Here's what happens when I go to write a chapter. I look at the plot outline, weeks ago, think to myself, "Oh, I don't have nearly enough material for that chapter, I've got to add this and this and this," I do, and... here we have the longest chapter yet. Again! Oh, well. :)
So this chapter was incredibly fun to write... And fun to quote around my house! :D Finnick may seem a little out-of-character, only in that he's not his usual smooth self with Annie, but I'm asking you to remember that he's considerably younger here than in the books. He knows a lot about girls, but he's VERY new to the idea of actually loving one. So bear with him, he'll get it figured out. :)
Immediately after the highlights end, Team District Four is loaded into a fancy limousine and shipped to President Snow's mansion for the ritzy Victor's Banquet. It infuriates me that they're putting Annie through so much more of this nonsense yet tonight. She's hanging on but so obviously miserable. I squeeze her shoulders in the safety of the car and whisper, "You're doing so well. Just a little longer. It'll be easier here, nothing but music and food."
She gives me a look of disbelief. "I can't control it, you know," she whispers back. "The flashbacks. The… craziness. It's always right there, beneath the surface." Her voice trembles with something new. Intense, concentrated anger. "I hate it," Annie hisses. "I'm so afraid I'm going to slip again. If I go, I'm gone."
"I won't let anything happen. I'm gonna watch you, Annie. Every second," I promise, then hesitate, raising my eyebrows mischievously. "Like a hawk."
Her lips twitch. "A hawk watching a chickadee. That's comforting."
"And dancing with one… if you don't mind," I add, almost shyly, before I remember that we're still in public, and I've never been shy a day in my life. "Can I have first dance?"
The limo lets us out on the President's front step and the door is yanked open for us. People crush in around the car and cameras start snapping pictures, and Annie freezes for a long moment, taking in the utter bizarre chaos in the crowd, the dyes and feathers and six-inch eyelashes. She turns back to me with wide eyes.
"Absolutely," she whispers.
It turns out that Annie's not the most focused of dance partners. We barely shake off the reporters and get out to the floor, and then she's grabbing my arm and pointing out pretty things in the ballroom, transfixed by the light glinting off the chandeliers, casting diamond patterns on the walls. It's funny, I always thought only a shallow person would ever be able to appreciate any of the Capitol's luxuries, but maybe Annie can just find beauty anywhere. I tease her about it, good-naturedly, but the truth is I'm thrilled and sort of baffled by the childlike curiosity she's showing.
"What?" Annie mutters with a sheepish smile. "I like shiny things."
I watch her eyes light up as she strokes a satin tablecloth, sniffs a bubbling pot of soup, and I think I like shiny things, too.
She's oblivious to the cameras clicking around her, and it's a good thing, because her excited reaction to the Capitol's extravagance isn't the least bit forced. Every now and then, someone will try to come up and introduce himself as one of the sponsors that saved Annie's life, but her face will go blank and she'll study the intricate paintings on the ceiling. It doesn't matter that she doesn't talk, the people here are plenty adept at dominating a conversation, but she does get some strange looks when she tunes in, ten minutes into a monologue, and says, Hi, nice to meet you. I laugh like she's some very clever jokester and steer her away from her bewildered fans.
She's still smiling, which is the most important thing.
People come to talk to me, too, a lot of young women in their ridiculous little frilly dresses and poofy hair and swollen lips. They congratulate us on our victory and eye me like I'm candy, but I don't let go of Annie's arm. She is my date, according to the press and according to the way I'm clinging to her. They can look but they can't touch, for the moment. And they know it.
In addition to the throngs of the Capitol's finest citizens, there are Gamemakers here who insist on conversing with us. I think the thing that frightens me most about these people is that they don't seem cruel or bloodthirsty at all, in person. They like to stand around with their drinks and merrily compare notes on the arena's schematics and size and difficulty to build, like it was a particularly challenging jigsaw puzzle they were proud to have completed.
