TW: Implied prostitution.

Finnick Odair, 34, Victor of the 65th and 75th Hunger Games

February 4th, 86 ADD

After such an uneasy morning, Finnick doubted the rest of his day would be any less so.

Although, now that he thought about it, these past few weeks hadn't exactly been relaxed either.

After the death of President Coriolanus Snow several weeks ago, the Capitol had gone radio silent. His funeral was broadcasted throughout the nation, and then the next day, there was nothing. Any attempts at contact by Four's officials had gone unanswered. No media was coming through, and there was no explanation. Shipments were still going in and out as usual- for the districts retained a healthy fear of the consequences for not sending them- which almost made it more eerie.

He'd been putting on a brave face all the while. Piers, who was naturally anxious to begin with, was beside himself. It had been a few years since he'd consistently visited Finnick's house, but these days, he was coming by nightly for a cup of cocoa. Piers was worried that something bad was happening. He thought everything was about to turn upside down, and that the fragile peace he'd managed to accomplish since his time in the arena would be shattered.

If Finnick were being honest, Piers made some good points. But Piers didn't need to hear his worst anxieties confirmed, so Finnick didn't tell him that. Instead, he calmed his former mentee down and kept his own musings close.

Just over ten years ago, the rebels thought they had a chance. They'd seen that fleeting moment of opportunity to change things, and they'd been impatient enough to take it. The Quarter Quell was just so tempting. It could have been the perfect chance to ignite the rebellion whispering in everyone's ears. They had a plan, and it could have worked.

But it didn't.

Instead, they'd been too late to the tree. They hadn't made it in time to wrap the wire all the way, and the arena had held firm. And then Beetee was dead, and Haymitch was bleeding on the ground, and Katniss was missing, and they'd failed and they had to keep playing the Games and then Johanna was gone too-

But there was no use in dwelling on it. In moments, the key players of the rebellion were gone. They were all gone, lifeless, empty husks of nothingness on the jungle floor. There was no going forward without them. They'd failed. And Finnick couldn't die, not after all that, so he kept fighting.

After the arena, things had only become worse. Snow knew what they'd tried to do. He knew. Plutarch was killed for giving them the wire, and then there was just Finnick. The Capitol loved their Finnick, so he wasn't made an example of. No, his… obligations, as Snow liked to call them, had only increased.

Until now.

Now, Snow was dead.

Now, after his uneasy hovercraft ride, Finnick was sitting outside Snow's office, waiting for the Peacekeepers to escort him inside.

Now, Finnick was wondering if everyone was still alive, if it weren't for that damned Quell, that this would have been the chance they were waiting for.

If only we'd waited.

Finally, the familiar wooden door swung open, and the Peacekeepers led him inside. They didn't join him, instead shutting the door behind him.

The presidential office was largely the same as the last time he'd seen it. Same furniture and decor. But the smell… the smell was different. He noticed it immediately. No more of Snow's sickly sweet roses.

No, the presidential office now smelled like honey.

His eyes landed on the figure sitting behind the large, sturdy wooden desk. Her hands were neatly folded in front of her. Her makeup was painstakingly, perfectly applied, and her dark hair was pulled back into a severe knot. Her dark eyes, the color of hickory, never left his face.

She broke the silence first. "Mr. Odair."

He made a quick judgement. "President Hargrove, I take it?"

The corners of her lips quirked upwards as she leaned back in her chair. "That would be correct. Please, take a seat."

Finnick took the chair in front of the desk, trying to collect his racing thoughts. The Head Gamemaker had somehow claimed the presidency. What did he know about her? He'd seen her in passing plenty of times, sure, and in countless interviews, but what had she actually done?

Once again, the new president broke the silence. "As you can likely tell, Mr. Odair, I'm a rather busy woman," she said. "There are matters I'd like to discuss with you."

"Such as?"

"I know it's been a confusing time," she said smoothly. "There were… other matters to sort out in these past few weeks, but luckily, they have now been settled. As you inferred, I am the new President of Panem. Communications will resume shortly, and life will largely continue as normal."

"If you don't mind my asking," Finnick replied, "why not 'resume communications' now?" And why go dark in the first place?

