C︎HAPTER FIFTEEN

People who never knew any better figured that Finnick spent his days as a Victor lounging about in bed, well until noon. What else could a rich, Capitol schmooze do with his day, after all?

And, sure, on those off days - when the heaviness in his head made it impossible to move from bed, or when drugged out beyond compare in the Capitol - he never made it to see the sunrise. Or even the sunset hours later, for that matter.

But, off days aside, it's also biologically ingrained in him to be one of the first ones to greet the sun.

It was a habit left over from a better part of his life – back when his father would shake him awake hours before dawn to have Finnick help prepare the boats for the day's fishing. There was work to be done, and it needed to get started before the moon had chance to disappear, and Finnick was two extra hands to send his father and uncles well on their way.

Afterward, when his father would set sail and leave him behind to find his way back home, Finnick would sit on the end of the dock and wait for the sun.

It was his favorite part of the day. The world was a gentle type of quiet, save for the monotonous crash of water against sand, against the dock, against the cry of the gulls.

Later, in life, he would watch the sunrise without ever having fallen asleep – kept awake by the threat of nightmares too gruesome to bother falling asleep for, or left plagued by the memories and sensations that only seem to creep up strong when his head his a pillow.

Even now, no matter the exhaustion felt, Finnick rises when the sky is painted a grayed out blue. Annie is a solid presence, still asleep and tucked beneath his arm, her chest pressed against his left side.

Waking up beside Annie had become somewhat of a common pastime since his arrival in the Great Forest. It wasn't abnormal. But as of late there's been an additive to the whole equation that Finnick hasn't been able to process without his heart thrumming fast in his chest.

Sure, sleeping near Annie was never an unpleasant thing to begin with (she doesn't snore!) but it was also never something he took comfort in, either, until recently. Finnick's no stranger to waking up beside bodies. In fact as a result, if given the choice, he'd much rather prefer waking up alone in his own bed.

But for some reason, Annie is different. From the beginning - starting from her cabin in the Colony to now, alone on the forest floor of the Great Forest - her presence just being there is a comfort. She's also soft, and warm, and smells like pine and roses…and has this habit of curling into him the second she falls into deep sleep, her soft breath and dark hair tickling against his skin. It melts the fuck out of him.

When he wakes to her asleep beside him, he finds that he likes to take a few moments to watch the peaceful expression on her face, or the way her chest rises and falls softly. It was like watching a sunrise; the same gentle kind of quiet.

The thought makes him nervous. This was uncharted territory; a different kind of vulnerability.

He watches her now, under the blue-grey light, his head swimming with a million different things. He has his arm tucked up under her shoulders, and she's pressed into his side, her pink lips parting lightly between her deep breaths.

Annie is undeniably pretty – it was something he noticed the first time he saw her, even while drugged off his ass in that horrible tent. She's all soft features painted on ivory skin. With her green eyes and dark hair and freckled nose, she looks like roots and vines and everything the natural world that connects to her provides. She moves like a stream, her voice a song when she talks to him. And, god, her laugh.

Finnick screws his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. He needs to calm down. He's being a creep.

Not wanting to jostle the still-sleeping nymph, he takes care to extract himself from the banana leaf nest they had lain about, and takes a small inventory of his body, a pastime seeming to become routine these days.

His nose is still congested post-fire pollen, and as a result, he can feel a small pressure headache forming in the area that slopes around and behind his eyes. His chest feels heavy, too, but that's just the remaining exhaustion wearing away at him. No matter what he does here, or however long he sleeps, he can't seem to will away the feeling of tiredness. It seeps through his bones, settles into his muscles and behind his eyes. He tries to ignore the nagging feeling that it's this place sucking him dry. Or, more horrifically, the Colony still digging it's claws into him. That's a thought he's been chewing on for a while now – do the mechanics of the Ritual fizzle out when he's out of range? Or did the Great Gardens get enough of him to just permanently take from him now, until he's sucked dry? If so, is all of this moot point?

It's all questions that swirl around when he should be sleeping, or prepping their next campsite, or starting a fire, but he usually shakes them away. He's probably being paranoid – let's see any other person go through the past three weeks he's gone through and not be chronically exhausted.

And though he tries hard to ignore it, all of this reminds him of his time in the Games. The pattern of rushes of adrenaline, followed by a steep decline as his body wears out from constantly being on guard, constantly moving, constantly hauling heavy equipment. The imminent overhang of constant danger, and how it fries the psyche.

