A/N: I love Finnick Odair and I needed to write something as a tribute to him. So here it is. It's got some things from the books, some things from the movies, and then some things just from my imagination. I hope you guys enjoy it, please let me know what you think.
The Boy With The Trident
The day that he was reaped for the 65th Hunger Games had come as a shock, not because his name was called, but because no one older had volunteered for the glory. But as he remembered it, Finnick Odair had not let his uncertainty show for a second. He was young, but he was strong and he could do this.
Maybe.
Or he just might die a tragic death. He just hoped that if that was the case, it was noble and not something stupid like falling out of a tree that he'd been foolish enough to climb.
Nobody saw through his façade, his family included. No one ever stopped to think that maybe he was afraid, that maybe he wished that he had trained more, that he wished he had given the extra time to improve his swimming speed or the extra time to be more equipped with weapons because who knew what he would be up against?
No one saw any of these things. No one but one person.
No one but her.
He was sitting at the dining room table as the train rattled along, staring at the way the water moved in his glass, choppy and fast but always smooth at the same time, always graceful. He loved the water. He always loved it. Even sitting here, as he went to what could be his death, waiting for his mentor and other tribute that might either kill him or be killed by his hand, the water managed to take the edge off.
And then the door opened and a small woman came in. She was older and she was a legend. Mags. She was an absolutely remarkable woman who had dominated her games. Her eyes fell on Finnick and immediately they softened with a warmth that had never in his life been shown to him.
"It's okay," she said simply, as if he was supposed to know what exactly was okay. Last he had checked, none of it was okay. But maybe he should have been excited.
"What is?" he finally asked, forcing his voice to be steady. "I'm not afraid of the games."
Her lips quirked in a small smile as she positioned herself across from him. "Don't you see, young boy," she said gently. "That's what's okay. Your fear. In fact…" She hesitated briefly, considering for a moment before adding, "that fear will keep you alive."
Finnick stared at her for a moment, and it was a moment that he later wished he could take back because then the other tribute, an older girl named Dalia, came in the room then. He bit his tongue, not wanting to admit any form of weakness (or maybe strength?) in front of her. Mags shot him a secret smile before turning her attention to the girl.
Where had this woman been his whole life?
That night, Finnick couldn't sleep a wink. He wanted to, of course, but that only made it worse. He kept thinking if I fall asleep now… and that seemed to keep him awake. He had started to drift off once but immediately had visions in his mind of being slaughtered and that woke him up quickly.
Finally, he got to his feet shuffled into the main room again. There was a pitcher of water there so he sat in front of it and stared into it. It was lapping against the glass, in a constant state of movement with the jerkiness of the train.
"Can't sleep?" Finnick jerked his head to look around the room and managed to make out the form of Mags in the shadows. He stared at her before slowly shaking his head. "Did you think about what I said?" She moved forward until she was able to sit beside him. "About fear?"
"Yes." Finnick swallowed hard before continuing, "Fear makes me more cautious than some of the others." Like Dalia. His fellow tribute would likely rush into fights, thinking that she had enough training to last. That she could do it. It was evident that she was very confident, but then again Finnick had attempted to show that too and he was not at all sure of his chances.
"Precisely, my boy."
There was something about her calling him her boy that made his insides warm with pride. He gave a small smile, a real smile. "And if I play my cards right," he said slowly, an idea dawning on him, "they'll never expect fear and caution to come from me. They'll expect me to die first." He hesitated. "But you knew I was scared."
Mags gave a small laugh. "My boy, don't worry. I'm willing to bet that I'm the only one that saw through it. You can intimidate them, I'm sure."
"You think I can do this?" He was frustrated with how small he sounded, how very much like a child. How scared. But he couldn't lie to this woman.
Mags smiled at him and rested her hand on his. "My boy," she said gently. "I've never been more confident in anyone. I am looking at the victor of the 65th Hunger Games."
Finnick hadn't felt this safe in a long time, long before his name was called. His eyes skirted to the pitcher of water again, his thoughts returning to earlier, when he had wondered what it was about the water that calmed him so and suddenly it came to him.
Nothing fazed water. It could be completely knocked around, totally torn apart, and still pull itself back together. He decided then and there that he was going to strive to be like the water, to be able to always pull himself back together.
Finnick wandered through the training room, unsure of where to begin. His eyes went to the bow and arrow area but he turned away. He would love to learn that particular skill but there was no way he had enough time. He needed to perfect what he knew. So he went to the knots and ran his fingers over one particularly tight and complex knot.
Before he could even stop to comprehend what he was doing, he began to undoe them, his fingers moving quickly and skillfully. It was almost second nature. The second knot he tried was harder and it took him several minutes but when he got it he felt a surge of excitement, a surge of competitiveness almost. He wanted to do it again, only better. He wanted to beat himself.
And so he did, again and again until he was a master with every knot that he had ever known of.
But nothing could have prepared him for the arena. He set up his net and it was just like fishing in a sick way. They got caught, he finished it. And every time that he killed, he saw their eyes. They were terrified, every one of them when they realized that he had them and there was nothing they could do.
The first time, it had taken everything he had not to break down. By the last time, he felt numb as he made the final kill. He had never had that feeling before, never felt so empty, so cold, so desolate. The only spark of hope, if you could call it that, that he could feel was knowing that soon it would be over and he would never be a slave to Snow again. Never.
