AN- My first Hunger Games fanfiction, in fact my first fanfiction in a very long time. I've been working on actual writing, but having just re-read the books I was struck again by my love of all things Finnick.

"Your mum's going to worry."

I give a dismissive nod of my head, "She always worries."

Cora sighs behind me, but I still hear the gentle sinking of her feet in the sand as she walks away. Lately, the shore has been the only place I can find any peace. And the peace that I find is fleeting at best. Even now, I can feel the damp sand and icy water losing its appeal. Probably because my mother just revealed to me that my beach was actually his beach too, and anything that was his could never really be mine. Yet another thing Finnick Odair has unknowingly taken from me.

I feel a great wave of shame crash over me, a familiar feeling when it comes to my late father. I must truly be some kind of monster to resent my dad when he is neither present to defend himself nor guilty of anything in the first place. Yet as selfish as it sounds, as much as my worries pale in comparison to that of my parents, my life isn't easy. Being the son of a legend is daunting at the best of times.

I look out at the moon, its silvery light reflecting off the unsettled sea. It is getting pretty dark and I know I should go home. Cora was understating; my mum's probably lost in her own head with fear, eyes blinded by visions of her past. I hate making her worry, but I almost hate being home more. Every time she looks at me, I know she sees him.

Still I'm not that much of a horrible son, so I gather my things, meaning the short length of rope I take with me everywhere, and head home. Our house is still situated in the Victor's Village, despite my mum hating it. Her and my dad's entire families were killed long before I was born. She didn't really have much choice. There was one other man who lived in the Victor's Village, but everyone refused to tell me about him, and I was banned from approaching his house.

When I did eventually unlock my front door, my mother was immediately at my throat, stuttering in that nervous way that she does.

"D-Damn it, Finnick! You know I h-h-hate it when you're home l-late!"

I press a kiss to her trembling cheek. She doesn't look well, but she never does around this time of year. It's the anniversary of the revolution soon or more importantly to us, of my dad's death, "'M sorry mum." I don't promise to never do it again. Chances are I'll stay out late tomorrow night too.

Her thin hands brush through her dirty, knotted hair and she sighs. My guilt has returned at the sight of her, along with concern. My mother is looking particularly fragile tonight and I want to punch myself for not being empathetic enough.

"I really am sorry," I offer again, "Are…are you alright?"

She smiles then, just big enough that I know I'm not really in trouble. Not that I ever thought I would be. She rests one hand on my cheek and the other pets down my hair, trying to tame my windswept mane.

"Look at me," she mutters, "have to lean up to kiss you now. You've grown up fast."

She does in fact have to stand on her tiptoes to kiss me goodnight. Before she reaches the stairs she pauses suddenly and freezes. I know that she's just sort of checked out of the world for a moment, as she often does. When I was younger it used to freak me out, but I understand now that's just what the Games did to her.

"Goodnight, mum." I say a bit too loudly, just to help her along.

Her head sort of twitches to the side before she nods and continues up the stairs. I swing past the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water, ignoring the mess my mother made of the house in my wake. Maybe she walked in her sleep again.

Things aren't perfect. They aren't even good. But from what I've heard, they've been much worse.