Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own the Hunger Games.

Year 9- Shooting Stars

She walked gently out on to the beach. He was curled up in a ball, his legs tucked up to his chest. Every once in a while, the waves would lap at his feet. He didn't notice, too absorbed in his own troubles. In the moonlight, his youth looked even younger than normal.

"Finn," Annie called out. Her voice was strangled and upset. He turned around to look at her, but didn't acknowledge her in any way. She sat down in the sand near him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just peachy," the sarcasm rang clearly in his voice, but she could sense the hurt underneath.

"Finn, everyone's looking for you. You've got to go back." Her voice was gentle and quiet.

"No," he replied, "I'm never going back." He turned towards her, and she could see the tears glistening on his face. She was worried. Finnick never cried. "I have nothing left to live for. I want to die," His eyes were sunken and hollow.

She gasped, and her hands flew to her mouth. "No, Finn! You can't."

He looked at her, calm and leveled. "It wouldn't be hard. There's a riptide just a little out. Eventually the current would win out." He had stood up, and had turned towards the beach. Annie could tell he was serious.

She grabbed his arm. "No, Finn. You can't!" He pulled against her. He was strong, but she was determined. Nobody was drowning tonight. He struggled, and suddenly she whipped him around to look at her.

"Look at me, Finn," she said, and her voice was cold and steely. "Look at my eyes, my face, my smile, and remember them forever. And if you ever have a crazy thought like this ever again, you imagine what would happen to this smile if you left this Earth. This smile would never come back! Do you understand? Never!"

He turned away from her, and collapsed on the ground, sobbing. She had never seen him cry. Never. Not even when a trident had impaled him straight through the hand, not when a puffer fish blew itself up in his hands. She rubbed his back gently. "You can cry. It doesn't make you any less of a man. Everything will be okay."

He looked as if he was just five, even though he was nine, and a big boy, as he claimed proudly. He didn't deserve this. Nobody deserved this.

They had been out sailing. The salty water was spraying her, and the wind blew in her face. Finnick expertly controlled the sailboat until they reached the small island. He unrolled the blanket, and they played cards while eating their sandwiches.

They were almost home when they heard the bell tolling. Bong! Bong! Bong!

Annie looked at Finnick worriedly, "Oh no. Three hits mean a public execution. I don't want to go."

"We have to go," he countered, "The Peacemakers will punish us if we don't. Besides, it's kind of fun watching some crazy drunk be whipped."

"Finn!" she was appalled, "How could you say that?"

He grinned sheepishly, "I was just kidding. But we have to go, or we'll surely be punished. Come on."

She followed him, unsure. She never liked attending whippings or public executions, which were rarer, but she especially had a bad feeling about this one.

They arrived, and all she could hear were the cries of outrage by many fishermen. She couldn't see over the crowd, and dust and soot got in her eyes. But Finnick pressed on, holding her hand as he pushed through the crowds.

They were stopped suddenly by a Peacekeeper named Nikkoe. Nikkoe was young, only around 23, and he was nicer than the other Peacekeepers, never really pulling his weight around. He had a liking for Finnick, sometimes slipping him pieces of saltwater taffy.

He put himself between Finnick and the posts. "Son, I think you should run along home, son. This is not the place for a boy like you. Not right now."

Finnick, usually quite intuitive, was dense right now. He didn't get it. "All kids over eight have to attend public whippings. I need to find my dad and Grandma." He pushed past Nikkoe and reached the center of the crowd.

Annie was there when he saw his father in the stocks, barely recognizable, barely conscious. Canna was a bloody mess, the skin on his bare back bloody like a slab of meat.

Finnick's breathing was shallow and ragged. He looked like he was about to cry. He moved closer to his father, causing cries of "Don't do it, boy," and "Get that kid out of here,"

Canna Odair's eyes fluttered open as Finnick neared. "Fi- Finnick," he murmured. Finnick nodded and took his dad's hand. All he could think of was Jesus, Jesus being killed by the people. His dad even looked like Jesus, with his curly brown hair and beard. No, no, his dad wouldn't die. Finnick wouldn't let him.

"It's me, d-dad," he spoke, and his voice broke, "I'm here."

His dad whispered something unintelligible, but then said, "Finnick, you have to keep up the family business. Remember, the best fish are the hardest to catch. I love you, son. I'm sorry I have to leave. I love you."

Blood trailed down the edge of his mouth from the effort. His right arm reached toward his neck, and he pulled off something gold and gleaming: a gold necklace. He placed it in Finnick's hand, "Here, son. It was your mother's. I was going to give it to you when you were older, when you would understand, but that's not an option now. I hope you'll comprehend." If Finnick had a sliver of hope before, it was all gone now.

Axel, the Head Peacekeeper, roughly pushed Finnick away. He strode up to where Canna was chained and spat in his face. "You deserve to die. Crazy rebel!"

Finnick heard his dad try to speak, but Canna choked on the blood flowing from his mouth. Axel kicked him, hard. "Wanna speak, rebel? Wanna tell everyone how dumb your crazy ideas are?"