Annie never clues in to what they're talking about, thankfully, because in her mind, nobody laughs and jokes while discussing an arena. Still, she's squinting at them like she's trying to place their faces, and I'm afraid she's going to flashback to training. Besides, I've just spotted a cluster of mentors- Johanna and Haymitch and Chaff and Seeder- on the other side of the room that I would much rather be chatting with. But there's one Gamemaker who seeks me out specifically, and instead of rambling on about his prestigious position, he's asking all sorts of strange questions about me. How much free time I have in the Capitol, how I spend it, do I have a hobby, do I need a hobby? It sounds like he's either trying to sell me something, or set me up with another date, and I'm not at all interested in either. Then he asks me when was the last time I talked to Johanna Mason, and I use that as an excuse to break away and go introduce Annie. I can see Johanna watching us from across the room, so I glance behind me at the Gamemaker and mouth, "freak". I'm surprised to see her frown.
"Annie, these are a few of my friends. They helped me out during the Games," I explain as we join them.
"Congrats on not dying," Johanna tells her flatly.
"Thank you," she murmurs.
I give Johanna a death glare. Then Chaff and Haymitch shake our hands, and Seeder pulls me into a tight hug and whispers in my ear, asking how Mags is and how I am and how Annie is recovering. I nod and tell her we're about as well as we can be, considering the circumstances, but it's unbelievably better to be back together again. Seeder beams and tells Annie how pretty she is in her stormy blue gown. Annie blushes, whispers in awe about the lights and the food and everything she's never experienced before.
"We can show you a good time here," Johanna says with a snort, and then mutters under her breath, "I bet she's never been drunk…"
I'm about ready to give her a piece of my mind, but Annie just wanders away and starts sampling the delicacies at the dessert table. The moment she's out of hearing range, the other mentors close in around me, almost protectively. Haymitch grabs my arm and eyes the Gamemakers. "Did you thank your good friends over there for that flood?" There's a bitter edge to his voice, and I wonder if he actually resents me, because Annie lived and Adrian died. Then he adds in an even lower growl, "Because they're paying for it."
"Really?" I hiss back. "Seneca Crane-"
"Got off the hook. Shifted the blame off himself. He's executive, and he ordered a volcanic eruption. Tech team screwed up with the dam, got the whole lot of them fired yesterday." His bleary eyes soften, ever so slightly. "You just need to know that she wasn't supposed to win. She's a great kid, she's adorable, she didn't deserve to die, but they didn't want her to live."
I nod. I sensed it, deep down, but hearing the thought spoken aloud makes me cringe. Still, she's as safe as possible now. Her victor status protects her, accidental or otherwise. Annie calls excitedly from the next table over for me to come see something, and Haymitch yawns. "Well, I'm gonna go act like I'm wasted," he slurs, and stumbles away with his liquor bottle in hand.
"Finnick, this…" Annie holds up a plate full of some pastry in my face. "Is the most incredible thing I've ever tasted." She's so oblivious to our conversation that it's almost concerning. "Taste it! You've got to try this!" I take a bite and admittedly don't get as thrilled about it as she does.
There's a commotion a couple of tables down then, dishes crashing to the floor, the satin tablecloth pulled crooked. People gather around, murmuring to themselves, and then whispering, gasping, and someone's screaming, "Call a doctor! Call a doctor now!" All heads in the room whip around and catch a glimpse of the portly gentlemen, slumping to the floor, face ashen, eyes frozen open but lifeless. Beside me, Annie gives a blood-curdling shriek. She grabs my arm, and her nails dig in so hard they break skin.
"What happened?" I demand over Annie's frantic wailing. Many people are turning away from the unconscious man, apparently more troubled by their victor's outburst.
"Some guy just died!" Johanna hollers back, and I can't tell if her tone is more shocked or gleeful. I wrench out of Annie's grasp and push through the crowd to get a better look. The man is Capitol, sure, but I'm remembering being in this banquet hall a month before, watching Mags collapse, and those agonizing minutes when I shouted for help, somebody help, and nobody did. I shove a couple of twittering observers out of the way- they're horrified, but this is also a very juicy topic for discussion- and check his pulse. No pulse. Not breathing. I'm almost positive there's nobody else here who knows how to do this except Annie, and I can hear her still screaming hysterically behind me. I'm not about to let her watch another person die.
