Victims of disobedience can never run very far.
When you grow up in District Four, you see storms coming.
It is one of the first things that people here teach their children: how waves look if there is a hurricane offshore, how clouds change when thunder and lightning approach, what it means when the wind picks up and the clouds are racing; which birds leave with the change of season, and what part of the District is best to seek shelter in should the waves be too high. They know what time of year the jellies will gather offshore, and what season the dead ones will wash up onto the beaches.
It is like President Snow's whim, though his is consistently cruel, where the weather is, comparatively, just plain consistent.
It serves to reason that Finnick should have realized, a month before Annie is scheduled to depart on her Victory Tour, that all of the signs point to an attachment he will not easily sever.
He thinks he misses Annie cooking him breakfast. He thinks he misses how she took care of him, but he chalks this up to being poor company for himself.
Mr. Cresta, according to Mags, has begun drinking beyond what he had before. Finnick almost wants to know, if Mags has heard from the Capitol. She never tells, and he is too much of a coward to actually seek out this truth. He tries not to care, when he sees Annie sitting out in the sun on the edge of the stone jetty. He tries not to notice, if and when she notices him, how she scurries like a little guppy back to her house, draws the curtains tight. He does not try to approach her.
(Annie Cresta is going to suffer.
But wasn't that always going to be the case?)
The Capitol does not call Finnick, nor send him envelopes or roses. There are no mandatory viewings, and so, Finnick tries his best to ignore the television. He has no choice, really, because he is expected to keep up with the gossip, and trends.
(That is the part which Snow has never had to remind Finnick of; never officially assign:
to pay attention to what is happening.
Finnick is nothing if not observant.)
The television mentions Annie. Those times are few and far between, until the announcements are made for the dates of the Victory Tour. Some on the screen have speculated that, perhaps, it had not been the Arena at all, which drove Annie Cresta mad. Perhaps madness had already existed, below the surface; the Arena simply drew it out for all to see.
They show select sections of her Games. Claudius Templesmith and Caesar Flickerman are anticipating the Victory Tour, anticipating a Victor who, Finnick knows, can never be who these people seek. He watches it, because he has not seen it before. He wants to see if he can recognize the exact moment when Annie Cresta had broken.
These are the 'highlights': her first kill, a weakling girl from Twelve who Annie caught in the throat with the flick of a knife; her first co-kill with her allies, when Annie, and the boy from District Two, had gutted the boy and girl from three while they were caught in one of her nets; her face, in grief and loss and horror, when Dom's blood splattered across it (when the head rolled to rest between her feet). The favorite, by far, though, is the image of her shrieking at the dead corpses she has drowned beneath the floodwaters. Her tears, her screams, her talking to things which only she can see, they delicately edit out. They only show madness where it accentuates her Victory. They edit out her breakdown during the highlights' review; as well as that on the stage. Finnick did not know that she sobbed after Snow crowned her.
He thinks he spots where she broke. It is before Dom's death.
Annie Cresta had not snapped at her partner's beheading, not exactly.
It is before, when innards drape out like coils, and the boy from Two rips them out and throws them around her shoulders-
Annie Cresta is going to suffer, Finnick reminds himself.
(No renmen li, Mags croaks inside his head.
Stay the hell away from this girl, you moron.)
Mags hosts a dinner one night, not only for the Victors but their families, too. Finnick refuses the invitation.
Only then, Mags calls in the late afternoon, saying her head is bothering her, that she thinks she is having another stroke. He rushes over, and when he throws the door opened, he knows with a wince that Mags knows him too well.
(He really does hate her sometimes.)
Annie is there, but will not look at him; Aslin is there, but stares coldly at Finnick. Bo, at least, manages a polite smile, though he continues the conversation about things that Finnick really does not care about, and thus the conversation buzz-buzz-buzzes around and around.
Mr. Cresta has declined. Bo says he is not well, he has had a nasty influenza. Apparently, Annie has stayed by his side, out of concern for her father. He has not been able to work, and though he has no real need, he has tried daily to sneak out to work without Annie noticing. He further will not hear of them calling a healer, never mind going to a medical center. On his assurance that he would be all right for one night alone, Annie had agreed to come to Mags' dinner with the rest of her family.