For the hundredth time, he second-guesses on whether or not going back is the right idea. Who's to say that Mags is still alive, or even in Four? He can't just stroll into town where everyone knows his face and what he'd done – he ran from the reaping, a total felony. If the Guards don't take him captive here, then the Peacekeepers surely will.

But, he supposes, better the devil you know, right?

He rummages through the canvas bag, and pulls out the rest of the dried, smoked fish they'd been picking at for the past few days. Sitting beside the bag, he saves some for Annie, and absentmindedly chews a piece, watching her from afar. Just over her shoulder, daybreak begins, as strips of gold tap and sneak around the branches in the trees.

In the routine they'd established thus far (when he's not drugged-out by nymph women or incapacitated by energy sucking pixie magic) Finnick would usually jostle her awake when he woke before daybreak. But today he lets her sleep in, figuring she needed it.

The conversation they'd had yesterday shortly after the run-in with the Guards was eating away at him, even now.

He hadn't realized how much she'd been taking on; how every step back was a burden she put on her shoulders, her own cross to bear. He knows all too well what that's like. It's a rough feeling. He figures there's more to it than what she'd shared last night and that something deeper was digging at her. But, nonetheless, he figures he should let her know how much he appreciates the littlest things. That it's a miracle she's here at all.

But with this comes a similar, nagging thought. Finnick cannot figure out why she's out here at all, helping him. He can't think of a single person in his life, save for his parents or Mags, who would go to the lengths that Annie has gone for him in the past few weeks.

He wonders what she's gaining from the experience, if anything at all.

Why him?

She could have just easily led him out of the Colony and told him to be on his way, and even then that would have been more than what he probably deserved. But she didn't, and the knowledge of it stirs on his chest, sits funny in his stomach. It's the same flutter he gets when he holds her hand, or catches her eye for a small period of time, or wakes up with her hand sprawled on his chest.

It scares the hell out of him…but it also excites him.

︎

Finnick let her sleep in, and she wants to yell at him for it, because all the time Anneyce spent asleep is time they could have spent crossing the barrier.

He's smug when Anneyce confronts him though, a playful smile stretching the corners of his mouth, and digging the pit of the dimple on his left cheek. It knocks her breathless for a moment, warms her cheeks.

"Someone has to be the one who wastes the day away sleeping, and I'm sick of it being me."

It's the only apology she's going to get, so she focuses her irritation instead on something useful.

She chews hastily on the fish he'd prepared for her, and dabs a bit of the tonic of comfrey root and rosemary that Izzie gave to them on her wrists and behind her ears. She feels a sinus headache pounding away at her nose, growing stronger with every hour, and she twists her hair back and off her neck. The mid-afternoon air is warm, and she feels soupy after sleeping in it for so long.

She closes her eyes and takes a moment to feel out the energy of the barrier, and her feet move when she catches a kink towards the east direction of the forest. They stumble into the routine of it, Finnick crunching beside her as they walk toward an unknown, un-seeable concept.

The headache mucks things up. It fuzzes out the already blurred edges, and she struggles to concentrate alongside the pain. Her resolve was failing fast, already.

"Talk to me," she says.

"What?"

"I can't focus," she admits, turning to look at him. "I'm thinking too much. Distract me, so maybe I can come upon it naturally."

"Uh, okay," he clears his throat, turns his eyes skyward to think. "How did you meet Johanna?"

It wasn't a question she was expecting, and it throws her off for a moment, that she lets out a short quip of a laugh. She feels guilty in her realization that she'd hadn't thought of Johanna in a while – she hopes that she's fairing well in the Colony. Anneyce swallows, trying not to dwell too long on the shape the Colony must be in by now.

"I've known Johanna since I was a child," Anneyce says. "Our mothers were good friends, so she was always around growing up. They'd usually come visit."

"So, childhood best friends, then?" he says.

"Oh no," Anneyce smiles, thinking fondly, "She hated me."

"Really?" Finnick raises his eyebrows, and it's his turn for the short, surprised laugh. "Why?"

"I was too timid for her, she thought I was soft. You've met Johanna, she's all fire, no rain."

He nods, his eyes sparkling. "Then what changed?"

"Our mother's died," Anneyce says softly. "And we found solace in each other because of that. I don't know if I changed, or if she did. But we made it work."

In a way, she supposes, their friendship was homage to their mother's friendship. But it really didn't feel like that. Johanna felt like home, like an extension of Anneyce's own hearth. She lost her mother, but found a kinship in her friend.

Finnick is quiet after that for a few moments, and Anneyce finds a way to keep talking, afraid she'd made things to disconsolate with the story.

