A/N: Hi this is one of my favorite chapters. I love you, I miss you, I miss this

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Anneyce stands on the beach and soaks in the massive otherness of it.

The waves pound into the sand, a never ceasing tug and pull that threatens to sweep her up and toss her around in the middle of it all.

In the distance, a type of bird she's never seen before screams a warrior cry and disappears as it dives into the churning waters. Beneath her feet, the sand is hot and jagged, with sharp rocks and shells - nothing like the smooth stones that line the brooks, or the tinkling trickle of pooled waters in the Colony.

Her senses scream against the immensity of it. She's still not used to losing the connection between herself and the environment; and everything here seems so much more vicious and unknowable. There's a sharpness pounding behind her temples at the sensations she's absorbing but now absent from. It's all so loud in a chaotic, messy way that she can't seem to untangle; Anneyce has never not been entangled in the mechanisms of nature.

She reaches down to cup a handful of the warm water between her fingers. Lifting her cupped fingers to her mouth, she tentatively takes a small sip, only to immediately spit it out. Her eyes scrunch at the poignant taste, pickling her tongue, and making her nose burn.

She hears Finnick's soft chuckle and she turns to find him just behind her left shoulder.

"What was that awful flavor?" she asks.

"That's saltwater," his smirk is mischievous, as he leans towards her. His scent overtakes the salty, almost sour air and it shoots butterflies through her stomach.

"It's so terrible," she scrunches her nose.

He smiles, placing a hand on the small of her back, and suddenly his touch is the only thing she can focus on, despite everything else going on around them.

"Well, you aren't supposed to drink it," he teases.

She frowns, perplexed, "If you're not supposed to drink the water, then what's the point of it?"

He gestures to the open lake – ocean she corrects herself – before him, "We use saltwater to fish. As well as to swim."

Anneyce's face crumples in distaste at the last part. Considering how awful it is to drink, she can only imagine the discomfort one could experience swimming in it. She toes the moist sand, subconsciously searching for any sort of connection between her and the earth to echo the missing feeling in her heart after leaving the Great Forest, making a vow to never test the theory.

Finnick, however, has other plans as he shucks his clothes and tosses them aside, skirting around her to wade deeper into the surf.

"What are you doing?" she asks, curiously.

He peers over his shoulder at her, his expression pure sunshine. It nearly knocks her backwards, this sight of him. He seems so at ease here, in this violent, loud world…

"I'm going for a swim," he says simply.

The foamy water continues to lap greedily at her toes as she watches him cut through the surf with the ease of a fish, before diving headstrong into a tall crest, nearly unidentifiable in the blue save for his shock of red hair. Anneyce just barely begins to panic by the time he breeches the surface nearly ten feet out, his body bobbing along with the waves. He lifts an arm out to her, in invitation, but she returns it with a shake of her head, smiling to herself as she lowers herself into the white sand.

As it turns out, it had not been hard to find District 4; they'd even found this stretch of beach in a little less than an afternoon's walk.

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

"What?" she had asked, perplexed. They were in the middle of nowhere, with not a lick of water in sight. She had never seen the ocean before, but she'd heard enough to know that it was huge and hard to miss – definitely not in the middle of the woods.

"I know exactly where we are," he said, his expression growing giddier with every second. He approached her then, swallowing her hands with his own, "I don't know how you did it, Annie, but you brought us straight to District 4!"

Anneyce had found a pocket that bled right into his home, landing in a small patch of forest that Finnick was all too familiar with, as it was somewhere he used to frequent as a kid. According to Finnick, they'd crossed over onto a pathway in the backwoods that ran behind the District, just before the fence that cut it off from the other boundaries.

She still wasn't entirely sure how they'd done it. After chewing on it for a bit, her theory is that they were talking about his home when they crossed, essentially manifesting it before them. But even then, who knows? It might have just been dumb luck.

"I'm not sure if anyone knows this beach is here," he had explained as they hiked, "I'm sure someone does, but I'd never ran into anyone as long as I've been going there."

He said it usually took him an hour walk to get to it from his house, two from the Victor's Village after he moved post-Games, but it was worth it for the private beach. He used to go frequently as a child, nearly every day, that's why the woods were so recognizable. He knew them like the back of his hand at this point.

Occasionally, he would stop to point out landmarks, like, "This is where I almost ran into roaming Peacekeepers who were on fence duty!" or "this is where I nearly sprained my ankle on a hidden root!" or the base of a tree, where he'd carved his initials when he was thirteen. He had stopped to recognize it immediately, despite the carving having been completely covered by overgrowth, crouching to finger the shaky indents in the bark. It was bleached white, the boxy, delicate F.O. small, almost invisible.

