Chapter two! I realize that the chapters in this story are going to be a bit longer than usual, but not by much. Just a heads-up. Also, this one isn't super exciting.
Challenge
(ANNIE)
The moment the guards are gone, I'm on my feet, running for him. "Broadsea!" I say desperately. I put my hands on his face but he doesn't respond.
His hands are bound above his head, chained to the wall. He's just hanging there because his legs are too weak to hold his weight. His eyes are shut; he's not moving. The deep, long gash the Peacekeepers cut in his abdomen is bleeding so much. Too much. He's practically painted in his own blood.
I manage to unchain him, and he slides down to the ground. "Broadsea, please," I beg. Nothing. I grab the little canteen Doctor Herr gave us and force him to drink. He starts coughing. Then he groans. "Keep drinking. Come on."
His eyes start to flutter. "Annie . . ." he manages.
"I'm here," I gasp.
He winces and looks down at his wound. Then he curses. I grab a scrap of cloth and press it against the wound. And I start to cry. "Did they hurt you?"
I shake my head, sniffling. "No." They just made me watch as they cut him open and tortured him with knives. I had to listen to him screaming. They told them they would stop. All he had to do was tell him what they wanted to know. He told them to go to hell. And they started hurting him again.
"Then don't cry," he says quietly. "Not for me. I'm not worth your tears."
"Annie? Sweetheart?" Finnick says. I open my eyes and find him hovering over me, gently wiping away my tears. Cillian is crying softly from his cradle. "It's okay now. We're all okay. Don't be scared. Don't worry." He keeps talking to me in that soothing tone until I calm down. "Don't cry, sweetie."
I wipe my eyes and look around. "Cilly. He must be hungry."
"I'll get him." Finnick climbs out of bed and retrieves the baby. I pull myself up to sit as Finnick hands him to me. "Are you all right?"
I nod. "Bad dream."
"Annie." He sets his hand on my knee. "You can tell me about it. You know that, right?"
"I know. I just . . ." I trail off.
"I understand." He smiles and nods. Pretending it doesn't bother him. But I know that it does. "I love you, Annie."
[LATER]
The government wants all us victors to wear our crowns to the Opening Ceremonies. It's symbolic or something. I destroyed mine when I go it, so they have me wear Mags's instead. I nearly cry when they put it on.
Johanna and I won't let the stylists put necklaces on us; Peeta refuses to wear a tie or button his shirt up all the way. Anything on our necks reminds us of the shock collars we wore in prison.
They've spared no expense on our wardrobe. Dodge is clad all in black, Peeta and Haymitch wear coal-colored suits, Beetee's dressed in steely gray, and Finnick's suit is the color of the sea at night. Enobaria's dress looks like marble. Johanna's is a beautiful green. Mine's the color of the sea before a storm. And of course, Katniss's dress makes her look like she's burning.
We take our seats in chronological order by district. The box we're in also contains Gamemakers, department heads, and representatives from the districts without victors. One of the department heads is Plutarch.
There's some small talk, then President Paylor calls us all to attention. She's wearing a blue dress, big earrings, and a diamond necklace. She's gorgeous. I never noticed before.
Then the tributes come rolling out in their chariots.
Most of the tributes are relatives of the old regime. Snow's granddaughter, Circe. Gamemakers' children. Lazarus and Telemachus Belisarius's – the old Head Peacekeeper and the prison warden – niece and nephew were reaped, too.
Paylor gives her introduction. She explains that two children were chosen by each district – not including 13. And on. And on. And on.
Afterwards, we're invited to her home for dinner. The dinner guests include everyone that sat in the box with us. There's also a handful of Capitol-born people now involved in the new government.
"I feel the Capitol should have an industry," Beetee says as a servant pours him wine.
"They do," says Finnick. "Self-mutilation." He looks at me and smiles.
"I agree with you, Beetee," says Paylor. "They use most of the country's resources and give nothing back."
"Annie?" Plutarch says. I snap my head up. "It's good to see you again."
"You too," I say. "It's been too long."
"It has. How's your boy?"
"Cillian? He's wonderful," I say. "Absolutely adorable."
I look over at Finnick, who's talking to Johanna. She she's looking at him the way I do – with adoration in her eyes and a smile on her face and color in her cheeks. She's looking at him like she's in love with him. He winks at her, seemingly oblivious to all the affection in her gaze.
"He looks just like his father," I continue quietly.
"I'd like to meet him sometime," Plutarch says.
"You should." I snap out of my semi-trance and turn back to him. "He'll like you."
