AN: Well, this is my last one shot! I've finally figured out what I'm going to do next, so I'll say that now (for whoever is interested). I've had several requests to build on "The Smell of Roses," so I'm going to go ahead and turn that one into a multi-chapter story. It won't be very long; probably four or five chapters at the most. That will hopefully get me in the swing of writing chapters again so I can start my big project, which will be an AU story in which Finnick survives the mutt attack at the end of Mockingjay. It will follow Annie's pregnancy and the birth of their child as well as the reconstruction of Panem after the rebellion, which is something I've always wondered about. So thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who's reviewed and favorited and urged me to keep going! Stay tuned for more in the near future. :)

"They're back."

Finnick's head snapped up immediately. He stared up at Katniss with bleary, exhausted eyes, taking in her pale face and the solemn look in her gray eyes. Time seemed to freeze for a few seconds as the two of them looked at each other, silently communicating what couldn't be put into words—that the very thing that had been torturing them for weeks on end was possibly about to be put to an end. Annie and Peeta, along with Johanna, had been retrieved from the custody of the Capitol.

Finnick took a slow, steadying breath and forced himself to get to his feet. "Okay, let's go."

Together, they made their way down to the hospital ward where Plutarch had told Katniss to go. Finnick felt lightheaded and strange, as though he were floating rather than walking. His heart pounded as though he had just run a long distance. Annie was here. He was about to see Annie.

The hospital ward smelled like bleach and had a very unwelcoming appearance. There were people bustling about here and there, all with very serious looks on their faces, some muttering things to each other in low voices. Katniss suddenly left Finnick's side to approach Plutarch and Haymitch, neither of whom looked like they had good news to deliver.

Someone wheeled a stretcher by Finnick's side. Sprawled across it was an emaciated young woman with a shaved head and a body littered by cuts and bruises, both fresh and old. Johanna…

Finnick could feel himself shaking as he began to wander slowly around the ward, both wanting desperately to see Annie and feeling terrified of what she might look like when he did. His feet froze to the ground when he noticed a head of long, dark hair through a window. He would know that hair anywhere.

Still shaking like a leaf, he approached the door to the room with the window and turned the handle slowly. There didn't appear to be anyone else in the room, so he proceeded to enter cautiously and leave the door cracked open behind him. Annie stood at the other end of the room with her back to him and didn't turn around when he came in.

"Annie?" Finnick said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Still no response.

"Annie…it's me. It's Finnick. You're alright now." He took a step toward her.

Suddenly, Annie spun around to face him. Finnick reeled backwards at the sight of her—her face was white as a sheet and bore an expression of pure hatred that he had never seen on it before. She had extremely pronounced dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in weeks. But what truly scared him was the appearance of her eyes themselves. Her once beautiful green orbs were now unrecognizable, wide and vicious and bright red.

She was right in front of him before he even had time to react, her fingers closing on his throat with a surprising amount of force. Finnick, even while he was gasping for air, couldn't bring himself to feel as afraid as he was completely devastated that that piercing, vengeful glare was somehow directed at him.

"Annie!" He coughed. "Annie, please, it's…me!"

"Finnick! Dammit, Plutarch, get in here!" Came another panicked voice.

Finnick felt several people crowd in the room. It took more than one of them to pull Annie off of him at the same time someone else roughly took him by the shoulders and dragged him backwards and out of the room.

Once he was standing out in the hall with whoever had pulled him out, he doubled over, still coughing and trying to catch his breath. His rescuer gently thumped him on the back.

"Easy, son," said Haymitch. "You alright?"

Finnick nodded, although he certainly wasn't alright. He didn't understand what had just happened, and it scared him to death. He could hear her tortured screams along with a few other muffled voices behind the now closed door. What did they do to her?

The screams fell quiet after about a minute and Plutarch emerged from the room, followed by a few medics. The medics gave Finnick some sympathetic glances before dispersing back into the ward to tend to the other patients. Finnick turned to Plutarch, ready to demand answers.

"What the hell have they done to her?"

"I'm sorry, Finnick," Plutarch said, sounding slightly winded. "We didn't realize that you'd come in; I was hoping to be able to talk to you before—"

"What have they done to her, Plutarch?"

Plutarch sighed. "We're not entirely sure yet. Our scientists are still trying to work out exactly what happened. From what we've been able to tell so far, they gave her a series of injections that essentially warps the brain into something almost…animalistic. Something similar happened to Peeta, although we've been able to determine that they haven't been subjected to the exact same transformations."

"So…" Finnick wasn't quite sure what he wanted to ask. "What do you know…so far?"

Plutarch exchanged a quick look with Haymitch before continuing. "We've had people do some research, and what she's been turned into most closely resembles something that existed in fairy tales a long time ago, ages before the Dark Days and before Panem even existed. It's called a vampire. What we've been able to gather is that it's a type of subhuman species that has a severely diminished capacity for communication and self-control and feeds on…well, feeds on blood."

At this point, Finnick had to steady himself against the wall and weakly raise one hand to ask Plutarch to stop talking. This was too much to handle. To see Annie like that had been one thing. But to hear that she wasn't even human…

"Is there any way to reverse it?" He finally whispered.

"We're not sure yet. Like I said, we're still trying to figure out exactly what it is that's happened. But we have some of our best people working on it and we'll keep you updated as we make progress."

Finnick closed his eyes and nodded. "Thank you."

Plutarch nodded. "I'm sorry, Finnick." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Finnick with Haymitch.

"They're going to do everything they can for her, Finnick," said Haymitch, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Finnick just stared at the ground. He had no idea what to say or what to feel or what to do. "Just when I thought I had gotten her back…"

"I know," Haymitch replied. "Peeta…well, he's going through something similar. I have no idea how Katniss is taking it…" he trailed off. "You wanna just be alone for a while?"

"Yes, please." Finnick rubbed his eyes, trying to speak clearly around the lump in his throat.

Haymitch clapped him on the shoulder and walked away slowly.

Once Haymitch was out of sight, Finnick slid down against the wall to sit on the floor. He hugged his knees and buried his face in his arms, no longer able to hold back his tears. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. He remembered, through the haziness in his brain, something that he had said to Katniss when the Capitol had first captured Annie, Peeta, and Johanna: "I wish she was dead. I wish they were all dead and we were, too. It would be best."

Overcome by another wave of despair, he realized that those words were still true.