"I did this the week before I was reaped," he had said, so soft Anneyce almost didn't catch it. Slowly, she crouched down next to him, to observe the letters more carefully, trying to picture thirteen-year-old Finnick, alone out here in the woods widdling away at the soft skin of the tree in the woods.

"My father had finally given me my own fishing knife. I don't know what possessed me to massacre a tree, though," he laughed, but it was dry. She put a hand on his shoulder, her heart clenching, and he looked at her, his eyes sad, "I only came back out here a handful of times since then, but I've avoided this tree every time."

"Why?"

He shrugged under her hand, his eyes glass, "I know it's not, but it just feels like the last thing I ever did that felt string-free. Just me, carving my name in a tree because I was thirteen and I wanted to." He sighed. "It's a nice memory, don't you think?"

"Yes," she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder, "it's very nice, Finnick."

Anneyce is startled when a shadow casts over her and raindrops fall on her head, only to find it's just a very soaked Finnick, looming over her with a satisfied grin. While lost in her thoughts, he'd managed to climb back ashore, redress, and stand over her, pleased as pie.

"You should swim," he says, "There's nothing that compares to swimming in the ocean, Annie."

She pushes her toes into the sand, feeling the temperature of the soft grains grow cooler the further down she goes. Though glorious, and it did seem like he was having fun, the ocean was an intimidating creature that she was not exactly ready to swim in. It's still as gut churning and breathtaking to observe as the first moment she first laid eyes on it.

Anneyce liked to think she knew a thing or two about bodies of water. She's been around her share of brooks, lakes, ponds, and rivers; swam under waterfalls, fished in streams, bathed in pools. Each body of water had a rhythm – it's own song that snuck up on you if you didn't know what you were looking for. They sang to you, if you were patient enough to listen.

But the ocean was a force; it's symphony was the chorus of an uproar.

She still cannot put into words the feeling of experiencing the water before seeing it. The first signal that they were close was that the horizon behind the tree line just simply…dropped away. There were trees, and then there was nothing but empty sky. Then there was smell, and sound, and feeling all at once. The air whipped around her face, sour and salty and littered with the screams of sea birds and wind. Eventually, Finnick's secret pathway spilled into a rocky cliff side beach, beyond them nothing but churning turquoise water that stretched so far, Anneyce couldn't tell where it ended and the skyline began.

It was massive, it was loud, and it was like nothing she's ever seen before.

Upon their approach, Finnick was a livewire, nearly spilling the canvas bag into her arms as he took off like a rabbit toward churning sea. He bent over as he ran, digging his hands into the sand, tossing it up over him to fall over his head like rain, his manic laughter nearly swallowed by the wind.

She squints at him now, up at his sun kissed, wet face.

"I'm okay with watching," she says, and he plops down beside her in the sand. His wet skin radiates a nice cool temperature that she scoots closer to in relief. It was a sticky, humid temperature in District 4, despite the ocean breeze, and it was something that she was trying to adjust to.

Noticing her adjustment, he scoots in as well, pressing his arm to her own and she smiles at him. He returns it with a mischievous one of his own, before shaking his head at her, sending salt water from his hair to go flying at her and she laughs, swatting at him in surprise.

In the distance, a huge bird skims the water, and Anneyce watches, transfixed. She'd never seen a bird so big. Finnick nudges her, pulling her attention.

"That's an albatross," he says, leaning in so his voice was low in her ear, and she shivers despite the heat, "I've seen some with a wingspan as long as 11 feet."

"That's amazing," she whispers, but she's all but forgotten about the bird, his lips against her ear capturing all of her attention.

The memory of their kiss shoots like a rocket down her spine, and she suddenly feels the fire, lighting low and growing steady where their bodies touch. She pulls her knees closer to her chest, wraps her arms tighter around them, and she tilts her head slightly to get a good look at him.

He's glowing, his half-dried hair already sun-kissed a shade lighter. What little sun they've been bathed in has brought a new patch of freckles on his skin. He smells like the ocean now, but it's nice, melting into the comforting scent of him.

He's a bundle of energy and light. But, closer now, she sees the tightness in his eyes. The way his lips are drawn thin, despite the soft smile he gives her under her gaze. With a small shock, Anneyce suddenly realizes he's afraid. He's just been very good at hiding it.

She reaches for his hand atop the sand, weaves her fingers through his, hoping to give him comfort. His eyes flicker to their hands, before marching back up to her face, reading her worried expression. The bubble of serenity seems to pop then, as he realizes she's caught on.

He sighs, leaning into her shoulder, and she rests her cheek atop his head.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Anneyce asks, and she feels him tense beside her.