I pull off the man's suit coat and start pumping his chest. "Seeder!" I shout. "Haymitch! Get Annie!" I count off the compressions and pause. Nothing. Start again. "Get Annie out of here!" I listen to his heart not beat. Still nothing. I roll my eyes. Mouth to mouth. Here goes. Cameras start clicking rapid-fire behind me, and people are hissing about this fascinating new development. It's just so hilarious that Finnick Odair appears to be kissing a Gamemaker.
Oh, he's a Gamemaker? Well, we certainly can't afford to lose one of those. I swallow my disgust, wishing I was the unconscious one.
It's less than five minutes before the paramedics arrive. They took a good twenty minutes to retrieve Mags, but who's counting? I step aside with a revolting taste in my mouth, panting for the breath I just gave away, and watch as the white-suited professional positions paddles over the man's wide chest and flicks the machine on. His eyes roll around after a couple of shocks.
"Where am I?" he moans, and the entire crowd sighs in relief.
"You're at a party," the paramedic explains calmly. "You had a heart attack and went into cardiac arrest." He gestures to me. "This man saved your life."
The man's eyes open wider, focus on me with some great effort. "Thank you," he manages.
My smile is icy. "Anytime," I hiss so only he can hear. "I don't enjoy watching people die."
The look he gives me is absolutely and completely perplexed. I don't know whether it's because he was just revived from cardiac arrest or simply because nobody's ever said that to him before. Neither one of us has time to say any more before he's loaded onto a stretcher and taken out to the waiting ambulance. The crowd is ecstatic, and I have to admit that I'm pretty pleased with my heroic self. It's the very first time in my life I've been cheered on for doing something noble.
Then I catch sight of something that almost stops my heart.
A wine glass lying on its side, right where the Gamemaker fell. The bright red liquid is spattered across the floor, and the puddle is so big, he couldn't have drunk more than a mouthful. But I guess that was enough. The metallic taste in my mouth is threatening to strangle me, and I feel a chill creeping up my spine. I don't have to turn around to know that President Snow has just entered his own ballroom. And he's watching me. Maybe to see if I'm going to keel over now, too.
Who did I just save? And from what?
I seriously consider running for the bathroom with a shot of emetic so I can cleanse myself of whatever was in that drink, just in case. But that's when I catch sight of Haymitch, and he doesn't have Annie with him. I grab his collar and demand to know why he left her. He wordlessly points to the opposite side of the dance floor, where Seeder is knelt, lifting a long tablecloth, apparently coaxing and pleading with someone beneath the table. I hurry over and grab her shoulder. "How is she?"
Seeder looks up at me with saddened eyes and holds up the tablecloth so I can see for myself. Annie's curled up against the wall, arms wrapped around herself, shaking so hard her teeth chatter. Somehow she always seems so cold when she's afraid. Her mind is obviously a million miles away, reliving something more horrible than I can imagine.
Of course. She just saw me give CPR, and isn't that what didn't save Adrian? I've inadvertently hurt her, again. I crawl under the table beside her, rest a hand on her arm gently. I've learned to test first, to see if touch will panic her, but she's just non-responsive now. I suppose it's preferable to the hysteria.
"Come here, Annie." She doesn't move, but I sit next to her and wrap an arm around her shoulders, pull her close to me. "Come back, Annie. I miss you." I'm running fingers through her hair, coaxing her quietly, because this is the only thing I know to do. I hear a little sniffle and look up to see Seeder wiping her eyes as she watches us.
"Does that help?" she asks with a watery, knowing smile.
"Sometimes."
The smile widens. "Do you need a minute?"
"If you don't mind," I murmur. Seeder reaches down and hands me a crumpled paper bag- "Just in case," she says with a wink- and drops the tablecloth, disappearing. I hold Annie tighter, whisper in her ear, kiss her hair softly, anything to bring her around again. It can't hurt, after all, it's just the two of us here and her presence is questionable at best. I press my lips to her temple, just over her glassy left eye, and of course, that's the moment she comes around again and gives me a bewildered look.
