Chapter Twenty-Five – If the Sky Can Crack… (underage drinking, references to rape and suicide)
Too on edge to sleep, Finnick takes the first watch. While the others lay down in the hut, he clears a tree of the ever-present vines and settles to the ground there, his back against its trunk. To keep his hands busy, he strips the leaves from the vines and weaves the remaining stems into a small sack; they can use it to carry nuts or cooked meat. The vines aren't barbed and don't appear to have mouths, like those of his Games, but he hasn't ruled out the possibility that they're mutts. Just because the vines haven't attacked yet doesn't mean they won't. Everything in this arena so far has been too easy; even Peeta's near death was a careless accident, preventable, yes, but nothing to fight against.
He mentally catalogs the few sounds he hears, the better to recognize anything that might be out of place and thus a potential threat: the occasional murmur of voices or shuffle of cloth as someone shifts inside the hut, the scrabble of claws on bark as the tree rats root around for water. Though he listens intently for several minutes, all he hears from the jungle comes from things small and random.
Reaching down, Finnick picks up the bowl of tepid water beside him and drinks, grateful to have it. If it weren't for Katniss, he wouldn't. Even Mags, who has seen just about everything in her long life, didn't recognize the thing Katniss dubbed a "spile." It could only have been from Haymitch, as neither Martin nor Annie would have known to send it, even if they knew the water was in the trees.
Annie. Is she still in Peacekeeper custody? Or have they let her go? Is she back with the other mentors? Did they charge her with illegal possession and use of the drugs that belonged to him? Is she locked up in a cell somewhere? No matter where she is, she's still a prisoner. Finnick pushes that thought away as one more thing he can do nothing about. It's still hard to accept that Cecelia, Seeder, and the others are gone, that he killed Hamilton so easily.
The only way Finnick can help Annie, help them all, is to do what he can to reach those watching the Games, and do it with enough subtlety to get past the censors, yet be clear enough for the audience to understand. He plays with Haymitch's token, spinning the bangle on his wrist, watching the play of the moonlight on the flames etched into the gold. After a time, an idea strikes him.
Wishing he had his guitar, Finnick sings the lullaby Katniss sang when Rue, the little girl from 11, died. It was on the tape of the 74th Games and Finnick had asked Mags about it. She said the song was very old, from before the Dark Times, and that her mother used to sing it to her when she was small. Finnick had made a joke about ancient history and dinosaurs and Mags had poked him, making him jump. Annie, sleeping with her head in his lap, never stirred. But when everyone else had gone to bed and Annie was still asleep, Finnick replayed that part of the tape, committing the song to memory.
He still doesn't know why he did it, other than it struck him when he watched that Katniss singing it while Rue faded wasn't just an act of compassion, but one of unwitting rebellion as well. That song had inspired another act of rebellion when District 11 sent Katniss the bread meant for Rue. Finnick hopes the people back home will understand his own act of rebellion now, a man from District 4 singing a song that, because of Katniss and Rue, will be forever associated with Districts 11 and 12. Two districts united against the Games, against the Capitol, now become three.
He lets the song fade away and listens again to the relative silence of the night. There's still no breeze to stir the leaves, to dissipate the heat of the day, trapped in the humid jungle air. The hut is quiet, those inside probably asleep. A tree rat shambles across the clearing toward Finnick and he throws a rock at it. No need to take any chances, he thinks as it skitters off in the opposite direction. The tree rat is the only sign of life and after a couple of minutes, Finnick settles back against his tree and takes another drink of water.
He follows the lullaby with a song Haymitch taught him years ago, the night after Finnick's sixteenth birthday when he and Chaff took Finnick to a dive and got him good and drunk to take his mind off… other things. At the time, Haymitch called it a drinking song.
Are you, are you coming to the tree
Where they strung up a man they say murdered three?
Strange things did happen here, but stranger would it seem
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, are you coming to the tree
Where the dead man called out for his love to flee?
Strange things did happen here, but stranger would it seem
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, are you coming to the tree
Where I told you to run so we'd both be free?
Strange things did happen here, but stranger would it seem
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
Are you, are you coming to the tree?
Wear a necklace of rope side by side with me.
Strange things did happen here, but stranger would it seem
If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree.
"Seriously, Haymitch, that is the most depressing song I've ever heard." Finnick stared at the older man, who tilted to the left as he spoke. It was only when Chaff grabbed Finnick's arm and righted him on the barstool that Finnick realized he had slid halfway to the disgustingly sticky floor. "You'd have to be drunk to sing that."