"Not sure," he mumbles, his words so low they almost get taken away with the tide, "I think we just need to find Mags, and get the hell out."

She nods against him. Anneyce glances down to find his eyes closed, the sea breeze ruffling his hair against her cheek. In a quick decision (and before she can chicken out) she plants a quick kiss on top of his head. He lifts his head to peer at her, an amused smile on his face. She can feel her heart beating in her throat, both shy and wild, all at the same time.

It hadn't been that long since they'd kissed – only a mere few hours ago. They hadn't exactly talked about it, either. But Anneyce feels like something's been unlocked, a new boundary has been passed. The air feels charged, electric.

Finnick tilts his head back, his eyes flickering from her own back down to her lips, and at the sight of it she shifts, turning to him fully, taking his face in her hands. He pulls in a small breath and she feels like she's come to life at the sound.

"Is this okay?" she asks, and she swears his eyes almost darken a little at the question, before he grins.

"Annie," he says, his voice husky and low, "just kiss me already."

There's no hesitation this time, no pause or draw of breath. She drinks him in like a wine underneath the hot sun. He tastes like the saltwater she'd puckered her lips against only moments ago, but it tastes so much sweeter now. If the water tasted like this she'd happily drink it all day.

Finnick's hands find her hips, anchoring her to him in the sand, and she slides her fingers down his damp cheeks, feeling the grit of the sand like stubble on his skin. He sighs softly, coaxing her mouth open the smallest bit, gaining entrance with his tongue and suddenly she's on fire.

Much too soon for her liking he pulls apart from her, his chest rising and falling as heavily as the tide that's beginning to gain on their spot in the sand. He smiles at her, cheeky, and she can't help but blow out a shaky laugh.

Anneyce is so distracted by him, that the edge of the foamy sea causes her gasp as it splashes on her toes. Finnick had mentioned the strange phenomena of the changing tide, but she hadn't realized the water had literally crept up on them. Finnick chuckles at her surprised face before pushing himself to his feet, brushing the sand off his damp pants. He offers a hand to her, which she takes, guiding her upright. Her palm enveloped in his now feels so much more – it's like their kissing flipped a switch. Suddenly everything about him is illuminating.

They stand together as the tide pools around their feet, glowing in the sensation of it all. He observes her beneath the afternoon sun, and smiles sadly, the moment passing as whatever weight that's been crushing him since they crossed over returns.

"Come on," he says, "let's get to town."

It's safe to say that Finnick is a little bit terrified.

Their plan is shaky at best – deciding to just turn up at Mags' doorstep and see if she's home. Finnick decides it's a good idea to steer clear of the center of town altogether, lest he be spotted. The Victors would be less likely to turn him over to the Peacekeepers then the townspeople.

"They're the closest to friends I have," he explained, "We had each other's backs. We know what its like to be the unlucky winner."

Other than Mags, he never made a habit to talk to the other Victors – well, not on a daily basis. They were friendly when they had to work together, and neighborly in passing. He saw the pity in their eyes when they looked at him, and it made him uncomfortable. So he usually kept to himself.

But they were allies in their anger against their abusers. Being the ones that were forced to shepherd kids to slaughter year after year brought you together like that. He remembered many drunken nights in the Victor's lounge during his time as a mentor. He went every damn year since he won because of his extra services. The tears as children died in real time, the whispered rage, the supportive shoulders. Finnick's punched many walls, and had many Victors help bandage his hands, and vise versa.

Sure they had won, but at what cost?

"If my math is right, the reaping hasn't even happened yet," he says.

"Well…" Annie begins, but chews her lip, "we actually don't know that for sure. If it's over."

"What?"

"Time doesn't work linearly," she explains, "What may have been only a few weeks in the Great Forest may have been only hours here – or months. It's hard to tell." She frowns, watching his face pale.

"Months?" The forest begins to tip, and he knocks into a tree, their canvas bag he'd been carrying slipping from his shoulders. She feels the ghost of her fingertips grasp his arm, trying to help. He could have been gone months without word to Mags? She could have thought him dead, this whole time?

"Shit," he murmurs, clenching his eyes shut, "fuck!"

"Finnick?" Annie's small voice cuts through his thoughts, and he opens his eyes long enough to see her panic, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm you. It might have only been a few weeks – months is just worse case."

He doesn't say anything, just stares beyond her, at the forest. All he can think about is how he left Mags behind. He hadn't felt this wall of guilt in a long time – not since the incident with the mutt-vines in the Great Forest. He clenches his jaw, feeling it roll off him in waves.

