i.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā There was an old woman who swallowed a fly. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I donāt know why she swallowed a fly. Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Perhaps, sheāll die.
There had to be something better. Finnick was starting to realise that. There had to be something better he could do besides train for hours and hours, in hopes heād figure out a way to get Annie to come back to him, before passing out from exhaustion again. It was a cycle heād forced himself into, and one he hadnāt broken yet, but he was working on it. Thanks to his PTSD, Finn always found it was much easier to avoid. Avoiding meant not overthinking. Avoiding meant not facing disappointment and heartache. He knew it was fault, god,Ā did he know it, but he didnāt think heād be able to handle another day watching Maris call for his motionless mother either. So, Finn decided yet again, no. There wasnāt anything better. Thus, in the training centre he stayed, hands wrapped possessively around his silver trident, lunging and hitting again and again, over and under and around and again. A voice interrupted his process, made him stumble a little, pulled him back to reality. āFinnick!ā An accent that sounded like it had originated from District One, with phrasing that sounded like a Capitolite. Eclair.
As a result of the constant sparring, Finnick could hardly breathe already. But the sight of her always had him on edge, fear and guilt mixing into one. There were days where heād been able to be in her presence, moments where he didnāt feel like curling up in a ball and screaming when he saw her, but today wasnāt one of them. He wasnāt strong enough to hold even a conversation with her without letting his guard down. Sheād moved closer, a hand reaching out to touch his free arm. Instinctively,Ā Finnick flinched back immediately, making sure she missed completely, his other hand clenching around the tridentās handle.
āOh, Finnick, donāt be like that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.ā He was completely avoiding her gaze, nodding quickly in response, his breathing heavy as he tried to calm down a little. āM'fine.ā She watched him in mock concern before nodding once, sighing a little. He was obviously distressed, clearly exhausted, and unsure of what his next move was; it wasnāt hard to connect the dots, especially not for a woman like her. Finnickās weakness was family, and heād spent far too much time alone for there not to be trouble in Paradise.. Ā pun not entirely intended.
The thought almost brought a smile to Jamieās lips. Typical Finnick Odair. He was never a hard one to figure out, always like putty in her hands. She needed to remain focused thoughĀ ā dishevelled and concerned. That was Eclair. āI just wanted to let you know that Iām leaving. Iām going back home.ā That caught Finnickās interest. A tiny glimmer of hope, relief even, shone through him, and he glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. He wasnāt afraid. Fearful, maybe, for his family, for his past, but not of her directly. He was just guilty. And guilty people were easier thanĀ fiddles to play.
The funny thing was though, he should have been afraid of her directly. He shouldāve been shaking where he stood, backing away from her, begging for his life or the safety of his family. Because she was the one whoād taken whatever innocence heād had left, and she was the one whoād messed with his mind for years, leaving it broken and sensitive to all things Capitol, just so she could return to him with a smile gracing her features, watch the blood drain from his face, and call it a game. Eclair reminded him of the Capitol. Eclair reminded him of how helpless heād been, how powerless he was when theyād dragged her out of the parties by strange, unwelcoming hands, screaming and begging to be let go. Eclair reminded him of how theyād done the exact same thing to him, and he hadnāt made a sound. Finnick had only smiled. But this woman wasnāt Eclair. Eclair wasnāt real. She was Jamie Moriarty, the Spider of Panem, and Finnick was simply the fly caught in her web. Heād struggled a whole hell of a lot to break free, and sheād certainly caused him grief. But now, it was time for the finale. She had nothing left to stay there for, and she needed to be the one to break the news to Finnick before someone unimaginable, like Kol Mikaelson, beat her to it.
āReally?ā He asked. She nodded, eyes wide with assumed innocence, and he continued, ā.. Why?ā Jamie cleared her throat, making sure her lip quivered as she began her story. āWell I- I just.. donāt feel safe here anymore, Finn.ā She noticed the way he blinked a little too hard at the name, lips pressed together; showing signs of obvious discomfort. Satisfied, she continued. āAfter the brutal attack from the unprovoked Capitol man.. I canāt do it anymore. I just canāt. I hate feeling so.. so unsafe all the time! How can anybody live like this..?ā Genuinely curious, she wanted him to answer. Finnick gaze softened a little, guilt seizing hold of him once again.