That spark of hope, though, was trapped somewhere inside of him. It was like he knew it was there, he could see it even, but it was too far away to touch and every time he moved to it, it moved farther away.
Even when he was headed home, he could only lay on his bed as the train rocked back and forth, jerking his body ever so slightly from side to side. He could feel tears somewhere behind his eyes but he was too numb to actually let them out. So he lay there and mentally went through every single kill that he made, every single face that appeared in the sky where he thought I did that.
The only thing that had jolted him out of his trance was a knock and then his door sliding open. He slowly pushed himself into a sitting position as Mags came in, her eyes looking sadder than they ever had, even when she had said goodbye to him before the games.
She sat on the edge of his bed and looked at him, the two of them sitting in a silence. It was like a game of chicken, and Finnick broke. He pulled the old woman into his arms, holding her to him as tightly as he could as he buried his face in her shoulder.
Tears still refused to come but he wanted them to, needed them to. Maybe then he could feel something other than this sinking pit, this horrible sensation that just might eat him alive. Mag's thin fingers gently combed his hair, rocking him ever so gently against her.
"My boy," she whispered. "My dear boy."
"I'm no boy," he whispered back. "Not anymore." His voice sounded hollow, even to his ears. "Not after killing so many."
Mags only pulled him closer. "You are a boy," she whispered. "Finnick, that's what the people love about you. Even as you became a man, you were still a boy. You will always be a boy, in some form. That's just who you are. You're charismatic, you're fun, you're kind-"
"Kind?" The word ripped from his throat as he pulled himself from her arms. "Kind? Mags, I speared Dalia. Dalia."
"Because they made you. The Capitol… They play us, Finnick."
"Played," he said softly, hardy even aware.
"What?"
"It's over." Desperation. He could hear it. He could feel it.
"Oh, Finnick…" Mags ran her hand over his hair again. As soothing as it was, he wasn't stupid. He knew that she was about to drop a bomb on him. "They will never be done with you. They'll never be done with any of the victors."
"There's a but there."
"Yes." She was quiet for a long moment. Finnick turned his eyes to her, wishing she would just hurry and tell him but knowing that it was harder than that. "The Capitol… they fell for you, my boy. They call you the Capitol's Darling." His breath caught in his throat. Were they not going to let him leave? But then why was the train moving? "They're going to want you to sell yourself, my boy."
"Sell myself?" He blinked. It wasn't registering. Sell himself? What did that even mean? Like be a slave? Kill people for them? His stomach turned over at the thought. He never wanted to kill. It wasn't in him and yet… He was a killer now.
Mags had tears in her eyes as she looked at him and he could tell that she was having difficulty fighting them back. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly before turning her gaze back to him. "Sex, Finnick. They will want you for your body."
And then Finnick had to fix his eyes on the wall, unable to look at a woman so pure and good when he was not only a killer, but now a prostitute. He had never thought that his first time would be with someone paying him.
He couldn't do it when the time came. The idea was too unsettling, too horrid. He'd lost too much to the Capitol already. He was not going to lose this too, not his virginity, not this way.
He said no and he left.
When he left the Capitol and arrived home, his parents were dead on the floor, with a white rose beside them. Their cups reeked of poison.
Finnick did the only thing he could think of.
He ran out of the house, into the pouring rain, and raced across to the other occupied home in the Victor's Village. He pounded on the door so hard that later his fist turned blue, although he didn't feel a thing. But this? This pain, this anguish, this guilt- this he felt. He wasn't stupid. He knew that his parents' death was to get back at him, to send a message to him.
You belong to us. Don't think otherwise.
Message received. Message fucking received.
"Mags!" he screamed. "Mags! Please! Open the door! I need you! I need-" For the first time since before his name was reaped, Finnick collapsed to his knees, a strangle cry of a sob tearing from his throat with such fierceness that it physically hurt. He hit the door another time. "Please!"
The door opened just as his fist was going for it again and it landed on the floor on Mags's home. He just sat on all fours, his body shaking with sobs that he could no longer contain, feelings that were no longer numb.
He was finally, finally beaten. He was falling apart. And, unlike the water, Finnick knew that he would never be able to take his former form again. He was beyond damaged. He wasn't whole, he wasn't the Finnick Odair that he had been, he wasn't the man who could also be a boy. He was just a pile of pieces that were being beaten against every wall around by the storm raging around him.
By the time that Mags got him inside, Finnick's sobs had softened. They weren't constant anymore, instead simply ripping out of him forcefully every now and then.
He sat on the couch with Mags's knitted blanket over his shoulders and a worn towel in his hands. He stared at it, knowing that he was soaking and that he had to dry off but not having the energy. She took it from his hands and rubbed his hair gently, not saying a word.
"Snow killed my parents," he whispered. "It's my fault. I didn't-" A sob threatened to rise again so he stopped for a moment before continuing, "I didn't do it. I should have. You told me. You told me they owned us but I didn't… I couldn't... I left. And… And they're gone." He looked at Mags with wide eyes, his vision swimming. "I'm not fifteen yet," he whispered. "I'm supposed to be a kid."