"We won't know until we get there, so let's not worry," her voice is gentle despite the panic in her tone, her hand squeezing gently on his arm, trying to pull him from his own head. He nods a quick, jerky, nod before taking a deep breath. He bends down to retrieve the bag, adjusting it over his shoulders.

Tramp it down. Stuff it out. Focus.

"Right, okay," he says, "Let's keep going. Sorry."

She offers him a small, relieved smile and another wave of guilt hits him like a bowling ball. He needs to keep it together, no matter the outcome here. This place is dangerous for the both of them. He's noticed since they'd crossed Annie's been acting a little bit…off. Overwhelmed, almost. He reaches down to take her hand in his giving their entwined fingers a squeeze, before setting the pace again. It's not long now; he figures they'll reach Victor's Village a few hours before sunset.

It rolls upon them like a storm, the gate imposing enough to knock the breath out of him, even after all these years. It's not locked, it never is. No one ever wants to step foot in the Victor's Village.

The Village in Four is set along a private stretch of beach, the individual mansions dotting the coast like blights. It's actually tucked in a bay that horseshoes around the inner corner of Four – directly across the stretch of water is the main town. At night, Finnick would sit on his dock and face the water to see the lights in the town winking in the distance.

He and Mags were next-door neighbors, their houses a five-minute walk from the main gate. They take the beach route to get to Mags', since all of the houses face the water, and he figures it's safer than the road. From his experience, the Victors rarely used the beach, taking their vices elsewhere. He knew because, while he was always out there, he'd never see his neighbors spend much time in the sand.

Finnick was trying desperately to ignore it, but he can feel his heart pounding in his chest the closer they get. The sweat lingering in his palms and across his neck feels all too familiar. He practically forgets Annie is there next to him, until he feels her hand squeeze his own, and he looks down to find her green eyes watching him. He begins to say something, when his train of thought gets cut entirely.

"Finnick?" A voice calls, husky and female. "Finnick Odair?"

The two of them turn behind them to the direction where the voice called from, and Finnick pales at the sight of the woman standing halfway out of the sliding back door of the house they had just passed.

Osa Mildway, Victor of the 58th Games, stands on her back deck, her auburn hair piled wild atop her head and her expression completely unreadable. From their distance, he cant tell what the sight of them means to her, but that's about to be moot point. Finnick watches with horror as she slides her back door closed and runs out to the both of them, her sundress billowing out around her like an omen.

"It is you," she says when she finally makes the distance, her brown eyes sparkling with surprise. She takes him in, up and down, before her gaze flickers curiously to Annie, to their clasped hands.

"Osa," Finnick greets, his stomach tumbling, his heart in his throat. He's not sure what this means yet. Though he's sure that none of the Victor's would turn him in to the Peacekeepers – and Osa's never presented much of a threat, in fact he's always liked the years they'd mentored together – it still didn't mean he wanted to be caught back in Four.

Her eyes flick back to him, calculating something he can't begin to fathom, and suddenly it's like a wall is being built before his eyes.

Ah, I remember this.

The caution, the games, never knowing who to trust… He'd been stuck in fantasyland so long that he forgot how calculating the real world was. As an afterthought, he tightens his grip on Annie, pulls her a little closer.

"So. You're back then," Osa says, her eyes flickering to Annie once more, "and you brought reinforcements."

"Not for long," Finnick says, pocketing the last sentence for later. Reinforcements? For what?

Osa narrows her eyes, before focusing her attention down the beach.

"We should talk inside," she glances at him, "I'm assuming you want to keep your return on the down low. Get in and get back to…where ever you've been."

Warning bells go off in Finnick's head, and the last thing he wants to do is walk into someone else's home. He should really be getting to Mags' house – like Osa said, better to get in and get out, the less people knowing he was even here the better.

"I was actually on my way home," he says, "to visit Mags."

"Mags?" Osa says, and her shocked face sinks like a stone in his gut.

"Yes."

"You mean, her house?" Osa says slowly, her eyes bouncing between the two of them, like a puzzle she can't quite parse. The breeze from the bay kicks up the stray ends of her tied up hair, whipping it across her freckled face.

"…Yes," Finnick responds, equally as slow, his heart now working overtime. The Victor before him just studies him, her expression sad, but unreadable. Something in his gut churns; warning bells begin to sound off in his brain.

"I think we should get inside," Osa says, "and talk."

She takes a step forward, offers her hand, but Finnick stumbles back, taking a startled Annie with him.

"No, I should really get going," he says, "I've been gone too long, she's probably worried enough as is. She needs to know I'm alright."

Osa's eyes are sad, glassy as they observe him, "You really don't know."

Her words are like a sucker punch, and he can feel his heart pounding in his ears. It sounds like the ocean. He feels Annie's arm, snake around his shoulders, adding a gentle weight against him. Holding him upright.