Haymitch grinned at him and held his arms out expansively, his half empty glass in one hand, amber liquid sloshing, a nearly full bottle in the other. "I said it was a drinking song, didn't I?"
Finnick laughed. Or rather, giggled. It was a little embarrassing. "Yeah, I guess you did," he said as he lifted his own glass to his lips only to find it empty. He reached for the bottle and overbalanced, but Chaff caught him, averting a disastrous trip to the nasty floor for the second time in as many minutes.
"I think the boy's had enough, Mitch," Chaff said, sounding amused, his arm still around Finnick's waist, holding him steady on the stool. Chaff wasn't built the same, didn't smell the same, didn't feel the same, but all Finnick could think of, smell, feel was the man who'd used him the night before. He felt panic stir as bile rose in the back of his throat and he lunged for the bottle.
"Not enough. Not nearly enough." Finnick didn't recognize the sound of his own voice, but he saw the look on Haymitch's face. Chaff loosened his hold on Finnick, but didn't let go until he'd forcibly shifted the boy to a more secure position on the stool. Haymitch took the empty glass from Finnick's hand and poured an inch or so of liquor into it before handing it back. He exchanged a look with Chaff over Finnick's head as Finnick took a swallow, barely feeling it burn its way down his throat, washing away the bile.
Gesturing with his glass, Haymitch announced, "I am gonna teach you that song, Finnick. Fishermen aren't all that different from miners." Chaff snorted and took the bottle from Haymitch, filled his own glass.
"You ain't never been either one, Mitch, so how would you know?" Haymitch flipped his middle finger at Finnick – no, that wasn't right, at Chaff – but Chaff just laughed at him. "And besides, none of that made any damn sense."
Finnick felt a little wobbly and his eyes were vibrating. He blinked a couple times, but it didn't help. I think I'm drunk, Finnick thought. He'd never been drunk before. When Haymitch started talking again, Finnick finally just fixed his gaze on Haymitch's mouth, leaned back against the bar for support, and let the room spin.
"Now, this song, the Hanging Tree, it's been around for a while. My buddy Burt Everdeen learned it from his dad who learned it from his dad, and Burt taught me and Jonas. We sing it in three-part harmony, back home, but I don't think you losers can handle that, so we'll just do it straight."
Finnick blinked. "Three-part harmony? You?"
Haymitch shot him a sour look. "Just shut up and sing when I tell you to sing." He sang it through once, Finnick and Chaff listening, and then he and Chaff, who had heard it many times before, sang together. Their voices blended surprisingly well. It was a haunting tune and both it and the lyrics took root in Finnick's head. When Haymitch said, "All right, boy, your turn. Let's go through it one more—"
Finnick didn't let him finish; he sang it straight through. When the song was over, Haymitch and Chaff just stared at him, but there was a smattering of applause throughout the bar.
"Huh," Haymitch said. "Didn't know you could sing." Finnick had shrugged and downed the rest of the liquor in his glass, uncomfortable with everyone staring at him.
It was years later that Haymitch told him the real significance of the song. They'd been in the Capitol for the pre-Games festivities – the 70th Games, just a few days before Finnick met both Annie and Johanna – and Haymitch was worse off than usual. There was something in his eyes, in the defeated way he held himself. Finnick had asked him what was wrong and instead of answering, the older man pulled him aside and led him from the party, didn't stop until they were outside the building in the open air. The summer night was still warm.
"You going to tell me what this is about, Haymitch?"
"You remember that song I taught you?" Finnick frowned, startled. There was only one song he'd ever heard Haymitch Abernathy sing.
"The Hanging Tree? Yeah. What about it?" Haymitch's eyes flickered right then left. He looked past Finnick and then shifted until he could see back the way they came. Only once he made sure there was no one else in ear shot did he answer.
"Burt Everdeen and Jonas Hawthorne are dead. Killed in a mining accident." It was no wonder Haymitch was acting off. Along with Chaff, those two were the only friends Haymitch ever spoke of.
"Your singing partners back home?"
"No one to sing but me now." He looked at Finnick, his expression bleak, his eyes bloodshot and it occurred to Finnick that it was from grief, this time, not drink. "It was no accident. The night before, the three of us were at Greasy Sae's, in the Hob." Haymitch had spoken of the Hob before. It was 12's version of 4's black market district. "Sae got to teasing Burt. Asked him why he didn't sing her favorite song anymore. So he sang it. Me and Jonas joined in about halfway through. And then we three sang it again, the whole thing. There were Peacekeepers there, but there are always Peacekeepers in the Hob. Most of 'em turn a blind eye to whatever they see. Or hear."
