I do not own The Hunger Games.
Finnick Odair is precious.
The Girl With The Green Eyes
Right Here
Finnick Odair runs.
Out of the apartment and into the hall.
Nearly bowling over two startled Avoxes.
And though Annie would have stopped to apologize and help them retrieve their dropped accoutrements, Finnick does not have time.
He doesn't have time for that and he doesn't have time for his heart pounding in his chest, and he doesn't have time for the elevator, a luxury Annie does not have in her almost watery grave of the flooded arena.
He takes the ill-used stairs, racing down, one hand on the rail and one skimming the wall to prevent him from plummeting headfirst and breaking his neck just when Annie might be allowed life.
Four floors down and it's nothing at all, save for a little dizzying because Annie might live and not die in the Hunger Games.
He bursts out into the lobby, causing unassuming patrons to scatter in his wake.
Peacekeepers raise their weapons warily at the sprinting form of the Capitol's slickest belle of the ball.
But they don't shoot and he doesn't take any notice at all of them, or the cameras, or anything else of unimportance.
The landing strip is five blocks away, connected to the Tribute Tower by underground passageway.
Everyone, just everyone, except low level workers, take a ground transport to get there.
Some slow moving thing that would require Finnick to sit still and wait.
And he can't do that, he can't.
So he runs, he runs as fast as his legs can take him.
He runs because Annie's alive, she didn't die and he has to get there, he has to get there.
So she's not alone in a sea of unfamiliar, uncaring Capitol caretakers.
And so he runs, Finnick Odair runs.
She's alive.
As fast as he can.
He gets there just a few minutes before the air transport lands.
People are milling here and there.
The Victor Committee, the medical workers, transport attendees.
Finnick positions himself at the front, ready to jump, ready to run.
Ready to be there for Annie, the tribute who lived, the girl with the green eyes.
He's ready, he's ready, he's ready.
She's alive.
And then . . .
She's alive.
. . . the transport lands.
It's not a pretty sight, the immediate aftereffects of the Hunger Games usually aren't.
At first he thinks the transport is empty; he doesn't see anyone as he dashes in first.
It takes a minute for his eyes to adjust and then he follows the sound of the pitiful whimpering.
She's jammed into a corner, made herself as small as possible.
Rambling and gibbering and whispering to no one at all that Finnick can see.
Twitching and flinching as muscle spasms become her new wretched norm.
Huddled on the floor, overlarge towel enveloping her drenched form.
There's a puddle of dam water around her and her hair is soaking wet and plastered to her pallid, gaunt face.
Finnick moves to her side, kneels-
"Annie."
-and she jerks away with a plaintive cry, clearing thinking he's a threat.
"No, no, leave me alone!"
And Finnick . . .
"Annie, it's okay, it's alright-"
. . . reaches out a soothing hand.
Which Annie-
"Ow-"
-promptly bites.
Finnick jerks his hand back, anger flashing through him and evaporating just as quickly as he sees she is caught up in the stark afterterror of the Games.
She's not with him, not in the transport, not truly.
She's in all the places she is alone and lost and in danger and without ally or friend.
"She's been like this since we pulled her out of the water. We were going to sedate her but she broke the needle."
He doesn't know who talking over his shoulder and he doesn't care.
"Well, get another needle and I'll hold her down."
He moves to Annie, Annie who kicks out at him, a glancing blow to his shoulder.
And he pushes forward anyway, wraps his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides.
She smashes the side of her head into his face, and now his swelling nose is leaking blood.
She should have fought like this in the Games.
I wouldn't have been so worried about her.
But he holds on, puts his head down to protect her trying to gouge out his eyes.
Closes his eyes and holds on tight.
"Annie, it's okay. Annie, it's alright."
She had not cried out for help in the Games, screamed out in fear on rare occasion.
Everything had stayed locked in her constricted chest, locked behind gritted teeth.
No more.
No more.
Now, Annie Cresta screams.
She screams and she screams and she screams.
Long and loud and feral.
She screams.
And Finnick Odair holds her.
And he knows the sedative has been administered and starting to take effect when her body begins to relax, thrashes begin to ebb.
Trembling form relaxing against him, only random twitches and surreshed moans escaping her parted lips, screams faded down to nothing.
He dares to lift his head and look.
Her eyes are closed, ringed in purple hollows, fluttering open here and there and slipping closed again.
This is somehow worse and Finnick's heart shatters into a thousand pieces and it's all he can do not to break down himself.
Instead, he carefully gathers her into his arms and she does not fight, seeming so much on the edge of unconsciousness that everything has drained out of her.
"It's okay, Annie. It's alright."
And Finnick Odair rises, the Victor from District 4 cradled against his chest.
Rises.
"Please put her here on the gurney. We'll take her to medical."
He wants to snap at them himself, snap and bite and growl.
Don't touch her.
Don't lay a hand on her.
They are of the Capitol and unclean and Annie has been through enough and he doesn't want them to have anything to do with her.
But she needs medical care and they can provide it, will provide it, the best they have.
Victors always receive the best.
Additionally, if he is seen by the Capitol, by President Snow, carrying Annie, caring for Annie, they or he might get the wrong impression.
Might think Finnick Odair cares for her.
Which will make her a target, make her vulnerable, even more than she always has been and will be anyway.
And Finnick Odair . . .
"Annie, I'm going to put you down on the gurney now. They're going to take you to medical. But I'll be right here with you. I won't leave you. I promise."
. . . makes the first promise he's sure to break.
Because his life is not his own and neither is Annie's.
But they're both alive, they both survived.
And will never have to survive another hellishly contrived Hunger Games arena.
Again.
One of the things that captivated me during Mockingjay 2 was small scenes of Finnick taking care of Peeta. He's right there and I don't remember anybody asking him specifically to do it, he just does it.
Whether it's physically restraining him or offering the 'real or not real' advice, just being close by in case.
In my opinion, it's because he's well-versed with Annie and maybe even Johanna (instant plot bunny) and knows how to manage it.
Let me know your thoughts if you like and thanks for reading.
Thanks also to Partygirl86 for adding your support to this story! I appreciate that. :)