"What?" he says, but his voice sounds raw, disconnected, "Know what?"

"Mags was reaped a month ago," Osa says, her voice soft, sad. "Finnick, she's dead."

It doesn't compute, not at first. At first everything's too loud - his heart thrumming in his ears, the roar of the ocean, the cry of the gulls – for him to really piece together what Osa is even saying. He slips out of Annie's grasp, hears her soft gasp beside him as she processes the news.

Mags.

Reaped.

Dead.

It plays like a sick cycle in his head.

He sucks in a breath, his chest on fire, and bends over, the world spinning too fast. Somehow he finds, he's being held up by the both of them, his knees shaking. He feels sick. He's going to vomit.

"Let's take him inside," he hears Osa, but her voice is far away, disconnected.

He pushes them away, his stomach rolling, wobbling on his legs as he moves to the ocean.

"Finnick?" Annie calls, and somehow he's aware of her, just behind him, trailing. He feels her hands slide up his arm, but he slips through, waving her away before stopping to bend over the surf.

He watches the sea churn around his feet, and he retches into the water, the poison in his veins clawing through him, but it doesn't help. It doesn't make it better. He's too late. He was too selfish, and now he's too late.

Welcome home, Finnick.

Osa's kitchen is cold, and Finnick watches numbly as she makes quick work of closing the blinds, shutting out the world. Vaguely, he feels Annie's palm on his knee, and he tilts his head lazily to catch her staring at him, her green eyes nearly sick with worry. She was never very good at hiding her emotions, and panic is written all over her face.

He supposes watching him vomit into the ocean and practically be carried into Osa's house by her husband would do that to a person.

Speaking of, Osa's husband Reed stands against the counter, watching him as well. If he's worried, he masks it well, with his crossed arms and pensive stare that only breaks when Osa brushes him gently to nudge him out of the way of the kettle. He's a large man – nearly 6 foot 3, with some of the broadest shoulders Finnick's seen from the usual District 4 townies.

"Would either of you like tea? I can put a pot on. Finnick?" her eyes linger on him before they flicker to Annie, "I'm sorry, I never caught your name."

"That's Annie," Finnick murmurs before Annie gets the chance to speak, thinking it best they use the nickname rather than her full name. Less explaining on their end, anyway, and Anneyce isn't exactly a discreet name. Osa raises an eyebrow, but doesn't comment, just lifts the kettle and shakes it in question.

"I would love a cup, thank you," Annie says, "would you like any help?"

Osa waves her off, "Nah, just sit tight."

Reed pushes off the counter and takes a seat across them from the table, his large frame suddenly filling the space. Finnick catches Annie gaping at him, and he nudges her under the table. She flushes at being caught, snapping her eyes elsewhere. Reed smiles at her, his expression curious, and Finnick relaxes a bit at the sight.

Though large and intimidating, Reed is a gentle giant – he and Osa were high school sweethearts, married shortly after she won her games at age 17. It made for damn good Capitol fodder, to her irritation. High school sweethearts, reunited at long last after nearing the brink of death? What could be more romantic?

Osa had brought it up the first year they'd been partnered as mentors – he was 19 himself. By then she was 29, a full twelve years into the culture of the Games, but Capitol media still swarmed over her for updates on Reed.

"Have you heard the news?" she'd asked the second they boarded the train, hours after the reaping. "Reed and I are getting a divorce!"

"What?" Finnick said. He wasn't sure what to say. Osa had seemed nice, and from what he could see, his neighbors had no marital problems…

"Oh yeah, one of the camera man outside just told me! I guess I better let Reed know…"

Since then, it was always a running gag that they tried to find the craziest tabloid story about themselves. Once, Finnick discovered he had a long lost lover from District 6 that he only got to visit during Victory tours with his winning tributes. Osa learned that Reed had a secret child with another woman, a Victor from District 7. Finnick learned about his four nipples, and Osa her kinky bedroom fantasies – all spilled and blown wide open between the pages of magazine spreads.

It was nice, he realized, to be able to joke about the strangeness of it all for once. How invested these weird, botched people were in their lives, so much so that they'd go to such lengths to fabricate complete lies about them. Osa's friendship was a much-needed reminder that his experience, though abnormal, was a shared one.

The kettle whistles a keening noise, and before long Osa's setting out steaming mugs and cut slices of salt bread out before them on the table, before taking a seat beside Reed. Finnick leans forward, propping his forearms on the table, trying to control the shaking in his hands and completely wipe any kind of thought from his mind. It's been a while since he's had to do this, but he's had plenty of practice in numbing himself. The mental wall is already being built; he can feel the spackle and the bricks popping into place.

