Finnick walked slowly, as if his legs were already bound in shackles, with the other Male victors from District 4 towards the Justice Building to learn which one of them would be forced to return to the arena; his shoulders were hunched and his expression was pained.
Being sent into one Hunger Games was bad enough, but the possibility of another was more than he'd ever conceived.
Cutting his eyes to the left then the right, he took in his few fellows, both young and old, who walked mechanically around him. Even months after the official announcement, they were still shell-shocked with disbelief.
Snow had promised that this would never happen; they should have known not to trust him.
As he walked along, Finnick's mind traveled back to that afternoon.
After Snow had dropped the bombshell, he'd immediately gone to see Annie Cresta. As he feared, she'd been in a state of shock and terror, alternating between sobbing hysterically with her face in her hands and wildly looking for something to take her own life. Finnick had arrived just as she found a butcher knife and, realizing her intent, had dived across her counter to save her life.
He taken her to the beach where they sat for hours watching the surf go in and out and he whispered words of comfort and reassurances of his love. She'd asked many questions, as he'd trained her to do after she'd won her Games but, for the first time, he hated answering them. Every one of them felt like a blow to his own body.
"President Snow is going to send the victors back into the arena, real or not real?" "Real."
"You and I could be sent back to the arena, real or not real?" "Real."
"You and I would have to kill other victors and watch them die, real or not real?" "Real."
Then the question that really hurt. "If you and I were the last victors standing, you would kill me, real or not real?"
He'd answered that one with passion." NOT REAL." He knew, without a shadow of a doubt that, if it came down to Annie and himself, he would willingly die by his own hand.
Thankfully, that had been her last question and soon afterward he'd looked down to discover that she was sleeping peacefully in his arms. Quickly scanning his body, he reassured himself that he was bruise free despite the beating that her questions had given him and then he'd sat very still, trying not to wake her with the tears that rolled down his cheeks.
He watched as the sky turn from a bright blue afternoon into a gorgeous sunset, one that blazed with a mixture of scarlet red and fiery orange, and thought that it was the perfect symbol for this Third Quarter Quell, a bloody Game and the girl on fire.
Katniss Everdeen, who'd won only last year, was the catalyst for the growing rebellion in the districts which was only spoken of by the Capitol higher-ups late at night. But now, as he watched his beloved ocean, it seemed to Finnick that the sea itself burned with the fire that the girl from District 12 had ignited.
As he thought about what Katniss' actions had started, he became aware of someone walking up behind him.
Without turning around, he knew who it was, "I'm sorry, Mags."
"For what?" she asked, gently, "You didn't do this."
"I'm sorry for anything I've done—everything I've done—I don't know," he answered, looking down in misery, "If I didn't have Annie and you, I'd be sorry for love." He caressed Annie's sleeping face with his thumb then looked at Mags with tears in his eyes, "But I do love."
She settled into the sand beside him, smiling wordlessly and squeezed his knee.
And that was how the sunrise found them, still sitting together in the sand; Finnick was watching over Annie and Mags was watching over both of them, just as she'd always done.
"Finnick!" Annie's voice called him back to the present, "Finnick!"
He'd spent last night with her just to keep her halfway sane before the Reaping, but in the short time that he'd had to leave her side so that they could wash, dress, and prepare themselves for the cameras, she'd relapsed back into the terror of her own memories and was now pale and trembling violently.
"Annie!" he called, as he ran to catch her in his arms; he never made it.
"Watch it, Odair!" a burly Peacekeeper snarled gruffly, blocking his path, "Male and Female tributes must remain separated during the Reaping."
"Is that so?" Finnick bristled, his eyes flashing with intense anger.
"Get back to your side," the Peacekeeper growled.
Finnick, who always carried a knife with him, generally for cleaning fish or cutting lines, was about to pull his weapon when Mags caught his eyes; she shook her head and wrapped comforting arms around Annie.
Swallowing bitterly, Finnick backed away but not before throwing the Peacekeeper a murderous glare. He wasn't worried about himself; no Peacekeeper in their right mind would dare to mar the face or body of Finnick Odair, the great Capitol sex slave.
But, as he turned away, he found that his own hands were shaking.
Joining the other Male victors, Finnick gritted his teeth and breathed heavily, trying to calm himself for the cameras, and cast a sidelong gaze at Mags and Annie. They were the only Female victors from District 4.
One of them will be chosen, he thought, suddenly becoming frantic, one of them as to go-"
No, he screamed inwardly, no! You can't do this! It won't help them!
He watched as District 4's rotund Capitol flunky wobbled up the steps to the stage in high-heels; this year her hair, body tattoos, and clothes were gold with a black print pattern.
"Ladies, first!" she said, in her high-pitched voice, as she reached into the goldfish bowl; Finnick's heart beat wildly in his chest and everything seemed to happen in slow motion.
"Annie Cresta!" she called.
The animal-like cry hit his ears before her name registered in his mind and it took all he had to not collapse to his knees and throw up all over the cobblestone pavement.
"What have I done?" he asked hoarsely, thinking that she'd been onto something in her suicidal madness after the announcement.
She could have been spared all of this if he hadn't intervened.
"I volunteer as tribute!" Mags' voice rang through his fog like a beam of sunshine.
Then the truth of the matter hit him and that sunbeam struck his heart and scorched it; this was not the solution to his problem.
There was only one solution. Rebellion. The uprisings in the districts. They had to overthrow Snow to end these Games for good.
As he watched Mags cast aside her walking stick and determinedly mount the steps to stand stoically on the stage, he thought that maybe just knowing about the Rebellion might have somehow made his forced sexual liaisons worth it. At least the illicit knowledge gave him hope and he wondered if he could one day use all those secrets to help the cause.
"And now for you boys!" the Capitol flunky rattled on as though nothing was the matter; as if no lives had been shattered.
Finnick glanced at his fellow Male victors, catching all of their eyes; Mags had mentored every one of them and now, in these moments of suspense, they made a silent pact with each other. Whoever was chosen would look after her.
"Finnick Odair!"
As he walked woodenly forward, he swallowed hard and caught Annie's horrified expression to send her a telepathic message with his eyes.
"I love you."
Then he mounted the steps and encircled Mags in a heartfelt embrace.
Leaning in close, he whispered two words.
"Thank you."
Author's Notes: I just read the Hunger Games Trilogy (terrible that I waited so long, I know). Finnick and Annie are my favorite couple. I'm not sure who my favorite single is but I've got it down to Prim, Johanna, and Gale.
This story happens before any of the Victor Tributes are told about the Rebel plan to bust them out of the arena.