unwelcome. The pounding headache that accompanies it is even less so. I let out a thick groan as I pull myself into a sitting position. When my gaze travels down, I find that I’m clothed in Gloss’s dark purple button down shirt. This leads me to look next to find Gloss himself in the bed beside me, back entirely bare. His dark pants are draped haphazardly across the nightstand. I wear no bottoms, only the sheer underwear from the night’s outfit. My heart lurches.

            Gloss shifts next to me, groaning as he wakes. When his eyelids slide open, he meets me with a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” he croaks, voice nearly an octave lower than usual. Unable to find the peace of mind for pleasantries, I blurt out,

            “Did we? I mean did I…” The words don’t come to me properly.

            “Did we what? Did we have sex? No.” He addresses the matter head on. “You pulled the dress off when you said you got uncomfortable in it so I decided to donate the shirt,” he explains.

            “Oh, okay. Thank you.” I try to keep from staring at his bare chest.

            “Now let’s get some food. I’m thinking you’ve got a hangover just as bad as mine, if not worse.”

            He pulls himself quickly out of bed, belting the pants back in place over his grey underwear. I feel a blush settle into my cheeks as I think about the fact that he was nearly unclothed. I head to the closet and quickly pull a pair of dark shorts over my scantily clad legs. I work to unbutton the shirt, but stop when Gloss sucks his teeth behind me.

            “What?” I ask, turning halfway through taking it off.

            “I like that on you, you should keep it on.”

            “Oh… Alright.” The blush is surely visible now.

            He smiles and shakes his head, blowing a deep breath through his nose. The movement dislodges the swept back hair to sit over his eyes. Butterflies settle in my stomach as he fixes me in his gaze through it.

            Once he orders a suitable shirt for himself through the wardrobe tablet, we head out to the dining area to eat from the lunch spread. It’s nearly 2:00 when we finish with the food and anti-nausea medications. We both sit back in our chairs, feeling much better with full bellies and mitigated ailments.

            “Ah, so you stayed the night,” the voice comes from down the hall. I groan inwardly as Finnick approaches the table.

            “Disappointed that the bed was filled?” Gloss challenges openly, only the grin of disregard softening the accusation.

            “I’m disappointed because I thought you had better judgment.” The stinging reply comes quickly.

            “Good thing her judgment is all that matters here.” Gloss asserts, lacing his fingers together behind his head.

            “Do you know how old he is?” Finnick addresses me now, jabbing a finger in Gloss’s direction. “He’s been working here in the capitol since you were learning to tie your shoes.”

            “And where were you then? Dreaming of killing kids in the arena yet?" Gloss gives a disbelieving shake of his head.

            “This isn’t about me right now.” Finnick’s voice rises to nearly a shout.

            “I couldn’t agree more.” Gloss contradicts the volume of Finnick’s voice with an air of his usual cool collection.

            “You should leave,” Finnick spits out from between his teeth.

            “I don’t take orders from you. I’ll leave when she wants me to leave.”

            “Please just go,” I finally say, feeling the tears tumbling warmly down my cheeks.

            Gloss whips his head over to look at me, surprised at my response. I let out a shaky breath when he rises from his chair. Without a word of protest, he heads for the elevator. When he’s finally gone, I grab my water glass with trembling fingers and lift it to my parched mouth.

            “What do you think you’re doing with him?” The glass slips from my fingers and shatters on the floor.

            My hand flies to cover my mouth, stifling the sob that threatens to break loose. My breath comes in gasps through my nose and I feel the unwelcome pounding of my heart in my ears. God, I hate it when people yell.

            “Fara?” His voice is softer now. His hand jerks out towards me and I flinch away unconsciously. His fingers falter midair, suspended for a moment before he draws them back. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry for yelling.” He crouches to meet my downcast gaze. Anger rushes to replace my fear at the gesture.

            “You can’t do that,” I croak out. “You don’t get to make decisions for me.”

            “I just don’t want to see you hurt by making a mistake,” he admits, letting loose a passionate exhale.

            “That’s not for you to dictate, though.” It takes a moment to work up the courage to say it. “The last thing I need is another tyrant telling me where to go, what to wear, who to sleep with…”

            Hurt registers in his eyes, and I immediately regret my choice of words.

            “Is this my fault?” I ask, voicing the concern that’s been plaguing me. “Did I ruin our friendship that night when I confessed the way I felt about you?”

