It has been a long time since I have felt at peace. So incredibly long.
Not since I was a boy, held in the loving arms of my mother, have I felt this way. Before her death. Before my father changed so much. I was hurt, and I grew so far from him after that, after what happened between us. It still hurts to think of it. All I wanted was his love. To feel at peace in his home, in our home. But now I have my own, and I have lost him. And even after everything that he has done, it still hurts. Just another addition to everything that has made up my life. But here, in Annie's arms, it is like everything else fades away. There is nothing but me and her, and our love. Nothing but us.
I pull her closer into me and smell the fragrance of salt and ocean water that never leaves anyone from District Four, no matter how many weeks they spend away from the ocean. I run my fingers through her hair, but our lips don't part. She wraps her arms around me, pressing me closer, and I kiss her harder, deeper, as though this is the last kiss we will ever have.
When we finally break apart, it is because the train has come to a stop, and people are running around, telling us we need to move. I stare into her eyes, and kiss her one last time, gently. She closes her eyes, taking quick, shallow breaths. When I release her, she opens them again, and stares at me. Her sea green eyes meet my own, and though a few people have entered our room now, there is still no one here but us, and nothing here but our love.
"I love you, Annie," I whisper.
She is smiling. Really smiling. "I love you too, Finnick."
The words break the silence, and end the moment, but somehow I know it will not be the last. We will share many more moments like this.
Then a thought stabs me, and I wish that I could have lived in this moment forever, but reality hits me like a knife. I wish I could marry her. I wish I could, but it is unfair of me. Unfair of me, because I know what the year will bring, and I can not leave her to fend for herself when it is over. I realize that, no matter what Haymitch has told me, that is what I am doing anyway. But I made a promise, and even though, looking at Annie know, I desperately want to break it, I can't. Finnick Odair always keeps his promises.
Annie is staring at me strangely now, and my eyes drift to my hands, and I realize that I am still clutching the broken rose. The cause of all our problems lies in the petals, and how I wish they were broken and shattered as it is. But they aren't, and they won't be unless I do something about it. If I don't help Haymitch, everything could be lost. Everything.
I can't let that happen.
My eyes stay on the flower too long, though, and I can tell that Annie has grown suspicious. That she knows that something is wrong, if the delivery of the rose itself did not plant this in her mind. But, to her credit, she does not mention it with so many others around. I know I am not off the hook, though. She is just saving it for later.
When we are alone again.
I stand up, and realize that I am no longer shaking. I give the attendants from the Capitol a small smile, and offer Annie a hand. I help her up, and only then do I remember Mags.
"Mags?" I question," How is she?"
A man dressed in servants clothing, but still obviously from the Capitol, shakes his head,"Not well. She took a turn for the worst a few minutes ago. The doctors have already unloaded her and are bringing her to one of your district doctors."
I want to scream at him. To say that our supposed 'district doctors' probably don't know a toothpick from a scalpel, and they may as well bury Mags as send her to one of them. But I know that this conversation is probably being recorded, and everything I say could be used against me. So I just nod.
"Where?" Annie asks.
"Someone named Mira Steeves. I don't know anything else." the man responds.
Another attendant, a woman this time, cuts in after glancing at her clipboard," House number 42. Left end of town. If that helps."
I nod to her,"Thank you."
She gives me a small smile, but it looks more like a grimace. It is funny how the people in the Capitol would hang on to any word I said to them, but these train attendants would rather I didn't speak to them at all.
I tighten my grip on Annie's hand and pull her towards the door. She doesn't resist, and allows me to guide her down the hallway, off the train, and down the street toward's house 42. I have never heard the name Mira Steeves before, but I guess that isn't strange. District Four is one of the larger districts, and I don't know nearly everyone, despite being a victor and having lived here my entire life. Honestly, I feel like I barely know anyone outside of Annie's family and a few select others. And I am still not welcome inside Annie's home. Not fully, at least.
"She'll pull through, Finnick. She's strong," Annie's voice breaks through my thoughts, her words trying to comfort me. I am not sure whether they are filled with truth, or just a desire to ease my stress and pain.
"She has too," I say,"She needs too."
Annie doesn't question this, thinking it is just the pleading words of a grieving child, desperate for the survival of someone who is like a mother to him. But it is so much more. The thought may be horrible, but who will volunteer for Annie if Mags dies? Who will help me carry out the plan I need? How can I get Katniss to like me, without Mags? It won't happen. It will be impossible. I think for a moment that perhaps the success of the rebellion depends on Mags survival right now.
And then I wonder if it matters. Because if she is thrown in the arena with me in a year, she will probably still die, if I am to worry about saving Katniss and Peeta, rather than her. And a death in the arena will be far worse than what she is going through now.