Mags gently set the towel in her lap and cupped his face in her hands. "And so you will be my kid. My boy," she said, her voice stern and loving all at once. "You will not be alone, Finnick. You will never be alone." His head fell onto her shoulder and she held him as the tears fell down his face, his chest aching at the loss echoing through him. "My sweet boy," Mags whispered, rocking him gently. "My sweet boy, Finnick Odair…"
As the time passed, Finnick felt himself changing. They weren't changes that he liked. He flirted with everyone, he acted as if he enjoyed himself. He acted as if he loved the women he was with. He had to. He was Finnick Odair, Captiol Darling. When he was home, all that he could think of was what he had done in the games and after. And when he was done with that, he thought of what he would do in the future to survive.
The numbness had returned, now worse than ever. It was as if the death of his parents had been the final straw.
The worst part was that he knew that Mags was worried, knew that she wanted to help him. But he was afraid to let her. The games had taught him one thing: loving was a dangerous and terrible thing, for you and your loved ones.
It was best to try not to do it.
So he distanced himself from Mags little by little, not even consciously aware of doing it until it was too late to ask her for help. He didn't want to be like this, didn't want to feel this way. But he was in too deep and he wasn't sure what he could do. The Capitol had abolished any flicker of hope that he had once managed to keep alive. Now, at sixteen, he was empty, he was tired, he was numb, and he was done.
That was why one night, when he lay sleepless in his bed, he got up and moved to the kitchen. The thought had hit him that morning and it seemed obvious, like a God send even. It was the only thing left to do.
His hand quickly wrote out a thank you to Mags, only pausing while he thought about what to sign it. Your boy? Or would that make it worse? Would that make it harder for her? Finally, he decided on no signature and set the pen down before going down to the basement, where they kept their "insurance" as Mags called it, in case the Capitol were to ever decide that the Victors were more a liability than anything else. It was also the only thing that kept them sane some days, although it had failed Finnick on that front. Their gym, their arsenal.
He was going to use his trident. It seemed fitting, didn't it, that he died by the weapon that had killed every one of his victims.
But the moment that the light turned on, he stopped in his tracks. Mags was sitting in the center of the room, his trident in her lap. She looked up at him, her eyes sad and mournful. She slowly shook her head and Finnick's heart sank. To his surprise it wasn't at getting caught. It was at the disappointment in her expression.
"I hoped I was wrong," she whispered. "But I knew I wasn't." Her fingers trailed his trident as she spoke. "My boy…"
Finnick fell against the wall, suddenly needing it to stay on his feet. "How did you know," he finally whispered. He wanted to look away from her but he couldn't. Somehow, that would be harder.
"I've known it was coming for weeks. I've been coming down here every night, waiting for you."
Guilt wrenched his heart violently, forcing him to swallow- hard. "I can't do this anymore," he whispered, almost pleading her. He just wasn't sure what exactly he was asking of her. "I can't. I'm tired. They beat me."
"No, Finnick," she whispered. "They didn't."
"They have," he insisted quietly. "I can't do this, Mags. I have nothing left. No hope. No spark. I haven't seen the boy you said I'd always be in a long time. Too long. I don't think he'll ever be back. And I miss him. I don't know this person that I am but he's no man and he's no one I want to know.
"I'm tired. And I'm numb. It's like there's a window between me and every emotion. I can't feel it, not really. I can't feel anything. Nothing but exhaustion. I can't live like this."
Mags looked up at him. "Do you know what that's called?"
"Being broken?"
"My boy," she whispered. She dropped his trident to the ground. It hit with a clatter that made him flinch. She went to him and her hand slid across his cheek. "You are not broken," she whispered. "You're depressed. And you are stronger than the Capitol. Let me help you."
Finnick slowly let his eyes raise to hers and managed to gather the strength to nod and then he was in her arms.
It was a slow process but eventually, the results began to show. Such as the first time Finnick gave a real laugh again, or the first time that he easily fell into a banter with Mags at the market. But these things began to happen more and more, until one day Finnick could look at himself in the mirror and catch that old spark in his eye.
That was the day that he realized two things that stayed with him for the rest of his life. One- it takes ten times longer to pull yourself together than it does to fall apart, and two- he had finally reached his goal of becoming something like the water. He was settling back into himself, into Mags's boy.
The period of slowly morphing from the darkest point of his life back into the laughing boy he had once been was difficult. It was frightening at times and while Finnick sometimes thought that Mags's faith in him was misplaced, she never doubted.
Finnick came to call that time his Healing.
As he continued to improve, there was only one thing that Mags still hounded him about. One thing that Finnick constantly laughed off.
"I simply don't understand you," Mags sighed as she led him through the Market, back towards home.
Finnick boomed a laugh, grabbing her shoulders playfully. "And I don't understand you, you stubborn woman!"
Mags clicked at him, her eyes shining with affection. "She was plenty pretty! I just don't see why you wouldn't even look!"
Finnick rolled his eyes. "I've told you a thousand times, Mags." He bounded ahead of her and opened the door to their home and held it as she crossed into the house. "I am never settling down, you crazy stubborn woman. I am not going to fall in love. Plently of people are fine without ever falling in love so why should I?"
Mags shook her head as she went into the kitchen, Finnick following her with the bag of groceries. "Because, my son, everyone needs love in their life! You are not immune to that. In fact, I would argue that you fight me so hard because you need it even more."
Finnick rolled his eyes again as he threw his body onto the counter, swinging his legs. "I have you."