He can't fall apart again. Not here.

"So," Osa says, pulling her mug towards her, the sound of it gliding across the grain of the table the only noise cutting her voice. Finnick stiffens, suddenly all to aware of the questions that are coming. "I guess I should start with my condolences."

His eyes start to swim, knocked off guard by her words, and he sits back against his seat with a nod. Finnick needs to reign himself back in; it's imperative that he does so. Because he has questions, questions he needs to ask without falling apart. He sucks in a shaky breath, pinches the bridge of his nose, before dropping his palms against the table with a flat slap.

Osa watches him, her expression sad, but that same inquisitive look sits behind her eyes. Like he's a puzzle she can't figure out.

"Finnick," she starts and then pauses, clenching her fingers tight around her mug, "can I ask you something?"

He looks at her, doesn't answer, and she takes that as the okay to keep talking. Osa pushes the mug aside and leans forward, clasping her hands together on the table in front of her, her eyes sparkling.

"When you left there were rumors," she says, voice low. Her eyes flick to Reed, who is watching her, his expression guarded, before they land back on Finnick, "Rumors that you were in Thirteen."

Thirteen. The concept feels so foreign. A century ago. He glances at Annie, beside him, her hand still steady on his knee. She offers him the smallest of smiles, nods lightly. He's not sure what to decode from it, what it means. But it steadies him a little.

He reaches across the table for a piece of bread, offers it to her, which she takes gingerly, before grabbing a slice of his own. He's not going to eat it, instead opting to rip it in his hands, if only to have something to do.

"I tried to find it, but I never made it," he says, his eyes bouncing between Osa and Reed.

Osa sits back with a frown, chewing something around in her head.

"So you were never stationed in Thirteen?" Reed pipes up, "This whole time, even during the Rebellion?"

"Rebellion?" Finnick says. "What rebellion?"

The duo look at each other, seeming a bit startled at his confusion, before turning to face Finnick. Osa, for once, is speechless, just staring numbly at Finnick.

"Finnick…" Reed starts, and turns to the nymph beside him, "Annie. Do either of you know what has been going on in the Districts? At all?"

It's Finnick's turn for silence, his head swimming, and his heart pounding. The piece of bread he'd been playing with was now a torn up pile in front of him, and he could feel his antsy hands start to reach for another before Annie's hand found his own, holding it in place. She weaves her fingers through his like a safety net, rubbing circles against his thumb with her own.

"No," she answers for him, her voice the only steady one in the room, "we don't."

"Do you know who won the Games? Do you even know who was reaped?" Osa asks, before shaking her head, "Well, no, obviously you don't."

Finnick flinches, the grief threatening to overspill, before he mentally checks himself. Build the wall. Brick upon brick.

"I'd gotten word about District Thirteen from…contacts of mine," Finnick says, "After they announced the surprise for the Quarter Quell, I tried to find it. I never did. I don't even know if it's real."

"Oh it's real, alright," Reed says, sitting back in his chair, crossing his arms, "They're practically in a strong-arms race with the Capitol."

Finnick's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

"What?"

"Remember Katniss Everdeen?" Osa says, her tone suddenly fierce, almost protective. "Thirteen is calling her the Mockingjay, using her as a symbol for the Rebellion. You should have seen the chaos they caused trying to get her out."

Finnick's brain is scrambling, trying to make heads or tails of what they're saying. So he was right all along about Thirteen? And they've apparently pulled tributes out of the Games for an uprising of their own?

"She was reaped?" Finnick says, "And they broke her out?"

"They're saying at least five or six Victors made it out during the rescue," Reed says, "Peeta Mellark among them."

"But the Capitol has him," Osa adds quietly, "It's been…horrible watching him decline."

Finnick frowns, still trying to digest all of this. Of course, if the Capitol got wind that the rebels were planning on breaking Katniss out, they'd use Peeta as leverage. Finnick observes Osa's scrunched face, her distress upon delivering this portion of the news. He remembered that Osa always had a soft spot for the District Twelve lovers, possibly because it hit too close to home for her.

"Looks like Katniss Everdeen stole your spotlight," Finnick had said to her the year that Peeta and Katniss were reaped, the star-crossed lovers storyline taking Osa's high school romance with Reed and rocketing it that much farther.

Osa was uncharacteristically quiet when he said that, almost sad - a far cry from the joking disposition he'd been expecting.

"Yeah, I suppose so," was all she said.

"What do you mean?" Annie's voice pipes up in the middle of the chaos, and Finnick can't even begin to fathom trying to catch any of this from her perspective. It's all too much, even for him. "Decline?"

