A/N: I do not own the Hunger Games or any part of it.
Finnick found her in the main compartment of the train, sitting quietly in the dark on the sofa. He hadn't been looking for her, just going to get a glass of water before he went to sleep. But, he did miss her presence at dinner. She excused herself, saying that she needed to unwind after the busy day. He didn't blame her. Trying to regain normality after the Games was a long and difficult process.
"Hey," Finnick slid into the chair across from her.
"Hi," Annie murmured, her eyes cast downward. He looked her over. After she won, she had been swept away by medics, the prep team, and interviewers, leaving him with very little time to see his Victor. Looking at her now, he could tell that the Games had drastically changed her. Gone was the girl who managed to be bubbly in the face of being Reaped, the girl who gave out smiles like presents. Annie Cresta's hair, which had been pinned up earlier for her interview with Caesar, fell into dark tangles around her face. She was curled around herself, protecting herself from the demons Finnick could not see.
"Are you okay?"
When she finally looks at him, Finnick's heart nearly broke. Her green eyes lost their shine and dark shadows bruised the skin underneath them. Her lips quivered, "No. I'm not. How can I be?"
Finnick, who hadn't felt the guilt of winning until weeks later, was unsure what to say. After he won, he reveled in idea that he would be safe for the rest of his life, that he wouldn't have to die before he was an adult and that maybe he would be able to save other young tributes from District 4. He hadn't realized the pain he'd feel when he lost his first tribute or the visions of the arena that followed him into his dreams. But, he managed.
Tentatively, Finnick said, "You just won the Games...you get to go home."
Annie's eyes slid from his face to a spot on the wall behind him, "But 23 others don't."
"Annie, you couldn't have done anything about it. Even if you hadn't won, 23 kids still would have died."
"If I hadn't won, I wouldn't hear their screams." She whispered before she met his gaze, "I can't sleep. Everytime I try, I hear their screams. The ones that died in the bloodbath, Lee's scream, and all the remaining ones who drowned. I don't deserve to be here. I can't take it."
Finnick stared at the young woman who had gone back to looking at the wall, "Annie, you won for a reason. You deserve to be here."
She shook her head wildly, curls flying around her face, "No, no, no. I won because I could swim. I wasn't strong, or cunning, or..." She broke off, sobs wracking her body.
Finnick crossed the room and sat next to her, pulling her into an embrace. She shook in his arms, salt-water tears marking his shirt, as he stroked her dark tangles.
"Annie, Annie," He whispered into her hair, "You deserve to be here. Even if you can't quite see it now, you do. I promise."
She pulled away from him, tears still staining her pale face, "Does it get easier? The nightmares? The screams? The guilt? The medics told me it'll be easier in a bit, but how can it? I see the other tributes everywhere I look. I hear them constantly. In six months I'm going to have to see their families, see the Districts that hate me for winning when their own should have won. Then I'll have to mentor the other tributes and watch the Games all over again." She struggled to keep her sobs under control, voice cracking throughout the sentence.
How could Finnick tell her that it really didn't get better. Though he managed to get by, he didn't know if Annie could. Already, less than a week after she won, she was broken. Once her breathing had settled and her sobs turned into hiccups, Finnick gave her a soft smile, "Sometimes. Some days are better than others. But, on your worst days, I'll be there to help you get through them, Annie Cresta."
And he always did.