Mags froze as she pulled the bread out of the bag. Slowly, she set it on the counter. "Yes," she said softly. "But, Finnick, I am nearly 73 years old. I am not going to live forever, my boy."
Finnick stared at her for a second before forcing his brain to change tracks. No. He was not going to lose Mags. He couldn't go there. "You're healthy as a horse," he retaliated. "I will be fine." She sighed and he hopped off of the counter and gently placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him.
"Mags," he said gently, "I will be fine. Just fine. You are my family. And family is all I can have. I'm not going to bring a woman into my life. No woman deserves to love a man who cannot fully belong to her. I won't do that. Never."
Mags opened her mouth to argue but then closed it. "Oh, Finnick," she said softly instead.
"I would be a burden, Mags," he insisted. "No woman needs that. No woman could ever need me. I have nothing to offer. And that's okay. I'm happy giving you everything I do have."
"You could never be a burden to anyone."
Slowly, he shook his head, thinking of all of the times that Mags had had to pull him together and how wrong she was. "Then, my dear, wonderful Mags, I think we should agree to disagree and call a truce." Before she could argue, he planted a kiss on her forehead. "I'm going to fish."
He was halfway to the beach when he managed to do the least graceful thing he had ever done and tripped, resulting in him knocking over a young red-headed girl. They both toppled onto the ground, Finnick's arm being the only thing stopping him from falling right on top of her. "Shit," he mumbled, and then he realized that he just swore in front of a girl and flushed. "I mean damn it. Fuck, no. I mean-" He dropped his had in defeat, slowly exhaling. "Ah, that's perfect." A small chuckle fell from him and he looked at her through his lashes, a grin staying on his features.
That grin almost fell from his lips though the moment that he saw her. She was somewhere close to his age, although probably a year or two younger. Her eyes were kind and soft, her smile breathtaking. She bit her lip as she tried to suppress a giggle. "It's okay," she told him, shaking her head slowly.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
She nodded slowly. "Mm-hmm." Her voice was soothing, sort of like rain gently falling on the ocean. "I'm Annie."
"Finnick."
She gave him a wry, playful smile and said softly, "I know…. So, Finnick, may I please get up?"
And that was when Finnick was jolted into reality. He jumped to his feet and took her hand, pulling her to hers. And then he let go of her as soon as he was able. "Sorry again," he said quickly, before ducking his head and moving his way through the crowd.
No way in hell. She was intriguing, sure, but no. He was standing by what he had been telling Mags for months. He couldn't bring a girl into his life, not a life where he would be forced to be unfaithful. And definitely not a girl with a face as innocent as hers. Hell. No. The Capitol life should never touch a girl like that.
So he walked away and forced himself to forget the girl named Annie.
Until the 70th Hunger Games. He was nineteen-years-old when Annie Cresta was reaped for the games. He hadn't recognized her at first, but his heart cried for her and the male tribute, just as it did every year.
He didn't place Annie Cresta until they were on the train to the Capitol. He was sitting and staring at the one pitcher of water, just as he did every year. Sometimes it was the only thing reminding him of who he was, who he could be, and who he never wanted to be again.
He heard a clatter that night and pulled himself from his thoughts, staring into the darkness. Slowly, he got to his feet and moved forward, preparing himself for anything. Well, anything but what he found.
He ended up slamming into a body and tumbling to the ground with it. Unlike years prior, he didn't catch himself and landed on his back instead, letting out a small groan.
Someone groaned beside him and for a moment worry flashed through him, worry that it was Mags. That she was really hurt. But then his eyes adjusted and he realized it was the girl- Annie Cresta. He let out a breath, the breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"We have to stop meeting like this," she mumbled, looking up at him with amused eyes.
Finnick stared at her for a moment before he realized. "Annie," he said softly. "You're the girl that I- Well, that figures." He pushed himself up and pulled her with him once again.
Annie grinned. "I swear, it's not you. I'm sort of a jinx, I think. Always have been." She rubbed her arm and slowly sat in a chair, pulling her legs up with her and wrapping her arms around them.
Finnick cocked his head at her and took his seat again. "How are you feeling then?" he asked softly.
Annie looked away, slowly letting out a breath. "Honestly?" Her eyes darted to him as he nodded his head. "I'm working on accepting my death as we speak."
The words hit Finnick like a spear to the chest. He stared at her for a long moment before slowly whispering, "Absolutely not."
"What?" She looked up at him, her eyes quizzical.
"I refuse. You are not going to do any such thing."
"I'm not a fighter, Finnick," she said. "And I'm not a killer. I won't be." He flinched without meaning to. There was that word again. Killer. He slowly let out a shaky breath as Annie said softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."
Finnick looked at her. "Yes. You did." She stared back at him and then opened her mouth. "Don't apologize. I know what I was, what I had to be. The games do that to you- turn you into what you're not."
Annie shook her head. "No. I don't think you understand. I'm not like you. I don't think I could even see someone die. I've never been one of those, Finnick. It took a lot of breathing exercises before I could even gut a fish."
Finnick leaned forward, not taking his eyes off of the girl. "I will not give up on you. Mags didn't give up on me and it saved my life. Multiple times. We will train you and you will have the same chance as the others."
