36. Let It Be Me
It was that time of year again. The time that everyone hated, dreaded. Finnick glanced at Annie across the bed, "are you sure you want to do this?"
"I have to." she replied instantly, for the millionth time. It'd been months since Finnick was stabbed by the President, but Annie couldn't sit at home while he was in the Capitol for the next two months. She'd go crazy with worry. She needed to be there; with him. "No you don't." he retorted…for the millionth time. Annie sighed, placing a hand on his face, "we're not having this argument anymore, it's too late, and I'm going."
Finnick pursed his lips, "Do you remember what a struggle your Victory Tour was for you?" Annie's eyes narrowed at his nonchalance. Annie had tried to kill herself the night before she set out on her Tour, and he'd just referred to it as a 'struggle.'
"Yes," she said hesitantly.
"Okay. Imagine that feeling. Times ten. It sucks, Annie. Tributes volunteer for the Games when they're young and stupid. Victors don't volunteer to relive it."
Annie considered this, and Finnick took her silence to make another point, "It won't be the same," he continued, "We won't be able to be us when we're there. You've seen the…the character I have to play when I'm there."
"I don't care." She stared into his eyes to drive her point, "None of it matters, Finnick. I need to be where you are."
His eyes saddened, "I'm not exaggerating, Annie. Being a mentor is like reliving the Games all over again. That makes me nervous. I don't want you to have to do that."
"And I don't want you to." He sighed; this is the part of the argument that they've already been through more times than he could count.
Annie was being stubborn, and nothing he said was convincing her to stay home. He was mentoring the 74th Hunger Games, and she refused to let him do it without her.
"Let's just get ready." He turned away and started to get out of bed. She grabbed his arm, "You're mad at me?" Finnick shrugged his arm away, not answering as he opened the closet and looked through his shirts. "That's ridiculous, Finnick. There's not a day that goes by where you don't fight for me, and I have to accept it. So why is it so hard for you to believe that I'd do the same?"
"I believe that Annie, but I can't accept it." He turned to her now, "You know exactly how I feel about you, and I'll be damned if anything happens to you."
"I'm not going to die, Finnick. I won't even be in the arena." Finnick's jaw clenched, "I was there, Annie. I saw the way the Hunger Games affect you. It's scary. You scared me."
She stood up and made her way towards him. Wrapping both of her arms around him, Annie waited until he met her gaze. "I will be fine." she whispered. "I'll have you."
He pushed away from her, pulling at his hair, "That's my point, Annie! You won't! This is what I've been trying to tell you! The only time we'll be spending together will be in that operation room. Any time that we're not in there, I'll be somewhere else."
"It doesn't matter! I'm going, Finnick. I'm going." He turned away again, "I don't want you there, Annie. And part of me knows that it has nothing to do with your safety. I don't want you to see this part of my life. I just don't want you there."
"I'm going." She whispered.
The train ride to the Capitol was no less nerve racking than it had been the first time. Finnick was already right about one thing, she was afraid. Both of her tributes were sixteen years old. They went to school together. They were in the same class. Maybe they even had some of the same friends. And now both of their lives were on the line. And Annie played a huge part in bringing them home. She wanted to bring them home. She needed to. But she could only have one, if that. This time around, she wasn't responsible for herself; she was responsible for these two kids. If they died, the blood would be on her hands. More blood on her hands. More ghosts to haunt her.
"Why is she even mentoring? She shouldn't be here! This isn't fair, she's crazy. Everyone knows it. She won by default and I don't think she'll do me any good." The boy spoke from the hallway outside of Annie's door.
"You've got a lot to learn, Shaw, and she'll help you."
"That bitch won't know what to do with herself." Annie flew out into the hallway and pinned Shaw against the wall, holding a steak knife to his neck. He looked quickly from the knife to her face. She gave him a menacing smirk, one that was usually reserved for Capitolites. "Rule number one," she said, lowering her voice, "never underestimate who you're dealing with." She released him, spinning the knife in her hand and throwing it full force at the painting down the hall. It landed right between Snow's eyes. Shaw nodded; she'd clearly gotten his approval.
She looked at Finnick, who looked just as surprised as Shaw. "What?" she asked, "I may have won my games due to chance, but that doesn't mean I didn't earn that seven." She wanted to mention that she'd been the one to kill Clash, but it suddenly didn't seem so brag-worthy.
"Where's Mal?" Annie asked. Both boys pointed to the dining hall, and Annie headed over there. She found her newest tribute curled in a ball, staring out the window. Annie wanted to comfort her, remembering that comfort was exactly what she had wanted when she was in Mal's shoes. Annie sucked it up. If she wanted to give Mal a chance of coming home, now wasn't the time to get soft. "Sulking is a weakness." Annie said, leaning against the door. Mal didn't look at her, "Let's not do this. We both know I don't have a chance."