"But, still, she used to be such a prickly pear," Anneyce says. "I remember once, when I was really little, my mother brought me over their house for tea and a play date, Johanna told me if I didn't stop squeaking when I spoke the Great Garden would turn me into a mouse and my mother would never let me back in the house."

Horrified, Anneyce didn't speak for hoursafter that (though, that was probably Johanna's plan all along). Later that night, while her mother was readying them for bed, Anneyce asked her if she thought mice were ugly. She can't remember what her mother's response to the odd question was, just that it sufficed enough to put her at ease.

"That's awful," Finnick says, but he's smiling. It's a conspiring smiling, and Anneyce is relieved to see it. He's seen their friendship firsthand, no matter how brief – no matter the tortures Johanna put her through as children, they loved each other now. If anyone ever told Anneyce she sounded like a mouse now, Johanna would be the first to fight back.

"It really was, wasn't it?" Anneyce laughs, "What a brat."

As if startled by her words, Finnick laughs with her.

"Do you have any friends like that?" Anneyce asks after their laughter ebbs, and she tosses a glance his way. They approach a fallen trunk and he offers her a steady hand to use as a balance while they step over it. He continues to hold onto her hand, even after they cross, and she chews her bottom lip, biting back a soft smile.

"Not ever in that way, no," he responds quietly, and she can't tell what the expression on his face says. "But I suppose my circumstances were different."

"What do you mean?"

"I had a few friends, before I was in the Games, but from the moment I could tie a knot, I was always working on my dad's boat," he says, his voice lost in thought, "Never had time for much else."

Anneyce tries to picture Finnick's father. Was he tall, like Finnick? Did they have the same fiery hair? Playful smiles?

"I was reaped for the Games too young," he sighs, and she runs her thumb against the back of his hand, willing him softly to continue. "With that, and I guess, just being a Victor, comes a certain…stigma."

"Stigma?"

"When you win the Games, everyone becomes so obsessed with this false image. They get wrapped up into the lie of it all, that they never give you the chance to explain for yourself," he says. "I'm either the most sought after body in all of Panem, or the most disgusted. Not really friend material."

He mentions the Hunger Games very casually, his voice calm, and it unnerves Anneyce. The fact that he's so desensitized to his own horror, where the trauma of it can be set so simply in normal conversation…it makes her incredibly sad.

Anneyce frowns, "That's horrible."

"Yeah, well, I guess you can see why I ran away." He smiles sadly, gives her hand a squeeze.

The headache pressing behind her eyes sinks a little deeper too, and she has to stop for a moment. Suddenly everything is too much. She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"I'm sorry, can we stop for a second?"

"Yeah, sure," he says, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" she takes a step forward, feeling something out.

With a sudden pop, a ghost of a sensation is gone and she gasps at the unpleasant feeling, stumbling into a nearby tree.

"Annie," Finnick reaches out, trying to steady her, but she's too preoccupied looking around for the missing piece in her to notice anything else.

"Do you feel that?" She murmurs, her eyes squinting as the sinus headache rolls over the bone behind her eyes, pressing down hard. She buckles beneath the pain, arching over her bent knees.

"Hey, whoa," Finnick touches her arm gently, guiding her to a sitting position on the forest floor, "feel what?"

It was like someone found a switch that she hadn't even known was there and turned it off.

"Nothing," she whispers, looking around from the ground, up at the trees circling their heads. "There's nothing there."

She turns to the tree against her back to set a palm to the rough surface, the bark pinching her skin as she concentrates. With sinking horror, she realizes that it's emptiness she feels. A disconnection. Where was the buzz, the zing of life that ensures a connection between her and the fauna?

The tree is not dead - she can tell from the spindly roots cracking between the soil, the healthy complexion of the bark, and the strong, lush greenness of the leaves.

But it feels dead beneath her palm. Empty.

Her headache roars.

In the distance, there's a tinkling chorus of birdsong echoing off the trees. It's just white noise. It feels distanced, alienated. She shivers.

"I can't feel the connection. It's been severed. Almost as if-" she gasps, "We're not in the Great Forest anymore!" She scrambles towards Finnick, now squatting beside her with a concerned expression on his face.

Anneyce places her hands on his cheeks. The warm sensation of something she can only describe as life beneath her fingertips surprisingly soothes her headache.

"Finnick! You did it! You popped us through the barrier!"

"I think you're not giving yourself enough credit," he says, his jaw working under her fingertips, warming her hands. "I just stood here and almost got abducted by pixies."