"Did you just kiss my head?" Annie asks, voice ragged like the possibility is exhausting to even consider.
I bite my lip, realizing how bizarre this must seem to her. "I… may have. I was trying to distract you." Annie groans and rubs her forehead, eyes flickering as if she's still fighting off some troubling memories.
"Didn't work, I take it." I brush back her hair to get a better look at her, lower my voice. "Do you want to tell me what you see?"
Her answer is almost inaudible. "I could have saved him…"
It takes me a moment to realize she's not referring to the Gamemaker who just had the heart attack. "No, Annie. He was too big. It was too late. You did everything you could."
"I don't know," she whispers, words heavy with an all-too-familiar guilt. "I was tired. I was scared. I could have done more."
"Annie." I grab her arm, force her to look me in the eye. "Listen to me. You want to know who's responsible for Adrian dying?" She swallows hard. "Those men out there." I point out from underneath the table. "Nobody else. Nobody else, do you hear me?" My voice trembles with the strain of keeping quiet. She nods, but I think it's only to placate me.
There's a clang above us as somebody opens a pot on the table. A pair of feet pause in front of us, and a confused, unfamiliar tattooed face suddenly appears beneath the tablecloth. "What are you doing down there?" the stranger questions.
"What do you think we're doing?" I snap, jerking the tablecloth down again, obscuring our faces. The feet hesitate in front of the table for a moment, then slowly turn and wander away, wondering exactly what kind of dirty deed is usually performed beneath refreshment tables at formal banquets.
Annie's still watching the Gamemakers across the dance floor thoughtfully. "Did that man live?" she whispers, like she's afraid to hear the answer. Only Annie could bring herself to care after whatever torment her mind has just put her through.
I nod. "Yes, Annie, he's breathing again, and he's going to the hospital. He's gonna be fine." Not if the President really has it in for him, but I guess I don't know that for sure. "You can just forget about him."
"I can't. That's the funny thing," Annie chokes in a tone that tells me whatever she's about to say won't make either of us laugh. "You want to know a secret?"
I nod quickly, and she takes a deep breath. "I have a photographic memory. At least, I did, since I was a little kid. My head is like a camera."
I frown. "You… you take pictures? In your mind?"
"Yeah. I don't forget things. Books I read, people I meet." Annie bites her lip and meets my eyes then. She's shaking. "I've never forgotten a face. I don't forget anything that I see."
My stomach drops. That explains a lot. The vivid flashbacks, the sitting up all night in the arena, instead of watching the day play out behind her eyelids. I know my ability to forget things has always been one of my biggest sources of comfort. "Well," I begin lamely, fingering one of her curls. "Bet you're great in school."
"Top of my class," Annie whispers, staring into the distance. Her voice is hollow, because what good is that memory doing her now? I don't know if she'll be able to attend school again, and even then, her mind isn't so strong anymore. For some reason, this thought makes my throat tighten more than anything. She can't be the same person she was.
"Should we go take some happier pictures, then?" I offer huskily.
She glances up at me with a weak smile. "Can't we stay under the table? I like it under the table."
I do, too. "Yeah, for a little bit. But people are probably starting to miss us." I tilt her chin towards me. "We are the stars of the show, you know."
Annie laughs lightly, but immediately grows serious again. "Do you always kiss my head when I'm… gone?" she asks hesitantly.
Thank goodness I can't blush. "Oh, no, that was definitely the first, and probably the last time," I confess quickly.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
I don't like that promise.
She leans her head on my chest, and there's a silence that we don't break for a long time. "Speaking of promises…" Annie's eyes flicker playfully up at me. "I promised you a dance, didn't I?"
That one is considerably better.
We get down on our hands and knees and poke our heads out from under the tablecloth. A dancing couple nearly trips over me as I crawl out onto the ballroom floor, pulling Annie out after me. The entire room full of dancers suddenly halts, skirts still swishing, and there are a hundred pairs of eyes on us. A classical orchestra plays what I think is some sort of a waltz, and I bow low and offer my hand in a grand sweeping gesture. Our eyes meet, and her cheeks go bright pink when she grasps it.