Finnick worked with Annie every chance that he got. He trained her, he coached her, and sometimes he just held her while she shook and tried not to cry, despite his assurances that it was okay to. It got to the point where every time they were in the room together, Mags would slide him a mischievous and annoingly all knowing smirk that Finnick would immediately shake his head at. Sometimes he would ever mouth at her to drop it. Mags would lift her hands with an expression that was almost playfully mocking. That amused Finnick more than anything else.
She was wrong, of course, whatever she was thinking. Assuming that Annie made it, nothing would ever happen. Finnick stood by what he said before. It wouldn't be fair and he wasn't about to ask that of anyone. Besides, he wasn't in love with her. He cared for her but he cared for every tribute that fell to them. Annie was no different.
She couldn't be. He couldn't let her be.
And even when training new tributes, Finnick was still expected to do his own "duties" in the city, something that he found even more despicable than the fact that he had "duties" at all. As he snuck back into Four's temporary home for the games, he was grateful only for the fact that it was late enough that everyone should be in bed, especially the tributes.
"Where were you?" asked a soft, curious voice.
Finnick could have died as he turned to the curious face of Annie Cresta. She had a book on her lap but her eyes were fixed on him, a lamp turned on on the table beside her. "Nowhere," he said quietly. He made to go to his room but stopped in his tracks, instead turning around. "No. You should know." He went back and sat down beside her on the couch.
"Know what?" Annie asked gently, a flicker of anxiety flashing in her eyes. I shouldn't tell her, he thought suddenly.
Well, it's too late now, hot shot, he told himself. He took a deep breath. "If you're found desirable…" He took a breath and let it out and then opened his mouth to continue. But the words got stuck in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling overwhelmingly frustrated with himself. "The Capitol sells you for your body."
Annie sucked in a breath, staring at him. "I'm guessing," she said after a moment, "that you can't say no."
"They'll kill someone you love," he replied, managing to keep his voice steady even as his mind flashed to his parents. He was surprised, though, at how matter of fact he was being.
"I shouldn't be surprised," she said quietly. "They don't treat us like we're humans."
"No," he answered. "They don't." He leaned forward and said quietly, "It's still worth living."
"And do you?" she asked, turning so that she was looking in his eyes, a fire burning defiantly in them. "Do you really live? Do you have everything that you had imagined that you would have?"
Finnick almost lied. He almost told her that he did, that he didn't want anything else. "No," he said instead.
"And what exactly have you had to give up?" she prodded. He wanted to stop, wanted to protect her. But he couldn't protect her from this. No one could.
"A family, other than Mags," he said softly, finally, for the first time saying it out loud. "I had always thought marriage was in my future. But not now. I could never bring someone into this life with me."
Annie slowly shut her book and set it aside. "That's not fair."
He blinked, more taken aback than anything else. "None of this is fair, Annie," he said softly.
"No, but even more so. Even given what you've been through, you should have love if you want it."
"That would be the most selfish thing that I could ever do," Finnick answered her, not understanding how she didn't see this.
Annie gave a disbelieving laugh and tossed her book onto the couch as she stood. "Love is selfish, Finnick! But it's also selfless. Just like it's terrible and wonderful. And brave and terrifying. And- and-" She was so wrapped up in her argument, so passionate about what she was saying, that she seemed to be at a loss for words.
Finnick got up. "I would be asking someone to accept that I was going to be unfaithful, Annie. To see me off and know exactly what I was going to do. To have images in her head of what was happening, to have to live with it. And how could she be angry about it when I didn't have a choice? That's what she'd ask herself. It would be hell."
Annie stared at him, her jaw partially dropped open. "Hell? Hell?! Are you serious?" She was starting to look angry, something that Finnick truly didn't understand in the least. "How could it be hell? If she loved you, Finnick, if she truly loved you how you should be loved then-"
But her words had caught his attention. "How should I be loved?" he finally asked.
"What?" she sputtered.
"How should I be loved?" he repeated. "What does that mean?"
Annie stared for a moment before drawing herself upright. "You have no idea," she said slowly. He looked at her quizzically, arching an eyebrow. "You have no idea how… how amazing you are." He stared at her, both eyebrows raising now, a laugh almost about to burst from him. Amazing? Oh, holy hell was that off. "No." She looked angry again. "No. You don't get to laugh! Not at that! I mean it, Finnick! You're fun and you're kind and you're brave and you're- you're so good, honestly good. I mean, do you know how rare that is? For someone to be good and pure at heart? That's not something that you see everyday! But you… You are."
"Annie."
"No! Just stop! Stop talking yourself down, stop trying to act like you're a burden, stop thinking that you are anything less than you are!" She jabbed him in the chest, surprising him yet again. He looked down at her with indignation but stopped short. There was that fire burning in her eyes fiercely, stubbornly.
"That's it," he whispered.
"What?" she asked, still wrapped in the argument.
"That's how you're going to survive. Annie Cresta, you have a fire inside you like I've never seen." His hands wrapped around hers, enclosing them. "That's it," he whispered.
Annie stared up at him, her mouth forming a very small "o" of surprise. And then, without warning, she lurched up and her lips landed on his. Finnick was too stunned to respond at first but then he kissed her back. Of course he kissed her back.
Because he was, of course, in love with this girl with hair the color of fire and a personality to match. His arms wrapped around her and she pulled closer to him, her hand grabbing a handful of his shirt.
