Chapter 70: Annie Cresta

I stand at the window just above the kitchen sink in my mansion, watching through the panes fondly as my little 8-year-old son plays along the edge of the Village green with some of the orphans from the orphanage across the street. There are getting to be fewer of them now, the last stragglers who lost their parents during the war teenagers and preteens; I hope they still might be adopted, or else find their way on the island and make their fortune.

Even from a distance and through the glass of the window, I hear my precious little boy let out a hearty laugh. His face in profile, his sea green eyes dance, and I suck in a gasp. The way he is set against the light of the setting sun, he looks exactly like his dad used to when he laughed. Finnick used to laugh like that, particularly after one of our friends told a really naughty joke.

Turning my head, I glance down at the picture I keep by the sink, of Finnick and I on our wedding day, with our arms around each other. I grin at it sadly. The ache that now courses through me is duller than it once was. These days, I smile more than I cry. That's the thing about grief – it evolves. I will never be content that I had my husband taken away from me, leaving me widowed and pregnant after we had only just gotten married. But… I have accepted that it happened. Reaching that stage alone took some time. It was only my boy, my little Finnick Odair Jr., who saved me.

And also the man who I now see coming into the kitchen, smiling brightly as his red hair – lighter than mine - tumbles into his eyes. His grin is warm and bright, and I smile softly back, watching his fingers carefully as they fly in sign language.

"Hi, friend," I sign back. "What have you been up to?"

Pollux, an Avox who was formerly a cameraman and worked with Katniss and Peeta, silently replies, "Worked down at the docks for the morning. It's a beautiful day."

I giggle. "It is." I observe in fascination as his fingers dance, like they are conducting an invisible symphony on the air. It's been nice having Pollux around all these years. He first arrived on a swing with prominent war correspondent Cressida Blunt, to document the damage the districts (now states) took during the Revolution. District 4 (since renamed in statehood after my late husband) was one of the last stops on their tour, but only Cressida went on to document Twelve. Pollux liked it here so much, that he's never left; mostly he works odd jobs here and there around Victors' Island, helping in both the empty mansions which were converted into an orphanage, and also a hospital of which Katniss's mother and Beetee now have command. He is so sweet and dear with my boy, and I never fear the times I need to leave him alone to watch Finnick Jr.

"I need to tell you something!" Pollux's hands weave through the air with a speed that – were it converted into sound – might be equivalent to a shout.

I chuckle, signing back. "OK…"

Pollux steps closer, taking my hands in his. I feel him move his fingers along my knuckles in a pattern that he has shown and tried to teach me, but I am still attempting to master. Pollux says that tactical sign language is no different than classic sign language – you're performing the same symbols, just along someone's skin (Belle Everdeen says it's a common strategy for communicating with people who are both deaf and blind) – yet it still feels distinct to feel someone's touch communicating words against your skin.

There is something so… intimate about the way Pollux employs tactical sign language, and I now suck in a breath sharply. I can't help but admit that I like the way his hands feel on mine. They're soft – not as calloused as Finnick's were – but nonetheless strong.

"Do you remember how you asked me once why I stayed?"

I nod, my throat feeling oddly dry.

"It's more than just that I like being here. I like being here with you…. and Little Finn."

I gasp, my green eyes expanding, as I slowly press my fingers into Pollux's palms. The way that I'm trembling doesn't help how I'm probably bungling the translation of my words into silent gestures. "Pollux….? What are you saying?"

He suddenly lifts my one hand to his cheek, pressing a kiss into my palm. Then he signs again into my shaking hand. "Tell me what you feel."

Taking a deep breath, I gaze deep into his eyes – the eyes of this wonderful man who's so patient, sensitive and sweet. What I see in his gaze is something that I had never noticed before, though should have: pure, undying adoration.

"I just feel you," I breathe, both aloud and molding my hand gestures into his fingers.

Pollux suddenly takes his face in my hands, tilting it back. I find myself leaning into his touch, as I feel his fingers drum along my cheek, in them a question:

"Will you let me kiss you?"

Turning my chin to look deep into his eyes again, I slowly, bravely nod.

Pollux beams and leans in, his lips hovering impossibly close as I feel my own eyelids begin to droop. I hang back a little bit, afraid, so that when Pollux closes the gap and his mouth seals over mine, I gasp, nearly into his throat.

I feel lean and strong arms encircle my waist, and I sway into the kiss, deepening it. My own arms come up to loop about his neck, to support myself as much as hold him close to me. I'm still quivering, very afraid that I am doing this wrong. I haven't kissed a man in close to a decade, not since Finnick, and my late husband was the only man I ever had kissed.

I feel electricity shoot up my spine where Pollux has his gentle hands on me, as his fingers softly press into my lower back as he signs something there.

"I love you, Annie."

I draw in a breath, then, and my lips part at the sound. The kiss crescendos in its passion and we soon become very involved. I play with the nape of his neck, shocking myself when my fingers deftly sign a desire around where they've been twirling the long strands of his auburn hair:

"I love you too."

I feel wetness drip down from his face to mine and I realize that my return of his love has made him cry. He holds me tenderly, and I mewl into his lips. "Hmmm….." The sound bubbles from low in my throat.

Pollux's fingers frolic along the small of my back as he asks:

"May I show you how much I love you?"

I lean back out of the kiss with a small POP!, blinking at him, my lashes fluttering. Sliding my arms down so that my hands rest lightly on his chest, so I can feel the steady beat of his heart, I sign there:

"Yes, you may."

We collide together to the sound my enthusiastic groans and I feel Pollux's hands dip along the curve of my bum. I raise my leg to his waist and hook it there, leaping the rest of the way into his arms and folding myself about him. Pollux hoists me onto the kitchen counter, his shaking fingers that now only quake with tremors and not with words, bunching up the skirts of my light sundress around my hips. I'm vibrating too, as I move to help unbuckle his belt.

When he pushes up into me, I feel a pinch and cry out into his shoulder. Before long, Pollux and I are rocking together, jerking our hips frantically as we make love just yards away from where my little boy is still playing outside.

"Pollux, I… I…. Oh, Gods!" With a soft, verbal sigh, I climax all around him. Moments later, I feel my lover grunt as he cums deep inside me.

He sets me down gently off the counter and we both hurriedly fix ourselves, both of us pink in the face. Then we lift our eyes to each other and exchange shy smiles.

"Um…. thank you," I sign rather lamely. I haven't had sex since Finnick, and Pollux was quite a gentleman.

Pollux's answering blush is bashful. "You were amazing, Annie." I turn pink at the praise. What he signs next astonishes me; I didn't think I could be, after he professed his love for me, then kissed me and we had sex:

"I want to marry you. But I want to propose to you properly. Would you object to it?"

Smiling softly, still feeling a little scared at embarking on something new but also exhilarated, I decide to bravely sign back:

"No, I wouldn't mind at all. I'd…. love to marry you."

Pollux takes me back into his arms, and when he asks to kiss me again, I immediately sign Yes before I embrace him.