"Why would Peacekeepers care if you sang an old drinking song?" Finnick asked, but as he ran through the lyrics, he had a feeling he knew why.
"Because it's not an old drinking song." Haymitch glanced at Finnick again. "The man who wrote it, he was the son of one of the ringleaders when Twelve rebelled. The man 'who murdered three' was his father, executed for killing three Peacekeepers who stumbled on a group of rebels. He held off the Peacekeepers while the others ran for the safety of the hills."
"So it's a song of rebellion."
Haymitch nodded. "It's forbidden to sing it in Twelve. Too provocative. Usually punishable by twenty lashes in the public square." He laughs, like nails on a chalkboard. "Couldn't really touch me. I'm a victor." There was a wealth of sarcasm in the word. "But less than twenty-four hours later, Burt and Jonas were dead. They say the shaft they were working in collapsed, but all the miners I talked to said it was perfectly stable the day before."
"Why are you telling me this, Haymitch?"
"Because that night… You sang it almost as well as Burt. You picked it up and you sang it note perfect after only hearing it, what? Three times?"
"Yeah… So?" The bleak look in Haymitch's gray eyes faded, replaced by an intensity Finnick had never seen from him before. Finnick shivered in spite of the warmth of the evening.
"You have access to a lot of people, Finnick. A lot of rich and powerful people. Up to and including the President." Finnick stared at Haymitch, a bitter old drunk at thirty-six, who cared about no one and nothing but his white liquor. Or so he had always thought. "I've watched you. You've grown up a lot. And although you hide it well, you have no more love for the Capitol than I do."
Finnick turned to face his fellow victor, a man he thought he knew. "What exactly are you saying, Haymitch?" And did you start to say it three years ago, when you taught me that song?
Haymitch had asked him point blank then to join a rebellion. While Finnick hadn't agreed to it that night, he had agreed to work for them not long after. But he didn't make the connection between Haymitch's friend Burt and Katniss Everdeen until now. Burt must have been Katniss' father. And the song… When Finnick was sixteen and the world revolved around him, it was just a drinking song with a haunting melody and kind of creepy lyrics. Now, though, he understands it. He's living it, he and Annie both. The desperation. The hunger for freedom so they can live their lives, not whatever fucked up version of living the Capitol and Snow dictate for their own ends. He laughs. Except that my life may very well be at its end.
Feeling restless, Finnick runs his fingers through his hair – he isn't used to how short it is – and stands. He stretches and picks up a trident, makes a quiet circuit around the clearing, pausing here and there to listen to the scratch of the tree rats' teeth as they gnaw at the bark, trying to get at the water beneath. A glance into the hut on his way past shows Mags and Peeta both sound asleep. Mags is on her back with an arm flung above her head; she uses the yellow flotation belt in place of a pillow. Peeta, lying on his side next to Katniss, has an arm over her waist as she curls backward toward his body. She moves restlessly and Peeta's arm tightens around her. She quiets.
Finnick returns to his tree and drops back down to the ground. He leans back and rests his head against the rough bark, his forearms on his tented knees. A wisp floats across the moon, the cloud not heavy enough to cast a shadow or dim the moon's light. The shape of it, though, reminds him of Annie and the game she always loved to play on lazy summer afternoons.
It had started as a non-threatening way for him to pull her back from that place she retreated to inside herself. But as the days after her Games became weeks and months and years, as their relationship changed from mentor and tribute to friends and, eventually, to lovers, the game changed, too, became something they played at because they could, because they both wanted to, not because it was the only way for Finnick to reach her.
They'd lie out on the beach, side by side, and when one of them spotted a cloud that could be more than just a collection of water vapor and ice, they would point it out to the other and tell them what they saw. Usually it was just a description, a dog chasing a ball, a hovercraft, a sailboat flying across ocean waves, but sometimes there'd be a story if one of them stubbornly refused to see what the other described. Finnick smiled to himself. It was usually Annie who told the stories while Finnick did his best to distract her from them. Just a silly game they played, except for the one time that it wasn't silly at all.