The water turns to wine, and the tension between Finnick and the Crestas seems to lessen, though not thaw completely. Bo Cresta slips easily into conversation, telling stories about the docks and the fishing ships he has worked on. Aslin, though guardedly hostile in Finnick's experience, laughs and joins when Bo talks about their engagement. Meme, Pesca's matchmaker, set them up back when the pair were fourteen. Their first meeting in person, alone, Bo had been so intimidated that he had thrown up all over Aslin's family's front porch.
"This gal's already beautiful without makeup, right? You see her with it on, ya'll'd feel inadequate, too!"
"Ridikil." Aslin kissed Bo's cheek. "I figured, he's already puking on my porch, may as well get engaged to the poor thing."
Annie, quiet always when there are so many people about, shakes her head with a smile. Their conversation continues, joking and loving all in the same breath. Bo and Aslin had apparently agreed to break it off if either should meet someone else by the time they were eighteen.
"Or, if either of us was…" Bo trails off, and Annie sits there, staring at her plate.
If either of us was Reaped. They do not have to say it. After all, they are surrounded by Victors. They do not need to add that they had been waiting for Annie to be finished with the Games; finished with the threat of a Reaping.
Annie begins to hum softly, one hand easing up to her ear.
The subject promptly changes to abalone.
After dinner, still decidedly keeping himself separate from the others, Finnick steps out back. He breathes in low-tide off the marshes to the east. Crowds do not bother him, but incessant company does, at times, and knowing that Annie Cresta is going to suffer makes him want to draw as far away from all these people as possible. He rests on Mags' fishing dock, letting bare feet touch the water. He hears the rest of the Victors inside, laughing and singing, only slightly slurred by drunkenness. Someone plays a stringed gita, leads them in some older District Four traditionals. The music drifts out through the opened windows, kisses the landscape in a way even the sun never can. Daran's voice overpowers the others, a sad excuse for singing, but it is evened out by his wife's sweeter tones.
Mags' house faces Victor's Inlet, with a series of barrier islands between the shore and the opened sea. Watch-shacks, used by Peacekeepers out in the marshy barriers, dot every other one, monitoring routes to the opened ocean. Most shacks are only occupied at dawn and dusk. They block Mags' view far more than they do Finnick's, at the end of the row.
The only beach with no barrier islands is the one that is always shown on television. In reality, even that beach, glittering with white sands, is cocooned within a large, half-moon-shaped harbor. Off shore there are protective reefs, to divert disaster as best as they can. There are barriers, too, offshore. President Snow has put them in place, so that no one can truly get beyond his reach.
District Four is on the coast, yes, but no fool would put a whole District on the open ocean without some safety regulations. Not even President Snow.
Finnick can see some lights on inside some of the watch-shacks, narrowing his eyes because damned if the Capitol does not ruin everything, even the view.
"Hello." Annie offers from behind him.
She does not meet his eyes, when he turns to her. He knows her hesitation is because of his notes.
"Hello." Finnick clears his throat. He pats the space next to him, after a moment.
I don't hate you, Annie, Finnick wishes he could say it out loud. I just don't want you to hurt me.
She sits next to him, though leaving a good foot between them, for which he is grateful. He struggles, because she is sweet and she does not deserve this (do any of us?) and he just wants to get a boat and sail them as far away from the Capitol as they can get.
"Wanna play guppies?" he asks, only half-managing to attain an undertone of innuendo.
Annie, apparently, misses it. "Sunset's soon."
For anyone caught on or in the water after sunset, the punishment is a public whipping in the town square. That is, if the boat in question is not shot to bits in apprehension.
They are not like District Twelve; most rules are enforced in Four.
Annie's thumb and forefinger worry a lock of her hair. Most of the patches she had ripped out have since grown back, but she still fiddles with it often enough that he wonders how long she will go before another breakdown.
"No guppies till morning, Odair."
Finnick shrugs at the reminder, and Annie smiles. He thinks it is the first genuine smile he has seen since… well, he does not actually know. It might be the first genuine smile she has given him (because it can't be genuine if she's in the midst of a fit, can it?). He lets uncertainty rest, and turns his gaze back to the ocean.