Yes, Annie, take a picture of this, please.
One hand in hers. One hand on her waist. My eyes on her face, hers watching the ground steadily, as if she's carefully timing each step. I know she doesn't have to, though. She's floating. Dancing, dancing is something we know in Four. Usually we skip and jump and clap to the music, usually we switch partners every few measures, but sometime we choose a person to hold for an entire song. We're twirling across the floor and trying to find adequate words to express how grateful we are that the other person is here. There are jealous Capitol eyes on us, on me, but I don't have a moment of attention to spare. They can write whatever they want on their perfume-scented stationary. There's nothing and nobody that exists here except Annie and I.
"Annie, do me a favor," I say in a low voice, after we have quietly complimented one another's waltzing skills. "Don't- don't ever dye your skin pink."
"What?" she bursts out, smothering a giggle.
"I mean it. Not that the blush isn't cute, but… all over is a no-no. No rhinestones implanted, either, you'll glare the cameras," I joke.
"Isn't that all the rage here?" Annie asks, eyebrows shooting up. "Aren't these the most attractive fashions?"
I pretend to gag and she starts laughing so hard she loses her timing completely and steps on my foot. "They scare you, too?" she whispers gleefully.
I nod slowly. "Yeah, but not nearly as much as you do."
Smooth, smooth Finnick Odair. I don't see that coming until it's out of my mouth, and don't realize it's true until several seconds after.
Annie's jaw drops. "I scare you?" she hisses in amused disbelief. I don't think Annie's ever scared a soul in her life.
"Not- scare, exactly." I laugh lightly. "It's just that you… you're unpredictable. I don't know what to do with you."
I don't know what to do with the fact that you're the only reason I'm sane and the only reason I almost wasn't, and don't you know, Annie, you're the only person I have ever cried for, and I have no idea what to do with that.
"Unpredictable?" Her eyes narrow. "Yeah, well, it'd probably be easier if I quit screaming and hiding under tables, wouldn't it?" Annie mutters, trying to be sarcastic and only succeeding in sounding wounded.
"No!" I burst out. "That's not it at all. You know I've never been scared off by that. That's the part I can predict. It's just… if you were Capitol, and if you had tattoos all over your…" I cut that statement off at Annie's warning glare. "All over your body, I would know exactly what to say to you right now and exactly how to be, and I would never, ever worry about hurting you."
Because you wouldn't be real then, and you are, you are so real, and real people break and bleed and I can't stand it when you're hurting.
Annie's lost her shyness somewhere along the line. She's watching my face now as if it's transparent to her. I honestly think she can see into my soul, and that scares me more than anything. I haven't cleaned in there in a while.
"Maybe…" she begins slowly. "Maybe you should just stop worrying for a song or two, and we can dance. Just dance with me, okay?"
"Okay," I agree quietly. I take the hint. I'm talking far too much.
The next song is even slower and the only skill required is stepping in a small circle, moving as one. Then Annie's head is on my shoulder, my cheek is pressed against her hair. My arm slips around behind her back and maybe, maybe that's okay now. We can just dance, after all.
She is so very close to me.
"Finnick," Annie whispers into my suit coat. "I want to leave."
"Me neither," I murmur vaguely. I'm very caught in the moment and she's so warm next to me. There's a word forming hazily in my head. Home. That's one I haven't used in a long time. I think I want to take a picture of this forever.
"I said I do want to leave," Annie hisses urgently. "Soon. Please."
Her request registers correctly this time. I grab her shoulders and pull her away from me. She's blanched until her face is almost gray, and I am horrible for not noticing until now. "Annie…" I touch her cheek. "What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm exhausted," she murmurs, but I see it's so much more than that. She must be running on empty. I follow her glassy gaze across the room and lock on the blood-red punch shining in its bowl, the drops splattered on the ground around it. Apparently we haven't been having the same daydreams.
"Yeah," I mutter, clearing my throat sheepishly. "Yeah, we can go." I check the time on the antique wall clock. It's a quarter 'til ten, and these parties are guaranteed to last all night, or until everyone is wasted, whichever comes first. But I won't let them push her any further.