Annie sighed, "But you're going to fight anyway." Mal looked at her now, "What makes you think that?"
"I can see it in your eyes. So, instead of brooding, let's get you ready. Let's give you the chance to fight." Mal met her eyes, and even though Annie hadn't planned on being soft, she could tell that her words had comforted this poor girl. "Now go get ready for dinner." Annie said. Mal nodded and headed to her room.
"You're already proving to be one incredible mentor." Finnick said. Annie turned to look at him, "They both deserved it."
"They've got a shot, Annie. One of them could do this." With their fight from this morning apparently over, Annie nodded, "I know they could."
Dinner on the train reminded her of the dinner she'd shared with Mags, Finnick and Phoenix. Just like then, there was so much food on the table that they barely had room for their plates. There was food from other districts, food that she'd forgotten even existed; food that Mal and Shaw had probably never even heard of. Both of their eyes were wide. Annie leveled her gaze at her tributes, "Take it easy." She warned. Unlike her, these two tributes wanted to eat everything. Annie had just pushed the food around her plate.
Shaw was a volunteer; a stupid, pretty faced volunteer. She couldn't help but shake her head, even now, as she watched him across the table. Finnick seemed to read her mind, and he placed a hand on her knee underneath the table to calm her. She knew that he was good as dead. He had the arrogance that both Finnick and Phoenix had. But there was something else in him, innocence…almost childlike.
Mal was a different story. She was a lot like Annie. Out of all the kids who trained and prepared for The Games, she'd gotten unlucky. Mal's name was called, and a silent moment had engulfed the district as no one volunteered to save her. Annie related to that feeling more than anything.
"So," Finnick broke the silence, forcing his two tributes to look up from their plates, "what skills do you have?"
"I'm good with a trident. I can swim. I've been practicing my knots. I know how to start a fire. I've been studying plants. I also know how to throw knives and I've become pretty good with a bow." Shaw listed instantly. Finnick nodded solemnly. "And what about you?" he motioned to Mal.
"I can hold my breath longer than anyone in our grade. My mom taught me how to make nets. And my dad's basically been teaching me to handle a spear and a trident since I was born…you know, just in case." She looked back down at her food, suddenly not feeling all that hungry.
Mal sat by the window in her room. It was getting so muggy. The fresh air was being replaced by pollution. She knew they must be close to the Capitol. They'd probably get there pretty early in the morning. And then comes the nightmare. The make-over, the chariot ride, the training, being scored, and then being put into an arena to die. She scoffed to herself. She knew she'd die. Mal was an optimistic person; she'd always believed the best in people, the best of herself. But this wasn't the same. This was the reality of the world. Twenty four innocents go in, only one comes out. She wasn't going to be that one, she just knew it. She could feel it….she could feel her impending death. How morbid.
She turned her head to the light knocking on her door. She sat for a moment, deciding to ignore it. It was probably Annie Cresta coming to give her a cup of tea and telling her to have hope. Hope was pointless. There was no hope. She felt a hot tear roll down her cheek as she tried to grasp all of this. The knocking persisted, and Mal rolled her eyes. She stood up, crossed the room and opened the door.
Shaw stood there with his eyes on his shoes, and she waited while he slowly lifted them to look into hers. "How are you?" he asked, his voice rugged. She shrugged, quickly swiping the tear away, feeling embarrassed that he might have seen it.
"What about you?" she asked. He shrugged too. "Do you think I could come in?" he asked. The rawness of his voice tore at her. She removed her arm from the door and gestured him inside. Shaw closed the door behind him; slowly and quietly.
"Why did you come here?" Mal asked.
"We're both going to die, aren't we?" he sat down on her bed. Mal shook her head, "You've got a one in twenty four shot. You have a chance. You're ready for this, Shaw. You volunteered for it."
"We both know why I volunteered." Mal felt the tears springing to her eyes again, "You shouldn't have. Now we're both dead."
"It's better than sitting on the couch and watching you die while I'm helpless in District 4." He argued. She wanted to argue with him, but there was no point in that either. There was no point in anything. All they had were a few days.
Her tears were running down her face but she didn't take her eyes off of him. He sat on the edge of her bed, his hands locked in his hair while his head hung. He looked so much older. She'd always thought there was an innocent air about Shaw, but in that moment, he'd never looked more grown-up.
"Come here," he whispered. Mal took slow steps towards him, and as she did, his eyes watered, matching hers. When she reached him, she took one more step to stand between his legs, and then she dropped her face to his, "No more waiting..." she took a moment to collect herself, "there's no more time." And then his lips were on hers in agreement. His kissing was urgent, rushed, and she matched it. They had the same feeling rushing through their bodies; so much time wasted, all they wanted to do was make up for it. And that's why Shaw pulled her on top of him, sliding back into the pillows. And that's why when he did it, Mal didn't stop him.