Hello, fellow fanfictioners. Well, thing is, for those of you who finished Mockingjay, this will be wrong. This might even make you mad. But keep in mind that I wrote this a bit before the book came out, so this one shot is based off of Catching Fire. I love Finnick and Annie, so much that when I finished Catching Fire for the second time. I simply needed to write this. So I hope you excuse the way it is inaccurate to Mockingjay.

This is the longest one shot I've ever written, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

His Lifeline

Opening my eyes, the first thing I notice is the sun. Blinding, and yet beautifully brilliant, it shines its rays into the room, ending only when it reaches my naked body.

But even then, I cannot feel its warmth.

It seems to be early morning. Perfect timing, really. I've just noticed the body of a woman lying asleep next to me. Her deep red mane of hair cascades down her pillow in odd angles and curves. Black tattoos swirl and dance on her soft, pink skin, just barely covered by the sheets. Underneath her eyelids lay what I know to be dark hazel eyes, full of conceit and well-known power. If I am to leave safely today, it must be before she rises.

I look down at my body as I stretch, sending my limbs across the soft, white sheets. Beautiful- yes. Muscular- yes. Sexy and sensuous in every way- hell yes.

Loved by all- debatable. Especially when it comes to my own opinion.

I rise silently from the bed, accomplished from much practice. I find my various articles of clothes around the room where I had allowed Aastha -I think that was her name, at least- to undress me, and allow us to have sex.

I don't make love.

I don't bother to give her one last look as I leave her house. I never even considered leaving a note of my farewell. It gives them hope that I will return one day, but they should know by now that I never do and never will. They have all heard the rumors that are despairingly true. I see them longing for me, and I show interest. They take me in. They shower me with gifts and I accept all of them. They give me secrets. I then give in to their wants and my own to escape my brain for a few hours. If the high was good enough, I'll stay an extra day or two. But soon I'll leave, like now, never to call for them again.

As I reach fresh air and begin to make my way to the training center and my own room, I allow my thoughts to think of why Aastha was necessary, why my escape was necessary. The Seventy-third Hunger Games had ended yesterday. My tributes had died under my mentoring. They have died under the Capitol's power and control and will never return to District Four. And though I will not be blamed, never will the day come where I be blamed by others for the failure, I will blame only myself.

I had needed to escape.

Aastha was the first wealthy, decent-looking woman to come onto me after the Games ended. I got her trust easily and soon I was in her home, finding the very high I had needed. My own sick way of escaping my thoughts. The high caused by her body wasn't the best quality, but it had been enough. It got me out of my skin, and I woke able to face the day.

It takes me my usual time to walk a mile in the Capital- an hour and a half. Women run to me as I pass, asking for photographs, autographs, kisses. I wink after I make a joke at one. Lick my lips and grin at another. A few I kiss full on the mouth. I indulge them all, partially liking the attention it brings me, partially hating them all for the way I must please them in this way, at least, if I am to maintain their favor.

I don't care if the women I sleep with hate me, since I already hate myself for being with them.

Mags is the first person I see as I enter the center. She knows where I have been, what I have been doing, but does not judge me. She will not think of me as a bastard, or as a God. She will see only me, the same boy who had come to her a little over eight years ago, afraid and unsure of what to do. Wanting a way out of my life, especially after I had won my Games.

It was that reason she had decided to assign me a project. More like a job, really. A way to do something helpful and constructive as myself, my true self, and not the fake mask I put on everyday as I walk outside in order to get out of my head; to get out of the sorry life that is mine.

Her plan worked, too, but only till the next reaping came. It was then that I lost the control I had gained over the last few months and went back to my old high. I was a lost addict, unable to stop when giving in would be so much easier for everyone, mainly myself. Women threw themselves at my feet, and some of them I caught. Only for a few days at most, but it still worked. It got me out.

Mags smiles at me warmly. "She'll be glad to see you." Is all she says.

Every time I enter that room, I feel my heart contract in pain. It spasms without my control and I have no way of stopping it. I feel cold, inside and out, and there is no way for me to feel warm again. No amount of blankets, human body heat, sun, or roaring fireplace can help me. The only cure is to see her never in pain again. But that is a dream, a bad habit I am still trying to kick.

It's on the list with many others.

Every time I enter that room, my heart jumps with joy. For there she lies, asleep, peaceful and child-like. She is alive and well. She is the only woman I have truly seen shine with beauty. She, and only she, has my heart.

How sad it is that she cannot return my feelings… or not the way I would want.

I walk into the room for the first time in a few weeks with the necklace weighing down in my pocket and my heart having two sides, mismatched as the sun and the moon. I sit down in the lone chair next to her bed. Her bed faces one window, looking out to other houses, and is next to another, showing the sea. She has different views to the outside world when she is able to look, hopefully making her happy. She lays sound asleep, but that won't last long. The nightmares will come and she will awaken. She will become crazed with the urge to escape them, even as she is awake, and she will fight me as I try to calm her.