So this. This was what it was like to kiss someone you were in love with. It was different than he had imagined but so much nicer, so much better.
Finnick vaguely wondered for a moment how he of all people had let himself fall in love. The answer came to him instantly.
She crept up on him. He had never seen her coming, just like those times when he ran into her and knocked her over. Only in reality she had had the larger force on him.
Annie did win the games, but it came at a cost. Many said that the cost was her sanity, that they had driven her insane. Finnick argued with them always. Annie Cresta was not insane, not by a long shot.
She was damaged, sure, but she was not broken. Where he was like the water, Annie was like fire and she would always burn bright and burn strong. All she needed was someone to nurture her to her fullest and brightest burn.
And Finnick was going to be that person. Mags was thrilled to have Annie, who joined them in their home. Mags had tried to convince Finnick to leave but Finnick couldn't bear the thought. To convince Mags, he told her simply that he didn't want Annie to be left alone when he had to go to the Capitol.
That, of course, was a constant worry for him. How could he leave her? And to do that? What if it truly hurt her even more than the Games had? What if he was the worst thing for her?
Both Annie and Mags reassured him over and over that this was garbage, that she loved him, that she had picked him knowing full well. To reassure him further, Annie made him a token, a small necklace. It was to remind him, no matter where he was and who he was with, that she was his and he was hers and that would never change.
Things had just begun to get better when Mags had her stroke. During that time, Annie was the only thing that kept Finnick sane as they constantly tended to her, fretting. If she died… If he lost Mags… Finnick tried to force himself not to think of it. He couldn't lose her and he wouldn't.
Sometimes, when those thoughts closed in on him, fear would grab a hold of him. Fear that he was returning to his dark place. And that maybe, just maybe he couldn't be saved this time. He wouldn't be able to go through the Healing without Mags by his side.
Despite his fears, she healed but her speech didn't. All she could do was mumble but that was okay. The only people that needed to hear her, according to Mags, were Finnick and Annie. And they were also the only people who cared enough to make sure they heard.
More than that, though, Finnick and Mags learned not to need speech to communicate. He could understand her by a smile, or the glint in her eyes, or her hand motions.
"She loves you," Annie stated one afternoon.
"I know," Finnick said softly, wrapping his arms around the love of his life. "And I love her. She raised me. She's half of my family." He looked at Annie and gave her a soft smile. "You're the other half."
"I know."
Life balanced out after that, once again like the water. It would get tossed but always even out.
But there always has to be another wave, another toss. It can never stay steady.
The Quarter Quell came around and Finnick, as always, was dreading the beginning of the Games. But this time it was different. It completely flipped his life upside down. Two Victors would return to the Games.
He felt as if the breath was knocked out of him. The other two were silent as well. Mags put a hand on his shoulder and nodded to Annie, who looked to be entering a catatonic state. He nodded and forced himself to his feet, pulling her into his arms. "Annie," he whispered. "You're not going back." He rocked her against him. "You're not going back. I promise. You're not. Never." She cried into his chest silently, most likely not able to speak at this moment in time if she wanted to.
Finnick looked over her head at Mags, slowly forcing a breath out of his chest. She nodded. She was with him. Annie couldn't go back to the Games. And that left them one option. Finnick felt tears press his eyes and fought them back. This was not the time for tears, he had to wait.
Because although Annie could never survive another round, neither could Mags. Finnick was going to lose one of them and there was no way around it.
Mags gave him a smile and clasped her hands together and to her chest, her smile growing as she watched him and Annie. He knew she was telling him that she was okay; she was happy with her decision.
I have you.
I am not going to live forever, my boy.
He mouthed a thank you at her, not just for Annie but for everything, and, as he did, he realized that a few tears had fallen down his cheeks of their own accord. Mags smiled at him and reached forward, her hand covering his as it had many years ago for a scared, little boy. Her boy.
The boy, Finnick realized with a jolt, that he always had been and still was.
She was right, as she always was. She was Mags. And Mags was never wrong.
I'm sorry, Mags. I can't do it.
Why, oh why couldn't he do it? Why couldn't he have had a burst of strength, a burst of unexpected, heroic strength? But that's not how life went. He had already learned that.
"Let me take watch," Finnick said, looking at Katniss and Peeta. He knew they would understand. It wasn't a watch, not for him. It was a vigil. A vigil for the bravest, strongest woman that he had ever known. Seeing Mags's face in the sky with the other fallen tributes was too much, too real.
I'm sorry, Mags. I can't do it.
He sat on the sand and stared out at the ocean, watching the waves toss and turn against each other. There were so many things that he wished he could have said, could have told her. He wanted to thank her, thank her for saving his life countless times. Thank her for Annie. Thank her for guiding him, thank her for being there. Thank her for pulling him back on his feet when he was at his worst, for his Healing. Thank her for raising him. She didn't have to. But then again, there were many things Mags had never had to do.
She was without a doubt the best person Finnick Odair had ever met in his life. The greatest gift that he had ever received. He bowed his head and allowed to let the tears roll down his face, allowed his shoulders to shake with sobs. He didn't care if they saw. Let them. This was about more than Katniss and Peeta.
This was about a boy and the woman who showed him who he was and why that was a good thing. It was about love and hope.
It was about Mags.