She laughs, and it's so joyful and bubbly because the relief washes over her immediately. They've done it! They've crossed! She's so full of relief she almost doesn't feel the numb, emptiness that crossing over gives her. Almost. She shivers at the sensation, wrinkles her nose.

"Oh, I feel so…cut off," she sighs, drops her hands to his shoulders, to stabilize better. In the absence of energy, touching Finnick feels amplified. He's a steady rock. It's grounding. "But you still feel nice, at least."

She had let it slip without thinking, so overwhelmed by sensation, and her eyes snap to his face in mortification. His eyes trace her face, and she feels suddenly flush. The brilliant green of his irises sparkle as they dip down to her lips, and back up again.

She realizes, like a brush of warm water down her spine, how close they are.

"We're so close," she whispers, and she's not sure if she means to his home or something else.

"Annie?" He says, softly, his breath warm over her face. His hands slip just up under jaw, cupping her close, "May I kiss you?"

She's struck dumb by from her own shock of emotions and his perplexing question, that for a moment she doesn't say a word, just stares at him dumbly.

Immediately, he takes her silence for rejection, and moves to pull away from her orbit, his expression suddenly shy. In a panic, Anneyce fumbles forward, coaxing his face back toward her, crashing her lips toward his own. For a moment they are both so shocked by her quick action they just hover there, pressed together, before Finnick shakes off the stupor and his fingers roam up the back of her head. She doesn't really know what she's doing and it's a near paralyzing thought, but he takes the lead easily enough, sighing against her mouth.

In the span of their journey, there had been touches and hand holding and glances that had set her spine tingling and spark flying – but none of it prepared her for this. Like a jolt of electricity; a spark of heat starting from her mouth all the way down to the ends of her toes.

His lips are soft and warm, and his hands are full of her hair, and where ever their bodies are connected is a thick trail of heat across her skin. Her face tingles where his lips are currently working against her own, and she gasps softly into his mouth when his teeth nip at her lower lip. His hands move back to her face, his thumb brushing softly against her cheek, and for some reason this soft touch sets her on fire. Sparks shoot straight down her lower belly, and she sighs into the sensation. She wraps her arms around his neck, willing him closer, to fill this feeling growing deep in her chest.

Is this what she was missing out on all those nights?

It's a greedy, selfish thought, and she feels horrible the instant she thinks it. But it's something she can't help but think. She thinks understands the sparkle in her mother's eye now, when she reminisces about her father. Why the other nymphs practically glowed after the Ritual kick started.

This was maddening. And she wanted him even closer.

Finnick pulls away slow, his eyes hooded, once green eyes nearly blown black. The sight of it sends a shiver down her spine. She moves forward, capturing him in another kiss, once, twice, a third time, before popping back.

She sits back, plopping against the bark of the tree, her heart thrumming in her chest. She puts a hand up to her lips, feeling them pop and tingle beneath the touch.

She remembers, vaguely, talking to Johanna about him after the first night of the Ritual. Anneyce had called him "skilled" when talking to Johanna about his affections, even though all he'd done was drunkenly pawed at her and slept on her chest.

Skilled. What an understatement.

"Well," Finnick says, moving to sit on the ground by her feet. He smiles at her, and she returns it with a small one of her own, sheepish, "How's that for a District 4 hello?"

She blows out a startled laugh, her cheeks warming, and buries her face into her hands. He raps his knuckles against her knee, and she knocks into his touch, shaking her head, peaking at him between the slats of her fingers. He smirks at her, cheeky,

"I feel nice, huh?"

"Oh," she groans, doubling over, "I don't know why I said that. Let's just pretend I didn't."

She hears him laugh, and the sounds sends sparks through her chest, despite her embarrassment.

"Absolutely not. I am never going to forget that one."

Anneyce wonders if it's not too late for the Guards to come crawling through the barrier to drag her back.

She pushes herself to her feet, wobbling a bit, both from the disorientation that comes from severed connection and…whatever the heck she and Finnick just did. She doesn't look at him, still too mortified to look him in the eye, but she hears the forest floor rustle as he joins her on his feet.

She frowns, trying to figure out where to go from here, as the realization that they're now completely lost. At least before, when she had the connection, she could navigate a little easier. Now she just feels like they're sitting ducks.

"Where do you think we are?" She asks, turning to him.

But he's not quite paying attention to her dilemma, instead he has his head cocked slightly, his eyes glazed towards the horizon, a large grin on his face. He turns to her and for a moment it knocks her breathless, he's pure sunlight as he beams at her.

"Annie, do you want to see the ocean?"

A/N: Here's to hoping this chapter makes up for my radio silence :o)

If ur reading this i love u