"They're using him as fodder against Katniss." Osa shakes her head, "It's screwed up. One minute, she's on screen crying in front of a bombed District, the next he's nearly beaten on screen, begging everyone to call for a truce-"

"Bombed?"

"The Districts are rebelling, Finnick," Reed says, "Twelve has already been bombed. I heard not too recently that they've targeted a hospital in Eight."

Bombs? Promos? What world have you left behind?

"We figured you were with the Rebels, working with the cause in Thirteen," Osa says. "When I saw you on the beach this afternoon, my heart nearly jumped to my throat. I had no idea what it meant for the cause. Did you really not know about any of this?"

Finnick shakes his head, numb. No. He had no clue. While he and Annie were getting their fortunes told and fending off pixies, a war was brewing in Panem. A war that he very much should have been apart of.

A war you ran from. A war you left Mags in the middle of.

Wall.

Brick upon brick.

"Are you in on this?" Finnick says, his voice nearly hoarse, his eyes flicking from Osa to Reed, "This Rebellion?"

Reed levels him a steady gaze, testing him out. For the first time, Finnick's intimidated by the man.

War. This is war. No matter how separate Finnick's been, he's caught in the crossfire right now. They're trying to decide if they trust him. From their perspective, he'd just about dropped out of the sky. Who knows what "side" he's on?

"As best as we can be," Osa says, her answer firm, and Finnick relaxes under her trust. He feels warmth radiating in his chest, at her friendship. Reed flickers her a sidelong glance, before something else catches his attention, toward the back stairwell, causing him to stand.

"Hi, Nettie," he calls softly.

The entire room turns, as a little girl stands in the hallway, no older than seven. She carries a small stack of books in her skinny arms, and her large brown eyes take in the room.

Reed maneuvers around the table to head towards the child, just as a small boy, even younger than the girl, toddles around the girl towards the direction of Reed. He crumples into his arms, and Reed swings him up onto his hip with ease.

Beside him, Finnick hears Annie take in the smallest breath, her hand squeezing his own. He turns to catch her staring at the little boy, a mixture of pure awe and disbelief on her face.

"Home already?" Osa asks, standing to join her family in the hallway, "How was school?"

"Boring," the girl answers, her small voice distracted as she observes Finnick and Annie in the kitchen. Annie watches the exchange as if she were witnessing a miracle. "Graham wants to go on the boat, daddy. It's all he talked about on the walk home."

"Is that so?" Reed says, and the little boy in his arms nods in affirmation. His shaggy hair shakes like a tree.

"Why don't you take them out, Reed," Osa says, placing a hand on Reed's arm, sending him a look, "There's still a bit more of sky left before sundown. We'll finish up here."

They share a silent exchange, before Reed shepherds the children out the back door, towards the dock. Annie watches them trail away like a mirage, her eyes glassy, her expression unreadable. Her hand is still clenching his own, and he squeezes it quickly, trying to pull her from whatever funk she's in. She turns to look at him, offering a shaky smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes, before turning back to the door, chewing on her lip.

Osa sighs, watching the trio dissolve in the horizon and stuck in her own thought loop, before sinking back in her seat. With a start, Finnick realizes she's crying.

"I am truly so sorry about Mags, Finnick."

"Yeah," he says, "me too, Osa. She was a good woman."

Osa nods, unabashed as the tears drip down her face. She closes her eyes a moment, as if to collect to herself, and nods again.

It's so quiet you could hear a pin drop, when Osa speaks again.

"You should know that it was my name they called that day, on the reaping," she says. "And Mags volunteered to take my place. Because she knew that I had Nettle and Graham."

Finnick doesn't know what to say. At this point, Osa could throw anything at him, and he'd catch it with ease. But after every kind of devastating thing he's heard today, this bit of news just feels…right. It falls into place a little easier. Of course she'd do that, she's Mags.

He starts crying anyway. The wall crumbles before it can even go up.

Osa reaches across the table, her hand an oasis, and Finnick hesitates for a moment, before taking it. Her fingers are coarse, but warm, and it anchors him. His friend. They hold hands there in the quiet, and they cry. They mourn Mags. Stupid, selfless Mags.

"How…" he sucks in a breath, pushes the words out before he chickens out. He needs to know, or he'll regret it for the rest of his days, "How did she…?"

"It was quick, Finnick," Osa smiles a sad, teary smile, "Poisonous gas. She had so many allies in the arena. No one dared lay a finger on her. But at some point she realized she was just slowing them down and…well…it was quick."

Finnick nods, because it's all he can do to keep from sobbing. It's so selfish, but he's so thankful he didn't get to watch. He wasn't here to see it. He wasn't in the arena with her. He knows the minute she would have volunteered himself, he knows, whether or not his name was called next he was going up there. He would have followed her in. If only he wasn't so cowardly.