As soon as the thought enters my head I shove it to the side. It may be true that her death now may not be as painful, or as peaceful as a death in the arena, but she would not think that way, and she would not want me to think that way either. If she dies now, she will be remembered as an old woman. My mentor, perhaps. But she will not have died for a reason, doing something. If she dies in the arena, she will be remembered as a hero, as a key player in the rebellion. People will remember her. And, of course, Mags motives will not involve being remembered, only helping along the rebellion, but it is important to me that she is remembered. And that is why she can not die now, because she needs to be able to know that her death was for a cause. She needs to know that her life was for a reason, and that everything that she has strived for has succeeded. That is why she can't...no, that is why she won't...die now. Annie is right. She is far to strong for that.
I feel a sensation that is almost peace flood me as we continue towards the house. No, Mags will not die. She will pull through. And, if she does die in the arena, she will be remembered as a hero. Never forgotten. Ever.
Warmth fills me.
We continue hand in hand for about ten minutes, and then turn down a short street to come to a stop in front of house 42. It is one of the houses for the middle class, those who are not poor and live in what District Twelve would call the Seam, but what we call simply, the slum. There aren't enough people there for it to have a proper name, as Four is one of the better off districts, and even the people in the slum have very little chance of ever starving. This house, though, has a small front porch, is nicely painted, and looks to have two stories. A tell tale glow in the front window shows a fireplace, and probably a kitchen. I am thankful, at least, that Mags will not be treated on a dirt floor or something. But, like I said, this isn't district twelve, and my mind was switching to the absolute worst case scenario. At least we have real doctors here, even if they aren't all to well trained.
Annie is the one pulling me now, and knocks hard on the front door three times. A young girl opens it, probably about fifteen, and gives us a quizzical look, before her eyes light in understanding. It isn't every day the infamous Finnick Odair shows up at your door step, and it must have taken her a moment to connect me with Mags. When she does, she wastes no time ushering us into what must be the living room, and asking us to wait while she runs to check with her mother. I don't sit, but instead begin to pace the room, worry filling me again, despite my earlier thoughts.
"Worrying isn't going to help anything, Finnick," Annie tells me," My mother once told me that worrying was about as effective as trying to untie a knot by spearing it with a trident. You only break the knot, or cut it, or something. You can't untie it."
I nod to her, but in my mind I am already trying to figure out what angle I would need to throw from, and how fast and from how far in order to untie a knot. But she's right, it would be nearly impossible, and that is assuming the knot is very simple and loosely tied. A tightly tied knot, even of the simplest sort, would without a doubt be impossible. I wonder where her mother learned anything about trident, and then realize that you don't really have to know anything about them to figure that out. Besides, it was probably just meant to be a figure of speech, not something to be overly evaluated.
Annie smiles at the look on my face,"Should I take you to the beach afterwards, so you can attempt to untie a knot with your trident in whatever way your mind has found out?"
I laugh, because I can't help it, and somehow it seems appropriate,"How did you know that was what I was thinking?"
Annie grins,"I know you pretty well, Finnick. You won't take no for an answer until you have tried it yourself. Besides, your face went deep into thought immediately, and there was only one thing you could have been thinking about."
I smile slyly,"Actually, there were a lot of things I could have been thinking about. Like you, for instance, and how beautiful you look right now."
She rolls her eyes, but her grin widens anyway,"Come on, Finnick. You know what I meant."
I laugh,"I know, I was just teasing."
Annie makes a face at me, and I stick my tongue out at her, and then we are both laughing, because we haven't been able to joke like this in a long time. By the time the girl comes back downstairs, we are almost hysterical and have forgotten completely where we are, and why we are here. I am the first to notice the girls confused expression, and instead of making me shut up, I just laugh harder, because Annie is right, and worrying won't do any good now, and besides, it feels so good to just laugh and forget all our problems, even if it is just for a while.
After a minute we both quiet, and calm ourselves. The girl is staring at us as though we are both crazy, and perhaps we are. But she gestures us up the stairs nonetheless.
"I'm Finnick," I tell her, even though she obviously knows already.
"And I'm Annie," Annie responds, winking at me.
I almost laugh again, but it seems so out of place, and I can't understand why I am not upset and worried, but I am not, because Mags will pull through, and worrying isn't going to help her.
"I'm Kandy," the girl responds, seemingly unfazed by our introductions, as though she expected it after our earlier actions. And then her face lights up as well, as though she too has been hit by whatever bug of happiness we have been bitten by,"Spelled with a K. I'm not sweet enough to be Candy with a C."
It isn't really that funny, but I smirk anyway, and wink at her. She smiles back at me, and any awkwardness is cut off. She leads us to a room, and tells us to go ahead inside. Annie walks in, but she catches my arm right before I enter.
"You aren't at all like what they say, are you?" she requests.
My face turns immediately solemn, because I remember what Snow said, and I know that I need to continue to where my mask and play my role, even here.
"What do you mean,"I question.
She gives me a look, as though confused,"You just don't seem like...like the Finnick they show on television. I don't know. Maybe I was wrong."