Finnick had never felt a pain like losing Mags. Nothing had ever compared. Losing his parents had been the hardest thing in his life, until he watched Mags sacrifice herself. He couldn't imagine anything worse than this moment of grief, anything harder.
And yet, there was nothing he would rather do. Because this, this last night with her memory was all that he could do now. It was the closest thing he could get to one more moment with her.
Finnick had learned over time that bad things rarely come in packages of one or two.
But Annie being taken by the Capitol was still a blow and it was still a blow that nearly spiraled him right back into the place he had been in when he was fifteen and sixteen years old.
Mags was dead. And if he lost Annie then that would be the end for him. There was nothing left, no hope. She had been through so much already. He wanted to rip the Capitol's throats out for even considering laying their hands on her again.
Katniss was the only bright spot for him during that time. She was the only person who could understand what this was like. That was why Finnick knew that she loved Peeta, no matter what she thought. But he didn't have the energy to counsel her on it. That would have been Mags's job. But thinking about Mags made things harder so he tended to attempt to avoid that.
But things were better the moment that he learned that they had rescued the captured Victors.
Finnick raced to the infirmary, shoving his way through anyone that he had to. There was one thing that matter in that moment and nothing would stop him from getting there. He burst through the doors and looked to the left, to the right, straight ahead, and then repeated it. "Annie!" he yelled, panicking at not seeing her yet. He knew that that was insane, that she was there somewhere, that it would have been easy for him to miss her in this state. "Annie!"
"Finnick!"
His heart jumped to his throat as his head jerked to the source. Annie jerked an IV out of her arm and jumped off of the bed. And then she was running. Finnick had only taken a few steps before she was on him with such force that they stumbled back into a wall. Her arms locked around his neck; his arms flew around her, holding her as if there was nothing else in the world.
"I love you so much," he whispered. "I love you so much. I love you. I love you. I lov-" Her lips cut him off. It was a short kiss but it was one of the greatest of his life. Nothing could compare to Annie being back in his arms.
That night, they close together and talked. She began to try to tell him some of what had happened but, just as he feared, it upset her too much for it to be worth it. He cupped her face in his hands and rested his forehead against hers, instead whispering to her that they were together, they were safe.
He held her close to his chest and slowly rocked her, ever so slightly. It was a similar movement to what Mags used to do to him, all of the times when nightmares had scared him into screams, or when he had grown so desperate that it didn't even have to be his trident anymore during his Healing.
Mags. He had to tell her.
Finnick slowly opened his mouth but paused, doubting himself. Maybe now wasn't the time. Maybe he should wait until a better time. But there would never be a good time.
Annie looked up at him, her beautiful face streaked with tears. More fell as she whispered, "I know, Finnick. I know about Mags."
His throat closed. He bowed his head, closing his eyes to close out the tears. But when he opened his eyes again, he could still feel the tears trying to fight him, trying to fall. "How?" he croaked.
Annie reached up, her hand gently stroking his cheek. "Finnick," she whispered. "I knew the minute that I hugged you and she wasn't there. I knew." Her thumb gently brushed against his cheek, her eyes fixed on his. "Let them fall," she whispered. "It's okay."
Finnick's head bowed even more as the tears pushed through. Annie held him as he cried; she cried with him. Mags was their family and she was gone by games that she had long ago survived. She was gone because she was a hero, because she loved them, because she was kind and good.
"She loved you," Annie whispered, her voice cracking as she spoke. "She loved you so much."
"I know," he whispered, nestling his face into her neck. "I know she did. She didn't have to raise me, Annie."
"Mags didn't have to do any of the things she did," Annie whispered, stroking his hair, her own tears falling onto his cheek. "She didn't have to volunteer for me, she didn't have to take me in. But she was Mags and she was kind and she was good and that's what she did."
Finnick gave into a new wave of tears, his heart aching with the pain of his- no, their- loss. Annie held him as she cried with him and Finnick couldn't help but think that it was oddly funny in a way.
Everyone thought that he was the rock in the relationship, that Annie needed him more. But that wasn't the case. She did need him, but no one realized how much he needed her. Or how she had always managed to be there for him, even when she was going through her hardest times. She loved him and it was her love that had kept him going after the loss of Mags. She was all that he had.
He couldn't help but wonder how in the world he had fooled everyone into thinking that he was the strong one.
There were three kisses that Finnick would always hold dear to his heart. The first was the first time that Finnick had kissed Annie. The second was when Annie had rushed back into his arms after her rescue.
The third…. Well, that was their wedding kiss. Their ceremony was done by a refugee from District 10, which had a similar ceremony to 4's.
He couldn't help but remember a time long ago. Because, my son, everyone needs love in their life! You are not immune to that. In fact, I would argue that you fight me so hard because you need it even more.
And as they danced together, Finnick could almost hear Mags whispering, I have never been prouder of you.
Finnick looked at the face of his beautiful and perfect bride and couldn't help but smile because he had never in his life had more hope than he did right then. As she beamed at him, he knew that she felt the exact same way.
He only wished that it had lasted longer. Or that he had been able to give her a longer honey moon. But life didn't work that way.
He sat with her on the bed, running his thumbs over her hands as he held them. He wasn't sure how to broach it, how to tell her what he had to do. But as he sucked in a breath to begin, she surprised him yet again.
"Finnick," she whispered. "I know you have to go."