Canna struggled to speak. "I'm happy that I get to die a noble death. May one day all fishermen be f-free!" The exertion of talking caused even more blood to gush out of his mouth, like a red waterfall. He said one last thing. "Finnick, go away. I don't want you to see this."

But Finnick couldn't move. His feet were glued to the dusty earth. He gripped Annie's hand so tightly that she was afraid it would fall off. But she knew she wouldn't let go.

Two Peacekeepers untied Canna, while two others brought in four horses. Finnick had never seen a horse before. All he could think about was how they looked nothing like sea horses. The Peacekeepers tied each of Canna's limbs to a horse. Finnick wanted desperately to shut his eyes. He knew what was going to happen. He had read about this punishment in one of the forbidden books his father had shown him.

Someone, Finnick didn't know who, put their hands over Finnick's eyes. He pushed them away. He watched with wide pained eyes as the Peacekeepers set the horses running in four different directions. The crowd roared in outrage as Canna's bloody body split into four pieces, but Axel shot a bullet from his pistol and everyone quieted. His father never yelled, never uttered a word. Finnick told himself that when he died, he would die without a cry of pain, die in acceptance like his father.

Peacekeepers collected the four pieces and tossed them in the ocean, jeering and mocking as they did. This is when Finnick ran. He wrenched his hands free from Annie's iron grip. He had forgotten she was there. He brushed past the people who tried to grab at him, and swerved around Nikkoe, who called at him. He ran on his quick legs, not caring where he ran, just wanted to get as far away from this wretched place as he could.

He didn't walk, and he got to his special strip of beach in less than twenty minutes. Normally, he would enjoy the beautiful sunset setting where water meets sky, but tonight he hated it. The reds reminded him of the blood gushing and spilling from his father's mouth, the oranges of the wretched Peacekeeper's uniforms, and the pinks of the color that slowly drained from his father's cheeks.

He was just going to wait here. He felt like he was sailing without a map. And his boat had just been sucked into a whirlpool.

Annie looked at Finnick, his beautiful sea green eyes fresh with sorrow and pain. He was only nine, just like her. No nine-year-old should have to go through this.

"Finn," she said softly. He made some sort of weird noise in response. She draped her arms around him and pulled him close.

"What am I going to do, Annie?" he asked. His voice was strained.

She knew that in his mind, his life was over. His dad was everything to him. She remembered the conversation they had just about a month ago.

"Annie, I don't think your mom likes me."

Annie just laughed, "Why do you think that, Finn?"

"She always looks at me like I'm something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't like you hanging around with me."

Annie had been walking back from school with Finnick and she stopped. "That's crazy, Finn. You saved my life! The weird looks are only because she thinks your father's crazy. A lot of people in District Four do, actually."

Finnick whirled on Annie, "What are you talking about?" he yelled, "My dad's not crazy!"

Annie's voice was quiet. She knew Finnick yelled when he was upset, but the anger had never been directed towards her. She was terrified.

"Finnick, you know about your dad. He's a rebel, always spreading anti-Capitol propaganda. Everyone thinks so." Annie knew it was true. Many a time her mother would come home, talking about Canna Odair's crazy rants and optimistic plans.

Finnick looked at her, hate brimming in his eyes. "Oh, so just because everyone thinks it makes it right, huh? Just follow the school of fish into the shark's mouth?"

Annie shrunk in on herself. His rage was like a tsunami, "I never said I thought that,"

"You might as well have,"

His rage subsided, leaving behind something worse: disappointment. "You know what? Just forget it." He walked away from her, but suddenly turned around, his face knitted back into a scowl, "Just never say anything like that again! I don't care if that's how you feel! Never insult my dad!" He turned away, and walked away from her.

He never mentioned the incident again, but she knew he hadn't forgotten.

"You were right, Annie," he said, "My dad was just a crazy rebel."

She was unsure before she started, but as she spoke, she knew she was right, "No, Finn, your dad was right. We've been living in the Capitol's shadow for too long. Your father was brave, and he died a noble death." She knew she had said the right thing when Finnick smiled at her. But his smile disappeared.

"Well, I guess his plan is over," he said. "The Capitol wins again."

Annie wasn't as convinced. "Finn, I think your dad wanted you to continue his legacy."

"Nah," Finnick replied, "That was more of his thing, the logical advice and stu-" He looked down at the gold chain in his palm and paused as he thought of what his dad said at the stocks. You have to keep up the family business. Canna Odair was never one to be straight-up when he said anything; Finnick was positive his dad wasn't talking about his future as a fisherman.

Finnick sighed. Even if he could be a rebel, all sneaky-like, how was he going to survive? "Annie, who's going to take care of me?"

She had an answer for this, "Your Grandma Mags, of course." She giggled, "Lucky you get to live on the Victor's Village in complete luxury while the rest of us slave trying to meet seafood and shell quotas."

"But who's going to take care of me? Mags can barely take care of herself?"

Annie smiled and hugged Finnick. "I will. You'll be safe with me. Everything's going to be okay."

Hi, thanks for reading; I really appreciate it!

I'll love you forever if you follow, favorite, and especially review! If you review, I review back!

And the song for this chapter is "This is Your Song" by Ronan Keating. I think it describes Finnick's relationship with his dad really well.