It was maybe a year after Annie moved in with him. He and Gil Keely had been working on repairing the roof of Finnick's house following a storm. They were taking a break, talking. He didn't know what they said to set her off, he still doesn't know, but something was said and Annie panicked. She shot through the back door and sprinted down the beach. When Finnick realized how serious it was, he ran after her, but by then she had too much of a lead on him and he lost her.
It took over an hour to find her. She had run around the side of their house and doubled back toward the other end of the "village" to one of the unused ones. He finally found her huddled in a corner created by the back porch and the untended garden. She faced the sea, rocking, staring with unseeing eyes, trapped inside herself as she hadn't been in more than a year.
Finnick dropped to his knees in front of her, tried to pull her hands away from her ears, but her muscles were locked, rigid. He didn't think she even knew he was there, but he tried to reach her anyway. He couldn't just leave her like that.
"Baby, please, come back to me. Annie, honey, I don't know what I said, but whatever it was, I'm sorry. So sorry." She didn't respond, just kept rocking, rocking, seeing only whatever world she had retreated to inside her own head. "Annie, please. I love you. I can't do this without you. Not anymore." Nothing.
Finally, he pulled her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her, just held her as he let the tears come. And still she gave no indication that she was aware of his presence. He didn't know how long he sat there holding her, rocking her the way she had rocked herself, occasionally begging her to come back.
The sun dipped lower in the sky. Finnick had long since cried himself out. And still they sat there, rocking. Clouds began to drift in and pick up brilliant shades of pink and orange and gold from the setting sun. Watching the clouds gather, Finnick didn't know what else to do, so he tried their game, a last ditch effort to reach her.
"Annie, do you see that cloud? To the left of the sun?" he whispered, pointing past her head. No response. "The one that looks like a big mushroom." Still no response. "Well, it really is a mushroom. Hollow inside." Just like me without you. "Look. There's a door, right there in the base of the stem." He pointed again, at a thin spot in the cloud that resisted the colors of the sunset and remained a dull bluish gray. He tried to say more, but he was too choked up to continue, not cried out after all. He pulled his arm back and slipped it under her arms, around her waist, buried his face in her hair.
But then Annie stirred. He went very still, held his breath. "What's inside it?" His heart seemed to stop before kicking into overdrive.
"I don't know," he told her. "Whoever lives there wouldn't let me in." She turned toward him and he loosened his hold to let her. She reached up and touched his face, wiped at his tears. "Annie, where did you go?" She didn't answer. She never did, but he always asked.
"I'm hungry," she told him as she traced the shape of his mouth with her fingertips. He kissed her fingers, tasted salt.
"Then let's go feed you."
He had unwrapped himself from around her, took her hand and helped her to her feet. As he led her along the beach, holding her hand like he'd never let her go, she said, "Finnick, I'm sorry." She never told him what she was sorry for.
Back in the present, he says to her, "I know you probably can't see it, Annie, but there's a cloud hanging there by the moon. A cat, low to the ground, stalking something." He smiles as he imagines her beside him, looking up. "It almost looks like it's trying to catch the moon." His voice catches on the last word as a wave of longing washes over him. He whispers, "I love you, Annie," but he's not sure if the microphones can pick it up, so he says it again, louder, follows it with "I hope you're okay." If she isn't there to hear it, he hopes Martin or someone will at least tell her about it.
An hour or so before he's supposed to wake Katniss for her turn on watch, Finnick is working knots using a length of vine in place of rope. A bell begins to ring out, loud and strong; the ground beneath him, the tree behind him seems to tremble with the force of the sound. He jumps to his feet, vine rope forgotten, trident in hand, and looks sharply all around but sees nothing. Katniss, jolted from sleep by the bell, joins him outside the hut.
"What's going on?" He holds up a hand to silence her.
The bell tolls twelve times, pealing out over the arena, but Mags and Peeta sleep through it. The sound fades away and the tree rats slowly resume their hunt for water. Finnick and Katniss look at each other.
"I counted twelve," Finnick says and Katniss nods.
"Mean anything, do you think?" she asks and Finnick shakes his head.
"I have no idea." They fall silent again, both of them listening intently. All Finnick hears is the snuffling, gnawing sounds of the tree rats. There's a flash of light in the distance and then they see through a thin spot in the jungle canopy a jagged line of lightning rip the sky and strike a tree. Instinctively, Finnick takes a step away from the tree he leaned against earlier and looks up at the sky above, but the clouds are no heavier now than they were an hour ago. The moon shines just as brightly. Katniss glances at him and then looks toward the light show in the distance.
"Go to sleep, Finnick. It's my turn to watch, anyway."
