A/N: Out of all of the deaths in Mockingjay, Finnick Odair's was by far the most difficult for me to accept, for Annie's sake. The fact that she was pregnant with his child just made it so much worse. I'd really hoped he would live to the end, but seeing as he didn't, I wrote this.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, Finnick would have lived. Just sayin'.

His coffin is nailed shut.

President Coin tries to tell me that it's because it's empty. No need to open it. She's a liar. She thinks that, because I'm "mentally disoriented", as I have been labeled so many times since those dreadful games—games that would make any sane person lose a piece of their mind—I'm stupid as well.

But I know. They retrieved the body this morning.

He's in there. What's left of him, anyway. Inside that polished, sterile coffin. I want to scream, let him out!, but the words stay stuck in my throat. I close my eyes, tightly, my hands over my ears. I try to forget who I am. I visualize myself shrinking, shrinking, shrinking until I turn into nothing at all.

Annie, don't do this.

His voice penetrates my mind, bringing me, unwillingly, back to reality. I open my eyes, and realize I've been holding my breath. I'm still standing in front of the coffin. Citizens of District Thirteen, here to pay their respects to the fallen soldier, litter the room, keeping a safe distance from me and my dead husband. "Who will save me now, my love?" I whisper to myself. The tears finally spill from my eyes. They sting. They're overwhelming and they sting.

I always had felt guilty about Finnick. I always figured, back before the Quarter Quell, that one day, his voice would no longer be able to penetrate the darkness. That one day, I would simply slip away. And, I always felt guilty that, on particularly bad days, I secretly longed for it. But he always managed to pull me back. Every single time. And now the tables have been turned. I've always felt guilty that I thought he would lose me, but I never even considered that I might someday lose him. Not even during the Quarter Quell. My faith in him has always been so strong, and now it's simply shattered.

Again, his voice, a phantom says, Annie, please. Don't do this. Think of the baby.

I must be as crazy as they say.

I realize how loud my sobs have become. A hand on my shoulder. For a moment, I let myself believe that it's Finnick. Not really dead. But even I can't believe a lie that outrageous. I turn. It's Haymitch Abernathy. I remember him. From all those years he coached those poor tributes that never stood a chance, to the year where he managed to save twice the amount he was allotted.

"I'm so sorry, Annie," he says and, for once, there is no sarcasm in his voice.

In that moment, I am grateful. Grateful that perhaps Finnick wasn't the only person in this awful world who wouldn't cower away from me when things were tough.

"It isn't fair," I say, wiping my tears with the grey fabric of my sleeve. Haymitch nods.

"No, it's not." His concurrence brings on another wave of tears, and I involuntarily bury my head into his shoulder. I feel his muscles tense up slightly, and he awkwardly pats my shoulder, "No, it's not," he repeats.

"I'm so stupid," I cry, more to myself than to Haymitch, "I'm so stupid. I actually thought…I mean…I thought that…maybe…"

"That things would get better?" he finishes for me.

"Yes," I whisper.

He laughs bitterly to himself, "I used to think that too."

Darkness descends upon me again. Was he alone? I wonder, did they try to save him? What does he look like inside that sealed coffin? The possibilities are almost too much to bear. The only reason I still try to cling to control of my own mind is for the baby I know is growing inside me. The only piece of him I have left.

"Annie?"

It's not Finnick's voice which pulls me away this time, only the unsure utterance of Haymitch Abernathy. We aren't that different, him and I. Neither of us has anyone left. The Capitol has taken everything away from us. That'll change in a few months, I remind myself, when the baby comes.

I look down and realize that Haymitch's sleeve is drenched with my tears. I swallow. "Sorry," I say quietly.

He inspects his sleeve. "Don't mention it," he says. Then his eyes meet mine, "No, seriously. Don't. Can't have the Mockingjay thinking I've gone soft." He smiles, weakly.

"She's alive." It's a statement coming from my lips, not a question.

"Yes," he confirms, "But…she's not well."

"I know the feeling."

"Her sister is dead."

"Oh." My heart sinks. I would never wish this pain—the pain of losing someone you love more than anything—on anyone. Especially not on Katniss.

"They want us in the Capitol."

I nod. I knew this, but had hoped that if I had gone on not acknowledging it, Coin would've left me alone. "I don't want to go," I say. I'm aware of how childish this sounds, but it's the purest emotion I have at the moment, buried beneath the grief.

"Neither do I."

We sit in silence for a few moments. I glance around and notice that the mourners have mostly evacuated the premises, save for Johanna Mason, who stands watch in the doorway, looking as if she wants to approach, but is unable. I know. She has no one else left either.

Haymitch helps me to my feet. "You'll get through this," he assures me, "the worst is over."

I know this is only speculation, but I let myself believe him. I take one last look at Finnick's coffin. My eyes remain dry. He would want me to focus on the future. On the next chapter. On our child. I bow my head once, before following Haymitch and the still silent Johanna from the room.

I don't know what will happen next, but I know one thing. The burden of being the strong one now lies on me. For the sake of our child. I hear his voice in my head for one last time.

Stay strong, Annie.