            “No, it’s not your fault,” Finnick says quickly. “You didn’t ruin anything. You’re still my best friend, and I hope that I’m still yours.”

            “You are,” I say without hesitation. “But my best friend can’t live my life for me.”

            “Okay.” He looks uncertain.

            “I need to think,” I say, rubbing my temples to punctuate the sentiment. “I’m going to go to my room.”

            I rise and walk away. Thankfully, Finnick does not follow.

            The bright ping of the elevator arrival pulls Cashmere from her glowering stupor. She stands from her spot on the steel gym bench to watch the doors peel back. Her arms cross over her chest in a subconscious show of hostility towards the sole occupant.

            “Cashmere! I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long, I ended up having a bit of an extended lie-in. I figured you’d have started your own workout by now and just skipped our afternoon spar.” Gloss’s arms are spread wide and welcoming, the perfect contrast to his sister’s prickly exterior.

            “You always send me a message when you don’t plan on coming back to the tower. I was up half the night waiting for you to get home, I nearly called a peacekeeper to search for you on the town.” Her lips form a thin line of disapproval.

            “No need to fret Mom ,” Gloss responds, playfully rolling his eyes. “Besides, I did come home. I just spent the night in a District 4 bed.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

            There’s a long pause before Cashmere speaks.

            “You better have spent the fucking night in Finnicks bed.” Her voice trembles with barely concealed rage.

            Confusion registers on her brother’s face. “No, Finnick isn’t my biggest fan right now, believe me.”

            Quick as a whip, Cashmere snatches up a throwing knife from the weapons rack at her side and lets it loose. It happens so fast that it takes Gloss a moment to even notice that he’s been hit. His fingers raise up to the side of his head and come back spotted with blood. The thin red line spans from his cheekbone to the very tip of his ear. He spins to look at the blade wedged into the wall before wheeling back at her.

            “Fucking hell, Cashmere! You could have taken my eye out!” Gloss laughs, still not taking in the gravity of his sister’s wrath.

            “You know I would have if I wanted to,” she spits out. “I probably should have!”

            Finally, Gloss’s brows knit together in an uncharacteristic show of concern.

            “It’s not like I forced myself on her, she was the one who was all over me, genuinely.” His hand reaches forward to rest on Cashmere’s shoulder.

            As soon as he makes contact she jerks away, slapping his hand off in the process.

            “So the eighteen-year-old girl who weighs eighty pounds less than you forced you into her bed?” Her voice is bordering on hysterical.

            “I don’t understand what your problem is,” Gloss snorts, sunny disposition still not entirely marred.

            “My problem is that she’s a child ,” Cashmere hisses. “You’re supposed to be the adult who knows better and lets her down easy.”

            “There are men three times my age who’ve bedded her!” Gloss insists.

            “That doesn’t make it okay. If anything you should have recognized the psychological damage that accompanies what she’s been through.”

            “ All of us have been through that psychological damage.”

            “So you should have been sympathetic to the delusion she has where it’s somehow appropriate to voluntarily fuck a grown man.” Cashmere is on the verge of tears now, rage threatening to spill over into despair.

            “I didn’t even fuck her!” Gloss yells, moved to anger now as well. Cashmere’s the only one who can work him up like this, and she takes a sick satisfaction in exercising her ability now.

            “But you would have if she asked, wouldn’t you?” She accuses, though her shoulders sag just a bit with temporary relief at the thought that he didn’t.

            “I.. I don’t know.” Gloss supplies the hesitant answer.

            Cashmere says nothing more before turning on her heel and stalking to the elevator. When she spins in the compartment to hit a button on the panel, she catches the bewildered look on her brother's face. The doors close on the pitiful view and she has to fight herself to keep from feeling regret at her outburst. The urge is easier to subdue when she pictures him last night, making the conscious decision to pursue their young friend. The fire it starts in her chest is enough to keep her going until the elevator doors spring back again, this time revealing a similarly upsetting scene.

            She has a perfect view of the District 4 dining room, where Finnick Odair currently resides, vehemently throwing glass tableware at the nearest wall. Wordlessly, Cashmere walks to his side. He turns to her, panting, and arches an eyebrow of challenge. He’s waiting for a lecture from her for his tantrum.