The tune of the music inside the house changes; the fast-paced dancing reel played at weddings. Annie glances over her shoulder, before looking shyly to Finnick.
"This's my favorite," she murmurs, looking away.
He does not respond. He is unsure if he ought to.
"I went to Meme, last year." she bites her lower lip. "Bo's story reminded me."
"Oh?" Finnick raises an eyebrow. "You have someone hidden away?"
"Maybe." she twirls her hair around her forefinger.
"Do I know him? Was he at the party, the other day?"
She is staring at the water, her smile fading to a thin upturn.
"Aw, c'mon." Finnick places a hand over his heart. "Aren't I trustworthy?"
Annie laughs, though it is really just an empty exhale. "But he…"
He watches her disappear in her mind. He waits for her to come back, but she does not.
"Annie?" he prompts.
She takes a moment further; eventually, she peeks at him, uncertain and shy. He sees a wide-eyed innocence that should not have to be shattered. He ruins it anyway, because he would rather she remembers now, where he might help bring her back, than when she is alone in her house with a passed-out father and jumbled memories that do not make sense.
(You just don't want to be miserable on your own.
Admit it: you ruined her, and now, you seek her company.)
"You were saying something. You remember?"
"Oh?" Annie clears her throat. She shifts, looking down at the ripples her toes cause in the water. "Was Dom."
"Dom?"
She ho-hums. Finnick stiffens, realizing what she is saying. Dom, her district partner. Her district partner is who the matchmaker had paired her with. And his head had rolled at her feet.
"It's not that we…" she trails off. Hands twist at the hem of her shirt, now, instead, with a vengeance. "Knew each other well. I didn't like him, even. Not like that. He was older."
"I thought he was Waterside," Finnick says quietly.
"He is- was. His uncle…" Annie nods to herself. Her hands release her shirt, hang in midair as she stares at them. A light laugh precedes her question; "The Extremis?"
Finnick nods. He is unsure, though, if she is really looking for a confirmation, or if this is her explanation. Everyone in District Four knows the late tribute's uncle. Dhow Furler's ship, the Extremis, is the largest privately-owned fishing ship in Waterside. Dom, Annie's deceased district partner, had been raised by Dhow in Waterside, training most of his life. He had been seventeen, muscular, and a strong contender.
"Our mamas…," Annie trails away again, but returns more firmly, diction careful. "Grew up Waterside, married Pesca. His parents died when he was little. He didn't come back to Pesca. I guess he must've asked Meme to match him…? But I don't really know him- didn't. He said hi, but I didn'treally know him."
They still trained in the same complex. Mags had said Dom had looked out for Annie, in the Arena, and this could explain why. They might actually have kept each other alive until they absolutely could not avoid it.
(Might've, would've, could've-
They might have courted, gotten married, lived happily ever after.
They would have had hundreds of redhaired babies who breathed saltwater
whose eyes lit like the seas, as seen from beneath the waves.
They could have liked making food at three in the morning-)
None of that matters now. The boy is dead. Decapitated, his head at Annie's feet where she had been hidden. She screamed and screamed, they say; screamed herself out of her mind. Annie had hooked knives in the boy and girl who had done it, wounds they succumbed to quickly. They rarely mention that, when talking of her madness; instead, they mention it, when speaking of her as a Victor and Capitol mouthpiece. She had laughed in a cave, till the end, while covered in their blood. Annie Cresta walks a fine line, between being fascinating the Capitol, and being an aberration.
Annie Cresta is going to suffer.
(Hasn't that always been the case?)
"On bad days, I see him."
He knows where she is coming from, now. Finnick watches her, carefully. He sees no recent injections on her inner arms, and wonders what the hell they are thinking. Without his help, are they struggling to give her the shots? No, that cannot be; surely, they would not just let her go unmedicated?
She's doing well, Finnick, his brain tries to reason. Maybe she's getting better without you.
"Dom says things... when I see him," Annie says quietly. Her eyes are squinting. "Is that real, Finnick?"
"No," Finnick tries to look her in the eyes, tries to get to her, but he does not know if it works. "No, Annie, that's not real."
"Good," she nods, eyelashes batting. She seems mildly reassured.