He feels Osa's thumb, rub gentle circles against his hand, before letting go.

"Thank you," he says, "for telling me. For everything."

She nods, her expression heartbroken. "I'm sorry you had to come home to this. I know I keep saying it, but I'm genuinely surprised you didn't know about any of this." Her eyes flicker between them, "Where were you?"

He feels Annie stiffen beside him. Finnick sits back, pushes his hand through his hair. He offers a wry smile, hoping to cut the tension that her question unwittingly throws out there.

"Would you believe me if I told you that this whole time we were lost in the woods?" he says, gesturing between himself and Annie.

Osa shakes her head, huffs a small laugh, "Honestly? No." Despite her answer, she has a small smile of her own on her lips as she gazes at the two of them, "But I suppose we all have our secrets."

Finnick nods, relieved, "Thanks, Osa."

Of course she'd understand why he intends to keep his whereabouts these past few months mum, no questions asked. If a Victor knows anything, it's the importance of a secret.

"So," she says, her gaze hopping between the both of them, "what's your plan now?"

Annie turns to face him, her eyes a question, but she doesn't say anything. She's probably letting him take the lead here, figure out where to go from here.

"We'll probably stay in the District tonight and head out tomorrow," Finnick says, slowly, his eyes jumping from Annie to Osa. "We weren't planning on staying long term."

"You were just here for Mags," Osa says, like she's pieced together the last part of a larger picture, raising her eyebrows. "You were going to take her with you to…where ever it is you've gone."

"Yes, that was the plan," Finnick says, voice thick. His eyes flicker to Annie a moment before continuing, "Unless you wanted to join us instead?"

"No," she says, raising a hand, "Thank you. But there's too many of us in the Mildway clan to put that burden on you. Besides, Graham seems cute, but the minute he starts to tantrum you'll want to throttle him. Wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"Are you sure?" Annie says, "Earlier you were talking about a war…this could be a chance to keep your family safe."

Osa purses her lips as she regards the two of them.

"Panem is my home," Osa says, slowly, as if trying to piece together her words. "It's broken right now, and it's scary. But with this Rebellion, for the first time I have hope that I won't have to dress my kids up for their own reaping day, and I don't know…I think I want to be around when that day comes."

Annie nods, her expression sad, but full of awe. Finnick watches the tears slip down her cheeks before she has the chance to swipe them away. Something deep in his chest stirs at the sight.

"Don't cry for my sake, honey," Osa says, "I think we've all cried enough for a lifetime today."

"Here fucking here," Finnick grumbles, pulling Annie into his side. With a sigh, he kisses the top of her head. "We should get going."

The sun is starting to touch the horizon as they file out the back door, and it pulls at his heart, the sight of the sunset lighting the ocean a fire orange. It feels like a lifetime since he's seen a sunset in Four. The sand is cool and comforting under his bare feet, and Annie is tucked under his arm.

Osa hugs her arms around herself, shivering against the setting sun. "Word to the wise, I wouldn't go to your house if I were you. I'd probably camp out at Mags's place."

"Why's that?" Finnick murmurs, the day's exhaustion finally catching up to him. He feels like dead weight on his feet.

"Ever since you went missing, Reed and I have been keeping an eye out for you," she reveals and Finnick regards her with surprise, "but we aren't the only ones. Peacekeepers have been coming and going from your house since you left."

"The place is probably bugged then," Finnick murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief. He turns to look out to the orange sea. He pictures an alarm somewhere in Snow's presidential office, set to sound the moment he walks through the front door.

Despite this fact, Finnick finds himself smiling, almost smug with the thought. He's ran somewhere so elusive that not even Snow could touch him – so far and so wide that he's left the bastard in the dust, scratching his head, with the only option being that he has to sit tight and wait to see if Finnick will show up again.

For the first time in his life, Finnick has the upper hand on Cornelius Snow.

And by the sounds of it here, the rest of Panem is about to, too.

"You could crash here tonight," Osa says.

Finnick peers at Annie tucked beside him. She watches the sea with a quiet fascination, as if she hadn't even heard the conversation before her. She's distracted; her nose is crinkled, like she's trying to listen to something that's not there. Either way, she's allowing him to make the decisions – she'll follow his lead.

He turns back to Osa. The glow from the sunset has cut her cheeks a soft orange, and for a moment, he so badly wants to say yes. To share a roof with a familiar face, a friend. But there's a nagging feeling in his chest that if he doesn't move on from this place, he wont ever go where he needs to go next.

"Thank you, Osa," he says, "but we're going to Mags house."