He hesitates. Given the events of the day and his current state of mind, the nightmares are going to be bad, if he manages to sleep at all, but she's right, he needs to try to get some rest. He doesn't answer her, just squeezes her shoulder in passing as he heads to the hut and settles just inside, his weapons within easy reach.
xXx
"Martin?" Annie says into her headset, "I'll be okay if you want to get some sleep." Martin, dozing at his station, jerks awake and nearly falls from his chair. In the background, Mags laughs at something Peeta said, the timing perfect.
"What?" Martin asks, blinking rapidly. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Annie forces her mouth into a neutral line, fighting hard not to laugh.
"Why don't you get some sleep?" Martin scrubs his hands over his face and glances at his monitors. Having collected enough water to fill several of the bowls Mags and Finnick wove that afternoon, the group in the arena is washing away some of the sweat and salt of the day. The clock on Annie's console reads 8:43. It's summer in the real world and there's still light in the sky, though they can't see it from the windowless control room or victors' lounge. Inside the arena, it's full night and has been for almost two hours.
"Get some sleep, Katniss," Finnick says in Annie's ear and Annie turns from Martin back to her own screen. "I'll take first watch." The girl hesitates, looks into the hut where she – and the ever-present cameras – can just see Peeta helping Mags get settled. The roof and walls Finnick and Mags wove block the Gamemakers' view and Annie wonders what, if anything, they'll do to change that. "Go," Finnick prods Katniss. "I'll wake you when I get tired. We don't have to bother either of them. Just let them sleep." Katniss nods.
"Okay, but you wake me in…" She pauses. "…four hours, whether you feel tired or not. You need to sleep, too, Finnick." He smiles at her and salutes with one of his tridents.
"Deal." He walks over to a tree where he'll have a good view of the hut and the jungle beyond and starts pulling vines from the trunk, dragging more down from the branches over his head.
Beside Annie, Martin glances down at his control console and Mags' vitals. Apparently satisfied with what he sees there, he turns again toward Annie. "All right, Annie. Sleep does sound good. But we need to work out a shift rotation for later." She smiles at him.
"When you get back."
Martin nods, covers a yawn with his hand, and heads for the door. "See you in a few hours."
Annie turns back to the console in front of her. Between the visual feed and the readout of vital signs, it looks like Mags is already asleep, although her heart rate appears to Annie to be too fast. According to the parameters outlined on the control console, which are based on her medical baseline, it's well within the norm for her so Annie resolves not to worry. A glance at Finnick's readout reassures her that his vital signs are also good as he leans back against his vine-free tree, watching over the hut. He picks up one of the discarded vines and strips off the leaves, begins to weave, not looking at what his hands are doing.
Time passes with nothing much to do and nothing much happening in the arena, at least as far as District 4 is concerned. Since she's watching both Finnick's and Mags' screens and they're showing identical pictures, Annie switches one of them to another feed, sees the Careers watching a silver parachute float down toward them. When it lands, Brutus looks at the others then shrugs and walks over to pick it up. The camera isn't oriented so that Annie can see what gift they just received and she moves on before that changes.
Chaff pulls a long strip of bark from a tree and gives it to the female from 6, then uses his knife to cut another strip. He tilts his head back and holds the bark over his mouth, crushes it in his one hand and catches the water that drips from it. Sitting on the ground beside the tree, the woman chews on the piece he gave her. There is a pile of crushed and chewed bark at the base of the tree. Annie switches again.
A pair that Annie doesn't recognize, the woman older than the man by a few years, chase after a tree rat through the jungle. The woman dives for it, actually has her hand on its tail when the man trips over her. The rat makes its escape, leaving a piece of its skinny tail in the woman's hand as she shouts angrily at the man. Switch.
Johanna sits on the edge of a clearing similar to the one Finnick and the others made camp in, her back to a large rock. She holds her head in her hands. In the middle of the clearing a man tries to pull a woman away from another man whose blood darkens the blue of his jumpsuit all along his left side. Every time the first man pulls her away, the woman runs in a little loop and returns to the man lying on the ground. Johanna screams at them and from the set of her shoulders, her clenched fists, she is beyond frustrated. There's no sign that they've found water yet and Annie wishes she could send them a spile, certain that Johanna would know what to do with it.