My heart feels like it has been stabbed with a knife, but I can't tell her the truth. I have to lie, to make her believe that I am the man on the television. Even though I am not. I am not.
"You must have been wrong," I pull my arm away from her, and then turn and walk into the bedroom without a second glance. All my humor is gone, replaced by a feeling of sickness and pain that I have felt all to many times before. I want to go back, to apologize, to say it is all an act, but I can't because there are so many reasons I have to lie.
And sometimes you have to choose between the lesser of two evils. Sometimes there really is no good choice.
Mags lies on a bed, and a woman the spitting image of Kandy stands to the side, allowing us the space around the bed. I nod to her, showing her my thanks, and then kneel beside Mags.
She is white, her face void of color. I touch her, and her skin feels normal, but still somehow strange. I don't know anything about strokes, nor their symptoms, so I don't know whether this is good or bad.
"How is she?" Annie asks.
"The doctors told me that she had taken a turn for the worst, but when she got here she seemed in very stable condition. I think the worst is over. The rest will be waiting for her to wake up, and seeing what short or long terms problems she will face. It is different for every victim, so it is hard to guess.
I nod. I try to think of Mags, paralyzed, trying to run through the arena, or with half her face dead tissue, or maybe with no legs because they had to do surgery from some type of infection. But these are just memories of mine from previous Games, and I have no idea if a stroke could even cause these things. I am just worried about what may happen, and how it will affect her odds of surviving the quarter quell, which, if I am honest with myself, were very small to begin with. The only possible advantage she has in her old age is that she would never go hungry in an arena that had any water source. She can make a fishhook from just about anything.
Unless her hands get paralyzed or something, I remind myself. Then I will have to do it all for her.
No. Because we will have Katniss and Peeta as allies. Johanna, Beetee, Wiress, and perhaps more too, if everything goes well. It all depends on whose names are drawn from those bowls.
I take Mags hand in my own, and sit there in silence for another moment, before Annie places her hand on my shoulder.
"We should go. It may be a while, days, maybe more before she wakes up. I don't want to intrude on the Steeves privacy," she tells me.
I nod, even though the last thing on my mind is a desire to leave Mags alone. She was there for me through everything and it seems wrong somehow to do anything less.
Kandy's mother, Mira, nods to us,"If there is any change in her condition, I will send Kandy or one of my boys to come and get you. I promise."
I nod to her,"Thank you. She is like a mother to me."
Mira smiles gently,"I know she is. Don't worry, she is safe here."
I stand up, then, after giving Mags hand one more gentle squeeze and whispering a soft,"I love you," in her ear. She probably can't hear it in her unconscious state, but it was worth a try, anyways.
Annie slips her hand in mine, and we head downstairs. Kandy stands at the bottom, and gives Annie a quick smile, then turns away. She won't even look at me.
I almost break down and tell her the truth, but instead force myself to take one step at a time towards the door. The greater good, I tell myself, I can't tell her for the sake of the greater good.
But I can't do it. Us victors are supposed to be the very embodiment of hope where there is none. And however important the greater good may be, I can't strip away what hope she may have. I feel in my pocket, and find that I am still carrying the sugar cube Annie gave me a few days ago. I want to keep it, but I know Annie will understand. I turn around, to where Kandy looks up for a moment, and then looks away.
"Hey," I question,"Want a sugar cube?"
She meets my eye again, then, and her stare is both hurt and quizzical.
"I'm sorry," I whisper the words, but in the silence of the room, they seem almost like a thunderclap.
She steps forward and plucks the white cube from my fingers.
"There's always hope," I tell her,"don't ever forget that."
She nods to me, and a small smile creeps up her face.
"Sempre espero," she whispers,"It means 'Always hope' in one of the old languages, before the war. My father taught me that. Before...before he died."
I nod, unable to speak, because of the thoughts running through my mind. I can't believe I almost stripped this girl of the small degree of hope that she had. But I didn't, I remind myself. I didn't. Maybe I even gave her a little bit more.
"Thank you," I tell her,"You reminded me of something very important, something I had almost forgotten."
"What's that?" she asks, as though confused that she could have ever taught me anything.
I smile gently at her,"You reminded me that one can not wear a mask and still be the most that they can be. And that stripping away someone's hope is the worst crime that can be committed."
"Because hope is the only thing stronger than fear," Annie comes up beside me.
"Sempre espero?" I ask Kandy, wanting to make sure I remember the words.
She nods, and then reaches forward and embraces me, and I don't stop her, because this is not a hug from a girl obsessed with me, or a girl who has been in love with me her entire life, as so many her age are. No, this is an embrace from a girl who has just been reminded that there is a reason for living. That there is a reason for laughter and joy, and that there is good in this world. That there is always hope.
"Sempre espero," she repeats.
A/N Once again, thanks for reading! Please review! :)