Finnick understands some of what might have been said. Or, what she has imagined Dom to say. What if Finnick had a matchmaker before his Games? What if his match had been put in the Arena, with him? What if he had actually cared about his partner?
Would you still have slit her throat, Finnick Odair?
(He hates the voice that answers back, Probably.)
One hand is edging to Annie's ear.
"I'm sorry." Finnick's words sound lame, but nothing else comes to mind.
"S'okay."
Annie pauses before she gingerly puts her hand on his, stares for a long moment. It is strange, that she seems to do it to comfort him, more than herself. A moment passes before she frowns, mouth hanging opened for a moment. She is blinking rapidly. Her fingers tighten around his hand, gradually, at first, then full-force. He winces, but does not pull away.
"What's the matter?" Finnick prompts. He recognizes that warning sign for what it is. Is it a hallucination?
"I…" she gulps, and he sees the eyes glassing over, breath quickening. She is beginning to panic. Her eyes widen, look straight at him; she is remembering something. "Got a call?"
"On the telephone?" Finnick's tone may be casual, but the concern immediately drags at the back of his mind.
(Annie Cresta is going to suffer.)
Annie nods slowly in confirmation, suddenly jerking her hand away from his. Her breath is becoming more ragged.
"When?"
Hands are developing a tremor. "Pa konnen."
"Can I ask what it was about?" Can I ask if it was that son-of-a-bitch? Can I ask if I can rip his damn throat out? When she does not respond, Finnick swallows over a lump in his throat. "Who was it, Annie?"
"He…" she reaches a hand up, rubs at her neck. Her eyes focus on the water. "N-not getting better. The tour. You- I need to try, more. Obligations to fulfill."
She begins rocking, slightly. Her eyes are wide, glassing over; and he can see she is disappearing. There is more, Finnick knows there is more, and he knows doing this will only make her worse, but he needs to know what was said.
Annie Cresta is going to suffer, he tries to bite back the thought.
The President does not make idle threats. And nobody says 'Fuck the Capitol' on live television.
"What, exactly, did he say?" Finnick's voice is sharper than he means to use on her.
President Snow has left a memory in Annie's head, and lets it come out now, in her own personal form of torment- because the Mad Girl hadn't behaved, remember?
Let it come out to torment Finnick- he has a weak spot for (weak) sweet things, remember?
"Have to have the others help fix me. Not learning on your own, Miss Cresta?" her voice is disconnected. She rocks harder now, hands gripping just below her ears on either side of her neck. She looks ready to choke herself. "May have to stay with us for an extended treatment, no one there can treat you how you need. She has some poor role models, in the District. We would hate for you to be distracted by y-… your family." her lips hang open, before a hand slides over, covering her mouth. Eyes snap to his, focused and clear when she hardly whispers; "It happened, Finnick, and he's so angry."
"I know," Finnick feels the words leave but it is as if someone else is speaking them; someone unaffected and apathetic and able to ignore the similarities (there really are so many). "I'm sorry."
"Oh."
Lucidity disappears quickly as it had come, and she shakes her head, clamps hands over her ears. Finnick's jaw clenches. All he can do is watch her, feeling helpless. Snow threatened the Crestas, knowing Annie would forget; knowing she would, eventually, remember. Snow is toying with her, pushing her limits, seeing how mad she is, seeing how he can play with this new doll of his. (Masters always need to know the limits of their pets, isn't that right?) Annie sways, head jerking forward and back with her body's motion. Her eyes are squinting, hands tightly gripping her ears now.
"Your p-Papa isn't looking so good, is he? Such a shame."
Your Papa isn't looking so good. Finnick is on his feet before he realizes it, rushing through the sandy grass towards the Cresta's house. The door is unlocked, and eerily silent. Eery, for Mr. Cresta is never this quiet a person, even in his sleep.
Finnick should have known, and yet, and yet, and yet. Mr. Cresta's body is cold on the living room floor. Blood has pooled and dried on the floor where it had flowed out of his mouth.
Poison.
The President sends personal physicians to 'investigate.'
They say Mr. Cresta had a bad heart.
When they tell Annie, she jumps in the water, and has to be dragged out.