            The vase is heavy in Cashmere’s hand, much heavier than the throwing knife she chose just minutes ago. It slams against the wall just as quickly, shattering into pieces on the floor. The act disarms Finnick immediately.

            “I can’t believe she slept with him.” Finnick sits heavily in one of the many dining chairs.

            “You better be blaming Gloss for that, not her,” Cashmere says firmly. “And Gloss says they didn’t do anything other than actually sleep.” She rubs her brow with her fingers harshly.

            “Oh trust me, I do blame him. And I don’t believe a word of that.” Finnick shakes his head fervently.

            “I do. It doesn’t make me less mad, but I know that my brother wouldn’t lie about it,” She insists.

            “I got called out late last night and I saw them coming home. He was practically wearing her makeup when I caught them in the elevator. I never should have left.” His voice shakes with emotion.

            The thought turns Cashmere’s stomach. She pictures it, then vehemently regrets it. She closes her eyes but finds that the image won’t go away.

            “He didn’t even have the decency to act ashamed this morning. He sat here and ate lunch with her and tried to defend his actions…” Finnick trails off when he becomes overcome with frustration. “He’s, what, six years older than me? Which makes him nine years older than her. There’s no way he actually thinks that’s okay, right?” His eyes plead for an answer from her.

            “I don’t know.” Doubt fills Cashmere’s voice. “It genuinely seems like he had himself convinced that it was okay. I mean, she is eighteen. Technically fair game for a year and a half.” She bites the skin at the inside of her lip.

            “Did you chew him out?” Finnick asks.

            “Yes, but with Gloss it’s never easy to tell how he’ll react. Either my message sunk in and he’ll back off, or I could very well see him completely ignoring everything I said and doubling down,” Cashmere responds.

            Finnick groans. Cashmere mirrors the sentiment internally.

            “What do we do if he chooses that option?” Finnick, like so many others, looks to Cashmere for guidance.

            “Ignore it. Gloss’s favorite activity is getting a rise out of people. And as much as we might not like it, they’re both adults.” Finnick opens his mouth to respond, but Cashmere hurries to cut him off. “She is an adult. You’ve got to accept that.”

            “Then why did you call me off her?” Finnick brings up her long ago admonishment of his pursuit.

            “Ah, so you finally acknowledge that you feel for the girl... I told you to leave her alone because she wasn’t even past her first day of sex work at that point. It was a bit much to have you fawning over her on top of all of the confusion that comes with what we do. It wasn’t because you’re old , you’re practically a kid too.”

            “So you’re telling me that the only reason I’ve kept my distance for so long is because you wanted her to have a decent first day of work?” He looks at her, with furious disbelief.

            “What? Did you want my fucking permission?” She lashes at him, unusually crude. “Your conscience is your problem, not mine. Maybe if you actually were older you’d finally start understanding that.”

            “You made it sound like I was horrible for feeling something towards her!” He insists.

            “I will not be blamed for your mistakes.” Cashmere radiates disdain at having to deal out yet another scolding today.

            When she fully accepts that there will be no more productive conversation between them, she leaves. She stands directly in front of the elevator without saying a word to Finnick. When it opens, she steps in immediately and nearly gets plowed over. Magnus Brandywood has apparently decided to make a rare visit to the District 4 floor. He pushes past her with a soft greeting and heads off towards his bedroom. She can smell the strong scent of intoxication in the elevator even when he’s gone. Why are all of the District 4 victors a mess? She questions herself internally.

            It’s a lot of pressure to be the singular role model for the young victors, and she never gives herself enough credit for her efforts. Finnick, Grant, Augustus, Gaia, Fara. The list of her self imposed charges grows with each subsequent year (though even she can control her instincts enough to leave Achilles off of her roster). She tries to lead by example, keeping her hands off as much as possible, it’s not like she’s their mother. Except that she’s failed miserably to keep Faraday at an arm's length. At first, she told herself that her goal was simply to keep the girl alive. Now she admits that she wants her to truly live . It’s led to a lot more meddling than she bargained for.

            She finds that her feet have taken her to her balcony garden without much guidance. Though she’s already done her pruning for the week, she sets to work with her clippers. She wipes a gloved hand over her forehead to catch the beads of sweat that gather after only a few minutes. It’s beginning to warm up outside. The onset of summer brings the knowledge that the next Hunger Games will occur soon. Summer is the time where the academy teachers at home will begin to decide on which tributes will represent District 1 this year.