If I am lucky, it will be a good day. She will only take a few minutes of coaxing to calm, and then I can take her on a walk. She might ask for a story to be told as we go, and to continue when we find somewhere to sit. I might resort to a traditional fairytale, from ones about princesses to one story about a girl having to spin hay into gold. I try to pick one as nonviolent and happy as possible. But usually she will request her favorite. A tale of my own design, where a man rescues the woman he loves from her worst fears. He is strong, brave and handsome. She is cunning, beautiful, and wise. They are able to support each other as their lives get unbearable, but with each other, to love and hold and talk to, they survive. No, they thrive in lives where they can make it through anything, as long as they have each other by their side.

There's a reason my life is not a fairytale.

On bad days there is nothing but screaming. Just her wails of torture echoing off the sides of the walls, closing in on me, capturing me in a cage while I mourn her sanity till the hours pass and she falls into a fit-full sleep.

I am blessed and given a good day. She sleeps silently as I walk in, and stays asleep for an hour more. I stroke her hair, wanting to say so much to a person who will never be able to comprehend it. She is the only person to whom I want to say words of love to, and yet is unable to accept them.

She begins to fidget and I wince. Soon the spasms begin and I watch as she screams for mercy. She wakes finally, after an agonizing hour, and calms down almost instantly when she sees me, a rare feat. She smiles at me, showing her beautiful smile I crave everyday of my life.

"Hello, Annie." I say.

"Hello, Finnick." She replies.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" I offer.

Annie nods eagerly. "Will you continue with the story?" She is such a beautiful young woman, and yet is nothing more than a small, innocent child.

"Of course, Annie."

We make our way along the pier, listening to the sounds of men as they shout to each other, unloading nets filled with seafood. We take slow, even steps. Annie stops for a few minutes to observe the men work, carefully taking in their every movement. I watch her in the same way, but instead of with interest, afraid she will leave this peaceful state, and me.

I am surprised when she does not press me for the story right as we begin our walk to the beach. Usually she asks before we're out the door. But today she stays silent, breathing in the salty air. She is thoughtful today, but I have no idea what thoughts could be spirally in a mind like hers.

She never fails to surprise me.

Trying to enjoy the day with Annie instead of questioning it, I take her small hand in my huge, callused one. I try to hold her hands on peaceful days, not as nice as this one, but peaceful just the same. She does not try to resist, or does she pull back, just curls her soft fingers around mine. I can't help but sigh happily.

We come upon a stretch of grassy land that ends only as it peaks above the South Beach, the border of District sit in the grasses, Annie cross legged and me laying on my back. This is a place where we will not be bothered easily and can enjoy each other's company in peace. This is our place.

Finally, just when I start to wonder if she forgot, Annie says, "Continue with the story, please."

I smile. "Okay, but you'll have to help me remember where we left off."

She thinks for a moment, then decides on, "He had to leave."

"Ah, that's right," I sigh. "Our hero had to leave our heroine. Now, the hero, see, had a job. A loathsome job, one that he hated. But every year, the very same time, he was required to leave our heroine behind for a few weeks."

"But he always came back." Annie added, smiling gleefully.

"Yes," I said, sitting up next to her. I took one of Annie's hands in both of mine. "He always came back."

We were silent for a few moments. I momentarily wondered how to continue the story from here when Annie suddenly said, "Like you do."

"What?"

"When the weather gets at its warmest, you leave- always. But you always come back to me."

I stare dumbfounded at Annie. I had never known she noticed my unexplained absences. I had always thought she didn't notice time pass the way most people do. The only thing she truly kept account of was where we were in the story.

But that also meant she missed me.

No, that was ridiculous. She noticed I wasn't there and missed me telling the story. But that meant she would miss me, since I am the one who tells her the story. Hell, I think we're the only two people who know about the story.

As I tried to sort out what Annie had meant, I felt my heart racing in my chest; my stomach feeling like it would collapse any second. I wanted Annie to notice my absences. I hated that she would be upset when I left, but longed for the thought she would be excited to see me when I returned to be true. I yearned for her to miss me the way I missed her.

I couldn't help but laugh at myself. No, I laughed at what other people would think if they knew what I wanted. What I prayed for. No one would think, or believe, that I, Finnick Odair, am, in fact, I love with a girl named Annie Cresta. A woman who not only does not fall all over me in a pool of drool, but is actually a bit mad.

Maybe that's the very reason why. Maybe I want what I can't have. Maybe I want to be with the one girl who treats me just like everyone else.

No, I want the girl who is my one of my only best friends.

"Right, Annie," I tell her, squeezing her hand. "I could never leave you for long. And if I do, just remember, I will always be back. Always."

"Good," is all Annie has to say as she smiles at me. She then does the unexpected. Annie leans over and gives me a light kiss on my cheek. She then rests her head on my shoulder and sighs.

My cheek burns where her lips had touched. My heart cheers with joy from her kiss and her closeness. I feel the wind blow my hair astray and watch as Annie's hair flows up towards the sky. I wrap my arm around her and breathe in her fresh scent.

It is here, in this moment, that I know I never want to leave this girl. I know I will always love her. I want everyday, every moment, to be just like this.

Simply with Annie.

Remember to review, please!

I was thinking about rewriting this to be accurate to Mockingjay. Anyone like that idea? It would be chapter two for this story, so you could see my guess at the truth of Finnick and Annie, and what is really true.

Thanks for reading!

~Meg