āI think.. thatās a good idea, Eclair.ā His heart had finally begun to slow down, and he pushed his damp hair off his forehead, trying now to get cool. She nodded in agreement. āIt is. And before I go, I just wanted to tell you ā you were amazing.ā A compliment? Finnick frowned a little, but he didnāt want the conversation to last any longer than it had to, so he lifted a corner of his mouth, nodding once. āYou, too.ā And then she started laughing.
But it was brief, and the laugh died on her tongue, although her eyes were still lit up with humour. āOh no, Finnick, really. You were the best.ā His frown only deepened, because when Eclair had spoken again, gone was the Panemian accent. In its place was the Capitol one ā one he was all too familiar with. Despite his burning skin, he felt his blood run cold at the sound, the cool smirk on her lips unlike any expression heād seen upon her face before.Ā
āYou really have no idea who I am, do you? And before you ask me, no, my name isnāt Eclair.ā Finnick was staring now, confusion and surprise replacing the guilt and relief heād felt previously. With a short sigh, she held out her hand, as if to shake his own. āJamie Moriarty. Pleasure.ā
He didnāt move. He didnāt react. Somehow, in some way, that name was familiar to him. Finnick couldnāt have put it together, not then, not that in that moment, but he tried. Jamie Moriarty? She.. wasnāt Eclair? āUh.. who?ā It was the only thing he could think of to say, and she simply shook her head, dropping her hand back by her side.
āOh, come now, Odair. We both know youāve heard of me. The Spider of Panem? The woman? The riddle? M? Ringing any bells? I mean really,Ā I could stand here all day, and those names were just the most commonly used, for goodness sake.ā And that was when it clicked. And Finnick knew exactly who she was. Why heād never put it together before, heād never be able to tell. Maybe it was because no one had told him any different, and when sheād first introduced herself all those years ago, back when Finn was sixteen, heād been way too vulnerable and petrified to believe she was lying. Heād been told Eclair was an escort for crying out loud, an āescortā just like he had been for eight years. He thought theyād had similar experiences; he thought.. he thought he hadnāt tried hard enough to help her that night, when sheād returned from her 'sessionā, beaten up and crying. But the two words 'Jamie Moriartyā seemed to answer any question heād ever had about those events. Because it had been her.Ā
She was paid to runĀ the books of all Capitol crime. She was the one whoād let it go on for so long, she orchestrated it. She was the one who made sure none of them got paid for their work, that Voldemortās empire did, that they were all just doing what they were supposed to be doing, otherwise somebody somewhere was going to die. And sheād gone undercover to protect herself, to make sure the fear was being properly instilled. People were pawns. They were supposed to be touched and picked up, and moved and placed. That was their purpose. Why should she see it any differently?
āSome people look at mankind and see puzzles.ā She gestured to herself, āI see games. And you, Finnick?ā He was frozen where he was, and she knew it. A cool hand lifted to to caress his face, thumb swiping at a few tears he didnāt know heād shed. āYou are a game that I will win every time. But thank you for playing.ā And she pushed up on her toes, and kissed him gently on the cheek before she moved away, smirk dropping back into a neutral nothing. Emotionless and cruel.
The pounding in Finnickās ears increased at her touch, and the will to scream his heart out seemed to silence itself every time it touched the back of his tongue. Heād been used, betrayed, abused all over again. Every memory, every touch, every mark, scrape, voice, push, scar refreshed itself, and finally, after his breakdown last month, after nearly ten years, Finnick had someone to blame. Even though she was merely a blur when she first walked away from him, his anger and shame making his head spin, the feeling of his body unlocking itself, and the image of a trident skewering her middle a second later was all too clear.
Jamie Moriarty, the Spider of Panem, the enigma, was dead in a matter of moments, the fly whoād been caught in her web finally untangling himself free and falling to his knees, sobs erupting from his chest when he realised what heād just done.