Having reassured herself that nothing important is happening in the arena, Annie heads out to the bathroom, glancing downstairs into the lounge. The big television that carries the main feed shows the man and woman who lost the tree rat as they argue. The man strikes the woman, knocking her to the ground. She laughs and wipes blood from the corner of her mouth, then launches herself at the man and lands a punch to his jaw that whips his head around. One of the victors watching in the lounge cheers. "Excellent shot, Cara!" Since none of the other tributes are engaging in anything exciting, the broadcast will probably focus on those two for a while, even if it switches to the others for brief updates.
When she passes back through a few minutes later, Finnick is on the big screen, playing with the bracelet Haymitch gave him. It catches the moonlight and the camera zooms in on him as he begins to sing the lullaby that Katniss sang during the last games. Then the feed switches to Gloss watching over the other Careers as they lay down to sleep while Finnick sings on. Unlike Finnick and his group, the Careers are out in the open at the edge of the jungle rather than within it. The lullaby continues as the scene switches and Annie realizes she's hearing it from both her own feed and the main feed on the television, that the Gamemakers are using it as a momentary soundtrack for the Games. The man from earlier stalks Cara through the jungle, short sword in hand, and the camera follows Cara as she climbs a tree to the sound of Finnick's voice. Annie returns to the control room.
Resuming her seat, she checks Finnick's and Mags' vitals: still good. She spins her chair, looking at the other mentors. Most of them are watching their screens, although the mentors from 6 and 7 play a game of cards. Haymitch is slumped in his chair, talking to someone over his headset. He says something to the person on the other end and then stands, heads out into the hallway as Finnick's lullaby fades. Slate from District 2 paces as he watches his tributes. He's younger than Annie, only twenty, the winner of the 73rd Games. This is his first time mentoring on his own. In that, he and Annie have something in common.
Haymitch returns with two plates of food, one of which he places on the console next to Annie. She looks up at him, startled, and he pulls the right earpiece away from her ear. "Eat," he orders her and puts the earpiece back in place. Lyme follows him mere seconds later bearing four steaming coffees on a tray; she sets a cup down beside Annie's plate and presses another into Haymitch's hands, then joins Slate at the District 2 station.
Finnick begins another song, a thing of haunting beauty that speaks of death and lovers reunited at the end of a rope. Transfixed, Annie watches him as he sings. Although he hasn't moved from his position by the tree, his back is straight and he sways just a little as he sings. His eyes are closed and his fingers no longer obsessively weave, the vine dangling loosely. When he ends the song, Finnick doesn't move and Annie thinks he is lost in some memory. It's a couple of minutes before he opens his eyes again. His weaving drops forgotten to the ground as he runs his hands over his hair. Abruptly, he pushes to his feet, picks up a trident, and walks around the clearing.
The pungent coffee on the console by Annie's left hand makes its presence known and she reaches for it. Steam curls up from the black liquid and she expects it to burn her mouth, but it doesn't. Holding the warm cup between her hands, she stares down into it, loses herself in its inviting depths, in memories of her own.
The first time she heard Finnick sing, it was also in the context of the Games. It was her first morning of training, or it was supposed to be, except that, before reaching the gymnasium she turned and headed back to the fourth floor. She didn't see any point in it.
She went straight to her room, quietly, avoiding anyone who might still be there. It was only a couple of minutes later that she heard what sounded like a guitar. She held her breath and listened, and what started as just a couple of chords turned into a melody. A male voice joined in, but her room was too far away to hear what he sang; his voice was just another instrument, blending with the guitar.
Annie followed the sound down the hall to an open door. Inside, Finnick Odair sat in the middle of his bed, legs folded like a pretzel. She didn't recognize either the tune or the lyrics, which became clearer as she drew closer, a song of pain and loss. As soon as he realized he had an audience, the music stopped. He looked up at her and set the guitar aside.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you supposed to be in training?" Annie shrugged and leaned back against the wall just inside the bedroom door, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. She realized then that her posture was defensive, but it was too late to change position without looking guilty as well as defensive.
"What's the point? I'm not going to kill anyone." Finnick rolled his eyes.
"Oh, please. If someone comes at you with a sword? A knife or a rock? Even their bare hands. You'll fight back. It's instinctive." She raised an eyebrow at that.
"Instinctive," she repeated, dubious. "I didn't realize you had a degree in psychology." It was Finnick's turn to shrug.
"Well, it was for me. And I'm not anything special." Annie wasn't so sure about that, either.
"I'm not you."
"No, you're you. You're Annie Cresta and you're—"
"A glorified Golden Retriever. Yeah, I remember."