            From her brief visits to give talks at the training grounds, she has only the vaguest idea of who might be her next mentee. She suspects that the girl will be the one who was drop dead gorgeous. Both for her skill with combat and her obvious potential to be a hit in the Capitol. Her name was Shimmer - no - Glimmer. The male tribute is much less apparent to her. It could be any one of the over-confident young men she spoke to last month.

            It pains her to picture any of their smirking young faces marred by the brutal violence they will face soon. When she and Gloss give speeches to District 1, they boast of glory and honor for their district. Internally, she grieves every single career tribute that she’s compelled with her propaganda. The only way she sleeps at night is by constantly rationalizing the practice. Two (or maybe one if they’re lucky) dead tributes every year is infinitely better than war-torn poverty and child soldiers. She’d much rather live in a district than a war-zone.

            The selfishness of her former mentor never fails to irk her. Ronan complains contritely of the society in which they live, ignoring completely the benefits that he reaps from it daily. He’d have thousands of children dying of starvation rather than send two to battle each year. In District 1, she’s rarely ever seen someone go hungry. There were sparse times, of course. Some families she knew had to tighten down their belts and deal with no dessert sometimes, but that’s the worst of it. She’s inclined to let him rant his cantankerous rants, hoping that it exhausts his urge to do anything stupider.

            She knows that Faraday follows the same thought path, though the girl is smart enough to have stopped talking about it so brazenly. Yet again, Cashmere finds herself trying in vain to influence her by setting an example. Unlike Ronan, Faraday’s usually open to polite discourse, but Cashmere can’t bring herself to address the topic head on. Thoughts of battle and hunger leave her feeling dizzy and uncomfortable. Much better to leave things unsaid.

            She adopts the same sentiment for her young friend’s newfound interest in her brother. It’s obvious that she should leave Gloss alone about it now. What she told Finnick is true, Gloss likes to push whenever he meets an obstruction. But she suspects that a similar approach would be smart with Fara. She’s more mature than Finnick gives her credit for, but she still has a lot of growth to do in the realm of accepting criticism. Even in the best case scenario, Cashmere would likely be met with cold defensiveness and get shut out. It’s a much better idea to express vague discomfort about the idea, but reinforce the thought that the girl can confide in her whenever.

            Cashmere wheels around as she hears the scuffle of a shoe behind her, wielding her clippers like a knife. It’s just Gloss. She lowers the improvised weapon to her side and tries to breathe deeply to control her rapid heart rate.

            “None of us here like being snuck up on,” she snaps. “You should know that by now.”

            “I wasn’t even sneaking, and you left your door unlocked,” he defends.

            “Never heard of knocking? I could have been changing or something.” She’s not willing to concede even though she knows it’s pointless to argue with him.

            “It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before.” He rolls his eyes.

            “You know I don’t want you to talk like that!” She raises her voice at him for the second time today. “I don’t care how you cope with it, but talking about it casually isn’t okay with me.”

            He raises his eyebrows in exasperation and nods. At least he gives into this one wish of hers now, even if it’s in his own stubborn way.

            “I came to let you finish yelling at me. I figured you had a lot more to say.” He shrugs.

            “I don’t.” She takes satisfaction in the way that she’s stumped him. “I talked to Finnick and we both agree that it’s weird, but you’re adults and your choices are yours to make.”

            “Just like that?” he asks.

            “Just like that,” she confirms.

            “Well that makes things a lot easier.” He grins. “I figured you’d fight me every step of the way.”

            “So you’re actually going to go for it?” she asks, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice.

            “Oh yeah.” He nods. “I want her, so I’ll have her.”

            “For how long?” She tries not to think of his reputation of jumping from woman to woman with no regard.

            “Until I’m done. Or she’s done. I’m not a monster, you know.” He quirks his eyebrow, trying to pull a laugh from her. “I don’t actually believe that you convinced Finnick to back down. I think he’s jealous .”

            “So you think that the best course of action is to continue making your friend jealous?” she inquires.

            “He should have done something about it earlier if he really cared.” Gloss shakes his head slightly, not faltering.

            She can’t argue with him there. He can tell right away that she agrees. He smacks her heartily on the arm and turns to leave, apparently satisfied with the truncated conversation. She watches his back disappear into her room and out of her door. So much for the path of least resistance working.