This is going to take some creative thinking.
"I can get you out of here," I whisper. "I have to go thank our hosts first. You stay right here." I start to walk away and then hesitate, turning back to her. "Do me another favor, chickadee, don't ever ask me what I said."
She nods and I hurry off, breaking into a crowd of drunken Capitol men.
Well, we're off, nice to meet you, you have our eternal gratitude for your sponsorship.
So soon, so soon? Where's the wild Finnick Odair?
Wild Finnick Odair? He's reserved tonight, sorry. Annie's been so busy we haven't had any private time yet, if you KNOW WHAT I MEAN.
Wink wink. Wink. Jokes and comments I don't want to repeat. Things I wish I wasn't even saying. I make my way over to the Gamemakers, important Capitol officials, assuring myself that I can get away with blowing off this party. I am Finnick Odair, after all, so I've been told.
I'm pretty sure I hate Finnick Odair.
I tell my story again, laying it on thick enough to make even Capitol people blush. Then President Snow's Secretary, that important man who I remember nothing about except that he's kin to not-Nicole, hands me a glass of punch and an envelope. "For the lovely Miss Cresta," he says in a wheedling tone. "From the President's own desk."
"Oh. Thank you." My heart starts slamming wildly without my consent. It's nothing. A form letter of congratulations, that's all. Still, I trace a thumbnail along the seal. "May I?"
He starts to object. "It's a private-"
"She can't read," I hiss. "From the wharf, you know. We don't want the press to hear tale. You know. Hush hush." He nods hesitantly and I tear in, pull out the fancy stationary, sipping from my glass nonchalantly.
Congratulations to our dear Annie Cresta! In light of the honor you have received in being crowned victor of the 70th Annual Hunger Games, you are hereby invited to take up permanent residence in our fair Capitol-
I choke and barely avoid spewing my mouthful of punch all over the Secretary.
"Are you alright, Mr. Odair?" he asks as I try to swallow around the lump of fear in my throat. I nod and turn away, still coughing and gagging and trying to get my breath back. A Capitol attendant appears beside me, but I wave him away, holding up the letter again. My eyes sweep the page anxiously, skimming until I reach the inevitable list of benefits of Capitol life.
"…food, fun, entertainment, and the pleasure of socializing with the Capitol's elite…"
No. This isn't happening. I set down my glass and lean against the table for support. This is wrong. The timing is all wrong. It's too soon. I had two years, I mentored at two Games before I was 'invited'. But then, I was so young. Still, even Johanna, who won at eighteen, didn't receive her letter until after her Victory Tour.
I take a moment to compose myself before turning back to the Secretary. "What a most gracious invitation," I say as politely as I can manage. "But Annie's still recovering. She'll have to refuse, at least for the time being."
Or forever, or over my dead body. Take your pick.
He frowns at me, because this question only has one answer. And I've answered wrong. "Excuse me?"
"You can talk to her doctors. She's- still- recovering," I repeat, slowly and firmly, as if he's very dim or hard-of-hearing. "She needs to go home."
The Secretary's scowl deepens, and we study each other for a long moment. When he speaks again, the temperature of his voice has dropped twenty degrees. "Well, I don't think you are in a position to speak for Miss Cresta, are you, Mr. Odair?"
But I have to. I can't give her this letter. She couldn't handle knowing that there are still jackals after her, even outside of the arena. I can't handle it.
"I am her mentor. I got her out of the Games alive, and she's entrusted me with making decisions for her while she's ill. Do you hear me? Any request for her time and attention comes through me first!"
I keep my voice low but it doesn't matter, everyone around us has stilled to silent observation. Maybe it's the expression on my face, the fire I feel burning in my eyes, or the fact that I might be trembling slightly with rage. One table down, President Snow is chatting with all his personal aides and staff, and in the stiff lull in conversation they have turned toward us. Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, and his are always beady like a snake's, but now they look ready to strike. I hold his gaze, wanting him to see exactly what happened. It was me that refused, not Annie. She wouldn't fight, but I would. She can't be punished, but I can.