Anger flashed in those notorious sea green eyes. Instead of continuing whatever he was about to say when she interrupted him, he reached over to his nightstand and took something out of the drawer, threw it to her.
For a split second, she thought about ignoring it, not rising to the bait, but instead she reached up her hand and plucked it from the air before she consciously understood that it was a knife and that he'd thrown it hilt first. A small fishing knife, the naked blade was not something to safely toss around. She glared at him, sitting there in the middle of his bed, holding the knife's sheath in the palm of his hand; he knew she'd catch the knife rather than be hit. "What is this?"
He smirked at her, but there was an edge to it. "A knife, genius."
Annie made a face at that. "I know it's a knife. What's it for? Why'd you throw it at me?"
Finnick cocked his head to one side. "If you're so set on dying, go ahead and use it." When she didn't say anything, he continued, still angry, "I can show you a couple of options, if you'd like."
Both her brows shot up as his meaning dawned. "You want me to kill myself?"
"I want you to live. You're the one who wants to give up. So do it. Save me the effort of trying to keep you alive."
Turning the knife over in her hands, Annie studied it. Short, with a half-serrated drop point blade, it was razor sharp, a tool used to cut nets or fishing line or whatever else presented. It looked like it had seen a bit of use. Frowning, she looked at Finnick, met his eyes.
"Why do you have this here?" He couldn't possibly need a fishing knife, or really any kind of knife in the Capitol. He didn't answer her, just sat there watching her. And then it hit her. "You?" she asked, incredulous. "You want to kill yourself?" She was horrified. Finnick Odair was rich, popular, famous. He had everything and he wanted to die? "Why?" she asked, and she didn't know if she was asking why he wanted to or why he hadn't done it.
He shifted, pulled his knees in close to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He looked at the knife in her hands when he spoke, not at her. "I used to take it out every day, look at it the way you just did. But in the end, I always put it back. And then it was every other day, every few days, every few weeks. I hardly ever take it out now." His gaze met hers.
"Never did figure out why they let me keep it. I guess they just didn't believe I'd use it." His eyes dropped again to the knife in her hands. "And now I know I won't. Because every day that I'm still here, still alive, is another day that I win. Another day that I get to show them that they're not going to break me. That I'm not going to give up."
Finnick didn't explain who "they" were or why they wanted to break him. Annie wasn't sure that he wasn't making all of it up just to make his point, but the Finnick Odair sitting in front of her was so different from the young man she saw on television that she couldn't help but believe that at least some of what he said was true. She walked slowly to the bed and handed the knife to him hilt first, not trusting herself to toss it to him the way he'd tossed it to her. She felt his gaze on her as soon as she started to move and he never looked away.
Standing beside the bed, she looked down at him and said, half statement, half question, "So you think I should go to training." He didn't say anything, just clipped his knife back into its sheath; she supposed his silence was her answer. "I don't think I can learn much about fighting in three days."
"Two and a half," Finnick pointedly corrected her. "You learned the basics of fighting in school. What you need to learn is how to survive." He reached across the bed to the nightstand again and tucked the knife away, pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. Settling back into place, he started jotting down what looked to Annie like a list. "You need to spend your time learning knots and snares and what plants you can eat and which ones are poison." He continued writing as he spoke and when he finished, he tore the sheet from the pad and handed it to her.
Reading the list, she frowned and leaned in closer to him – he smelled good – pointing at a scribble that she couldn't make out. "What's this? I can't read it."
He grimaced. "Shelter." Tapping the paper with one finger, he continued, "Those are the training stations I want you to concentrate on, starting this afternoon."
She looked at him. "This afternoon?" He nodded.
"You're going to training right after lunch." He grinned at her then and she had a hard time paying attention to the rest of what he had to say.
Finnick's voice over her headset pulls her back. He sounds like he's sitting there beside her. "I know you can't see it from your angle, Annie, but there's a cloud hanging there by the moon. A cat, low to the ground, stalking something." She can hear the smile in his voice as it curls around her heart. "It almost looks like it's trying to catch the moon." His voice falters on his next words and he has to repeat them, but as soon as she hears it, she's glad he did. "I love you, Annie. I hope you're okay."
She pauses the feed to look at the image of Finnick on her screen, the wistful expression on his face. There's just enough light from the moon to see a hint of the green of his eyes. Annie wishes she could tell him somehow that she's alive and unharmed, that she's here, watching over him. She glances down at the bruises around her right wrist, a dark bracelet against the tan of her skin.