By the time we're done with the main course, the small-talk has ceased and the serious discussion has begun.
"There is still opposition in the Capitol," says Paylor.
"I thought it was destroyed," says Enobaria.
"Nothing is ever completely destroyed," Peeta says. "It's just . . . delayed for a while."
"Well, what are you planning to do about it?" asks Haymitch.
"Nothing," Paylor replies. "Not until they give me occasion to."
Finnick wraps his arm around my waist and kisses me on the head. "How are you?" he asks quietly.
"I'm okay," I say. "You?"
"Bored," he says. "Painfully bored." He leans back in his chair and stretches his arm across the back of mine.
I smile. "Poor Finnick. This must be torture for you."
He picks up his glass of wine from the table and takes a sip. "I know. The fact that I've lasted through the first two courses is nothing short of a miracle."
I giggle as servants come out with dessert – artfully crafted chocolate pastries, slices of cake with fruit shavings on them, really anything you can think of.
"Plutarch, I assume you'll be reprising your role as Head Gamemaker?" Johanna says.
"Indeed I am," he says, wiping the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "I also have one or two representatives from each of the districts without surviving victors. And the president and I were hoping that you – you, being the victors – would assist us."
"Shouldn't the arena have been designed already?" Beetee asks.
"We're working off of blueprints that the old regime had," says Plutarch. "We've got everything up and running, but we need more, ah, challenges."
"Challenges?" I ask.
"Like the monkeys and the jabberjays from last year," Finnick says to me. He winces at the word jabberjays.
I don't reply.
"I won't help you," Beetee says. "Perhaps one of the victors that voted yes will. But I cannot."
There's silence for a short while before Katniss asks, "Would the vote have turned out differently? If Finnick and Dodge had been part of it?"
"No," says Dodge. "I don't know what Finnick would've done, but I would've voted yes."
"I'll help you," Johanna says thoughtfully, staring at her glass of wine.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Enobaria asks.
"Plutarch," she says, looking at him. "I'll help you with the challenges."
Finnick looks at her, stricken. "Johanna."
"You would've helped," she says. She looks like she wants to say more, but stops herself at the last moment.
"I'll help," Haymitch pipes. "But I'll need some more wine first."
When the meal is officially finished, we're all invited into the library for coffee; Johanna, Haymitch, Enobaria, Dodge, and Katniss are hauled away by Plutarch to help him brainstorm. The rest of us go back to the mansion.
I hop into the shower. When I come out, I find Finnick on the bed. He's holding Cillian in one hand and a little rattle in the other. He waves it over Cilly's head, making him giggle. "What's this?" Finnick asks, giving the rattle a shake. "It's pretty funny looking, isn't it?" Finnick looks up when he hears me laughing. He grins at me.
I climb onto the bed. I end up on my knees behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and chin resting on his collar bone.
"He's adorable and he knows it," Finnick says proudly. Cilly's big blue eyes open widely as he watches Finnick move the rattle. "Don't you, buddy?"
Just then, Cillian starts crying. "He's probably hungry," I say. "Give him to me."
Finnick hands him over somewhat reluctantly. "He likes you better."
"No he doesn't. You're just jealous – as usual," I tease. There's a pause. "What did Johanna mean when she said you would've helped with the challenges?"
He sighs. "I don't know. I stopped trying to understand her a very long time ago."
"She thinks she understands you," I say without looking at him. "She thinks she knows you better than I do."
"The sad truth is she hasn't really known me in years. She's still my friend, but . . ."
"What drove you apart?"
"Things changed; I stopped being miserable. She didn't," he says as I hand Cillian back. He walks toward the cradle and starts rocking him to sleep.
"You were miserable?" I ask quietly.
"Yes," he says, still looking at Cilly. "About as miserable as a person can get."
"What made it stop?"
He smiles. "Mags was the one who started pulling me out of the rut when I was almost nineteen. And then you came along. And you know the rest."
No. Not all of it. I'm not even sure how much. "You never talk about your life before we met."
"What's to tell?" He puts Cillian in his cradle; he turns back and crosses his arms over his chest. "You never talk about yours either."
"You know about mine. My brother and I lived on a boat with our father until he died. Then we moved in with our aunt and cousins. She made nets for a living and we'd help her."
"I thought you and Britton stole food," Finnick says accusingly.
"We did. But we were never starving." I sigh. "We stole bread once. Britton got caught, and the Peacekeepers whipped him."
Finnick tightens his jaw. He's been looking right at me, but I don't think he was listening. "Go to bed. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow."