President Hargrove eyed him, considering his question. Finnick didn't back down. The woman was dangerous- she had to be, if the past few weeks were to make any sense- but he needed to better understand who he was dealing with.

"As I mentioned, there are matters yet to be discussed," she answered. "Some of which, I would like to deal with right now."

"Sure," said Finnick. "What do you need me for?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "There will be questions when communications resume. The last thing I need is a rebellion."

Finnick was torn. Part of him was a little surprised to see the President so upfront. She was playing a game different than Snow's, and he was still learning the new rules. And part of him… part of him was kicking himself. This could have been the right moment all along.

If only we'd waited.

President Hargrove continued talking. "And I'd like your support from the very beginning."

"My support," Finnick echoed.

"Yes, Mr. Odair," she said. "I am willing to do a deal with you in exchange for your support."

"And you want my support why?" he asked, still testing the waters.

Luckily, Hargrove was busy enough that she didn't have time to waste on excessive subtlety. "I believe you already know the answer, but the people trust you. If you openly support me- along with some of your friends, who I'll be speaking to later- it will make the transition much smoother. And besides, I'm aware of your seditious activities during the Quell. While I'm not particularly worried about future activity from you, there's no hurt in precautions, is there?"

Finnick remained silent.

She leaned forward in her seat. "So, Mr. Odair… what can I do for you?"

"In return, you mean?"

She nodded slightly.

He didn't need to think long. "The obligations."

"You want out."

"Of course I do."

Hargrove drummed her fingertips on the desk, thinking. "As much as I was never the most supportive of the, ah, 'obligations,' as Snow called them, I don't know how well it would go over with some of my supporters."

"You'll just have to explain it to them, then," he replied. "Find an excuse."

"Any suggestions?" President Hargrove asked.

Once again, Finnick didn't need to mull it over. "An excuse and a distraction at the same time," he said. "Tell them I'm getting married."

"Oh?"

"To another Victor, no less," he continued. "That ought to offset some of their disappointment."

"Who on earth would you marry?"

"Annie," he said. It wasn't a new idea. He'd actually asked her to marry him two weeks ago, not long after the Capitol went dark. Because if life was about to take another turn for the worse, at least they'd be together.

"Annie Cresta? Do you have her consent for that?"

Finnick was barely able to keep himself from laughing out loud, although a smirk did slip through. Since when did the Capitol care about consent? "I already do."

Her eyebrows shot up, and another smile played at her painted lips. "So I let you out of your obligations so you can get married- publicly- and I'll have your full, patriotic support?"

"Yes."

"I can work with that," she said. "This has been a very productive meeting, Mr. Odair."

"I guess it has," he said, giving a small shrug. Inwardly, his heart was racing, as he was still piecing together the results of the conversation.

No more obligations.

Marrying Annie.

Everything was about to change, and for the first time... maybe it was for the better?

He was hesitant to hope.

"We'll be in touch, then," said Hargrove.

Finnick got the hint. He stood, pushing back his chair- but then he hesitated.

He'd failed too many times to make the changes he wanted to see.

"Can I give you a piece of advice?" Finnick asked.

Hargrove, who had been gathering papers on her desk, paused and looked back at him. "Yes."

"End the obligations for everyone," Finnick said. "They're horrible and demeaning. And you'll get the Victors on your side while distancing yourself from Snow. It's a win-win."

President Hargrove cocked her head to the side as she considered his words. She smiled to herself. Finally, she spoke again.

"A very productive meeting, Mr. Odair."

Looks like the tributes weren't the only ones eyeing the throne, so to say. lol. And who knew that Peeta was the key to the rebellion? No Peeta, no berries, no rebellion... oof. I had lots of fun with worldbuilding in this prologue, and I hope you guys liked it! I love reading your reviews, they're always so nice. You guys are the best.

Also, subs are still open for this fic! I have received some stellar tributes so far and I can't wait to meet the rest of the kiddos I haven't received yet. If you have any questions or want to discuss anything, don't hesitate to reach out! I'd love to chat about your subs with you :)

I'll see you all at the next prologue, and thanks for reading!

-r-b :)