The last thing Finnick saw of her before going into the arena was Peacekeepers dragging her off to who knew where. She knows him. His mind will replay that image over and over again every time he closes his eyes. Obviously, he's acting as though she's there in the control room, but wanting to believe something and knowing in your heart that it really is true are two different things.
When she toggles the feed back to live, Finnick is leaning back against his tree again, almost obsessively working knots on a length of vine and suddenly Annie doesn't want to be alone. Rae is off getting some sleep, just like Martin. Annie doesn't know Watt, Rae's counterpart, well enough to talk to and she doesn't know the woman watching over District 5 at all, not even her name. She looks down at her monitors again, where Finnick still watches over his companions, still works knots. She takes another drink of coffee and realizes the caffeine is probably not helping. She stares at the sandwich on her plate, the bowl of fruit beside it, all still untouched.
Haymitch.
Annie picks up her plate and her coffee and heads over to Haymitch's station. He's watching the same feed she is; the only things she won't have immediate access to are her tributes' vital signs. And she feels comfortable with Haymitch. Even if he doesn't want to talk, that's fine. It'll be enough just being near someone else who cares about Finnick and Mags.
Haymitch looks over at her when she pulls out the empty seat beside him, unused for longer than Annie has been alive, then shoves his plate aside to make room for Annie's. "Everything okay?"
She shrugs. "I'm just bored." He gives her a lopsided grin.
"Trust me, sweetheart, a little boredom during the Games is not a bad thing." He picks up the abandoned fork on his plate and spears a slice of apple from hers. "Thought I told you to eat."
"I'm not very good at doing what I'm told." He laughs.
"That's what I hear."
Annie makes a sound of mock outrage. "What has Finnick been saying about me?"
Haymitch laughs. "Honestly? All sorts of sappy crap. He's as bad as Peeta." Annie feels her cheeks grow warm and ducks her head, concentrates on unwrapping her sandwich.
Once she's eaten a few bites, she asks, "Is it always like this?"
"Pretty much. Three parts deadly dull to one part just plain deadly." Haymitch shrugs. "I'm not usually in the game more than a couple three days."
They fall silent again, both watching the monitors. Haymitch finishes his coffee and Annie finishes her sandwich. She shares the fruit with Haymitch even though he tells her it's not as much fun if he has her permission.
The arena, at least their part of it, is quiet. Finnick watches out over the jungle in front of him, still working and unworking knots. He replaces his vine rope twice when the repeated motion tears through the fibers. He just started on his third vine when a bell rings out over the arena and he jumps to his feet, the vine rope quickly replaced with a trident. Katniss joins him, rushing out of the hut with her bow in hand. Finnick turns in a circle, looking all around him as the bell continues to toll. Annie counts to twelve before it stops.
"One ring for each district?" she wonders aloud. Over her headset, Finnick says he counted twelve.
"Maybe…" Haymitch responds, but he doesn't seem convinced.
Katniss says something that Annie misses, and Finnick's response – "I have no idea" – almost makes it sound as though he's here with her and Haymitch. It's somehow reassuring.
Katniss and Finnick look off into the distance, their backs to the camera. Whatever it is they watch is not obvious. "Go to sleep, Finnick," Katniss tells him. "It's my turn to watch, anyway." Finnick doesn't say anything to that. Instead, after a moment he turns and walks past Katniss to the hut, squeezing her shoulder as he passes. He lays down just inside the entrance, his trident within easy reach, and Annie hopes that he can relax enough to sleep.
"Haymitch?" He looks over at her. "Earlier, you said we can't send them a map or note, but that we could send them clues." He nods.
"I did. What are you asking me, Annie?" Frowning, she finishes off her coffee with a grimace. It isn't as good at room temperature.
"It's just… I need to let Finnick know that I'm okay. That the Peacekeepers didn't hurt me this morning." Haymitch says nothing, allows her to get to her point at her own pace. She likes that about him. "How do I do that?"
"You send him a gift. Something appropriate to the Games, but that could only come from you."
"But they have food, weapons, and water. He doesn't need anything else. Not right now, anyway." Haymitch shakes his head.
"I didn't say send him something he needs, just something appropriate to the Games."
They fall silent again as Annie thinks over what Haymitch said. Something that Finnick could use but doesn't necessarily need and that's appropriate for the arena. I guess that rules out a preloaded music player with all my favorite songs on it, Annie thinks as the sound of rain somewhere in the arena comes to her over the headset.