I swallow hard. "Thank you for the offer," I push out, tucking the envelope back into the Secretary's hand. "But we need to be going."
The Secretary is speechless. It's Snow who answers with the coldest of cheery smiles. "You two have fun, now."
I don't remember who but somebody, somebody told me once that his breath smells like blood. I have a sinking suspicion that President Snow can punish whoever he wants.
I force myself to walk slowly over to Annie- one step for each beat of the crawling waltz tempo. She's wrapped up in staring in some abstract painting, tilting her head like she's trying to pick out shapes in the clouds at home. I grab her arm, startling her. "We're going, Annie. Now," I hiss.
She glances back at the painting almost longingly. "I-"
"Now!" I snap, jerking her a little too roughly toward the front doors. I feel the eyes following us across the room like always, but I realize now, they aren't all watching me. They're watching Annie, too. They didn't want her to win, but since she did…
There are so many suggestive good-byes as we part- "Have a good time!" is a common one, with a knowing smile and a quirk of the eyebrows. I want us out of here. Now. Out of this mansion. Out of this city. I don't ever want us to come back.
"You're in for a treat," a green-skinned woman tells Annie as we make our way out to our waiting limo. I give her an icy smile and pull Annie away down the steps.
"Why does everybody keep saying that?" she murmurs in my ear.
I do something even more despicable then. I lie to her. It may be the first time ever, directly, although I've certainly kept back a lot of truth. "Probably because I grabbed some of that pastry you love." I hold up Seeder's paper bag, which I crammed full of the stuff. "You know, the peach kind? Want some?"
"No thanks," Annie says wearily. "I'm not hungry."
"More for me," I mutter dryly, because my appetite is long gone, too. An Avox attendant opens the limo door and we slide across the leather seatbacks. There are still people waving at us and crowding around the curb, and some man with angry red tattoos crawling up his neck flashes straight-white teeth in a crooked smile.
And he winks at her.
My blood boils and I slam the door in his face. They can't have her. They can't. I'd die first. I will die first. I dare anybody to doubt it.
But somehow I know that I won't be given the option. The Capitol can't lose me. But they can spare plenty of others. How many people have I just put in danger? Will they get killed if I fight for her?
Her family…
We're alone in the back of the limousine when the thought strikes. The fury seeps out of me and I slump back in my seat, burying my hands in my hair, frustrated and miserable and so very stuck. I don't notice Annie watching me, studying my face.
"You're so pale," she observes after a long moment, resting a hand on my arm.
I manage a small smile, fully expecting her to tell me how awful I appear at the moment. I know I'm a mess. "Thank you," I mutter.
"Finnick, oh, you're… you're shaking." Her brow knits together in concern. "Do you not feel well?"
"I'm tired," I murmur, because Annie is the sort of person you can admit that to. But I can't tell her why. I can't tell her anything. I drop my head into my hands and stifle a groan. "Annie, I'm so tired."
I try not to seem shocked when she reaches over and starts rubbing my back silently, tracing tiny circles between my shoulder blades. Doesn't she know that isn't a gesture of indifference? Doesn't she know it makes me think she cares? Annie's made it clear that she has no interest in me, but she's genuinely trying to ease my pain. "You have the worst job in the world, do you know that?" she whispers with a grim smile. Then her voice turns as soft as her eyes. "But it's over now. It's okay. It's over."
Annie doesn't know the half of my job or that it's far from being over when I finish mentoring. But I'm so afraid she's going to be finding out soon. I glance up at her face hovering beside mine, and she's so gentle and innocent and so… tender. Completely not what the Capitolites have ever wanted. Never what I wanted either, but now it's hard to imagine wanting anybody but Annie. It must drive these people crazy, trying to figure out what I see in her. I almost smile at the irony, despite everything.
That's when it hits me, exactly what I have done, so hard I instantly pale another two shades. Wouldn't they give anything to find out what I see in her? Of course they would. They only want Annie because they think I have her.
And what's good enough for Finnick Odair is good enough for the Capitol.
And Finnick realizes that what protected Annie once is now putting her in danger. The suspense and bumpy romance here are really fun to write, how is it to read?