He looked at her, unsure of what her face would hold. Anger? Fear? Instead, it was a mask of love and sadness.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered.
She smiled softly. "You wouldn't be Finnick Odair if you didn't help them. Katniss and Peeta are our friends. And Peeta needs you right now." She rested her forehead against his, her hand coming to cup his cheek. "He's lost, Finnick. Help him like you helped me, like Mags helped you. And then end this and come home." Her voice cracked and Finnick's heart broke because he knew, and he knew that she knew it too, that he couldn't promise that. It wasn't guaranteed.
Annie pressed her lips to his forehead. "Just remember that I love you."
"Always." Finnick ran his fingers through her hair and slowly reached to pull the necklace she had given him from its place under his shirt. "You'll be with me."
She smiled softly and touched his chest. "I'm always with you. And you're always with me." Her eyes communicated what her lips didn't. No matter what happened, even if he didn't make it back to her, she wanted him to know that he was always with her.
Finnick held her to him tightly, desperately, and closed his eyes. Please. I just need to make it home.
I just need to make it home. That thought clung with him throughout their quest, always at the back of his mind. It never interfered, though. He didn't show up to be a coward and back down.
No, he would not only get home but he would get the rest of the squad home as well.
With a sigh, Finnick sat down beside Peeta, his eyes slowly sliding to him. The younger boy was staring at Katniss's form. She was sleeping, or at least pretending to sleep. Who knew if she'd really accomplished it? Finnick was on watch, which he was actually couldn't have been more thrilled about. This was the moment that he had been waiting for, the best opportunity to talk to his friend.
"What?" Peeta asked slowly. His voice was dead, empty, low, desolate. Finnick's heart pricked as his thoughts flashed to the time in his life when he himself had been so numb that he had sounded like that.
He had been trying to think of what exactly to say to Peeta for days, but nothing had seemed right. In this moment, looking at the boy's sunken eyes, he threw out every tactic that he had thought about. "Peeta," he said finally. "I'm going to tell you something that I've never told anyone but Annie." That got his attention. Peeta's blue eyes flickered to him, a small light of curiosity reflecting in them. "I'm not as strong as everyone thinks."
Peeta cocked an eyebrow, obviously not sure where in the hell Finnick was going with this. Finnick wasn't sure either, to be completely honest. But he kept talking. "I tried to kill myself when I was sixteen." Peeta sucked in a breath at that. "I was going to use my trident. Mags saved my life, nurtured me." He shook his head. "The Capitol killed my parents. And in the games, I had even killed the girl from my District. I was tired and I wanted it to be over. I wanted it to stop."
Peeta looked down. "Did it?" His voice shook. "Did it ever stop?"
"Yes." Finnick rested a hand on his shoulder, looking at him earnestly. "It stopped. But it took time."
"I think this is a little different," Peeta whispered.
"You're right." Finnick nodded. "It is different. No two stories are the same, no matter the genre or the similarities. I can't imagine what you're going through, what they put you through. But I still know you can get through it."
"I'll never be the same."
"You're right."
Peeta looked up at him, his eyes wide with surprise at being agreed with.
Finnick leaned forward, his eyes level with Peeta's. "We're always changing, Peeta. You won't be exactly who you were two years ago. But you'll still be the same person, just a different version." Peeta bowed his head slightly. "I'm going to tell you something that I told Katniss," Finnick said softly. "It takes ten times as long to pull yourself together as it does to fall apart. You need to be patient with yourself, Peeta. You'll get there."
Peeta slumped against Finnick's shoulder and so his arm went around the younger boy, as if he could protect him from the pain.
Finnick had never been stupid. But he had always had a problem with not wanting to give up, especially when he had something waiting for him. Something like a wife, a wife who needed him. What would happen to her if he didn't make it home?
But they had already lost many to the mutts and he knew the odds. And more than that, he was still going to do his job. Protect Katniss and Peeta. At all costs. They were his friends.
Some part of him, despite his desperation to make it out, knew long before. He had to.
Finnick launched himself for the ladder, for his ticket out of there. He started climbing and made quick progress. It was a good thing that he was used to doing things while soaked with water.
But some things just aren't meant to be.
A mutt collided with him, making him lose his grip. He fell down and then, with a sickening and blinding crack, his back hit the ledge and he knew it was broken and it was over. He couldn't fight with a broken back. He couldn't do anything with a broken back.
They swarmed him and all he could do was scream, and even that was almost too hard. Everything hurt, every nerve in his body was on fire as he was torn into, as he was going through the beginning part of being ripped to shreds.
Somehow, by some miracle, his attention was at least partly shifted. Maybe it was a sixth sense, maybe it was some close to death thing.
But he could see the Holo falling down the opening and relief flooded his body as he knew what his friend was about to do.
He could hear her whisper, sort of. It was in a sixth sense sort of way. Maybe it was because he knew what words she had to be whispering, knew what to expect.
Nightlock.
Peeta flashed in his mind.
Nightlock.
Katniss.
Nightlock.
Annie. The beautiful girl was his last and final thought before the Holo blew, creating a beautiful and symbolic mixture of fire and water, of him and his beautiful wife.
The next thing he saw was Mags's hand reaching out to him. He did the only thing that made sense, the only thing that he had been doing through his life. He took her hand and let her lead him to whatever was next.