I do not own Hunger Games.
Finnick Odair is precious.
The Girl With The Green Eyes
And then they go back to what they were.
Annie Cresta.
And Finnick Odair.
Sitting in the surf together.
Ocean foaming up over their toes, their feet.
She sits further in now, allows the water to reach her hips, her bottom, as she sits in the sand.
Dips her hand into the water, trails her fingers through it.
Lifts her face to the sun, smile faint on her lovely face.
Faint but there.
Finnick sees it.
Sometimes a tear will escape her closed eye and track its way down her cheek.
Sometimes, even as she cries, she laughs.
Inexplicable chuckles gurgle up from her slender throat.
A non-Victor may view such behavior as strange, bizarre, mad.
Finnick does not.
He simply allows her the escape of whatever has taken hold.
She has survived and that is all that matters.
Giggles of near any sort are preferable to the screams and moans and flailings of the daytime horrors that sometimes capture her mind.
When those darker times take hold of her, so does Finnick.
He holds her.
Warm and safe.
Holds her.
And whispers into her ear, hoping she can hear him.
Hear and be comforted.
And when those demons finally release his Annie, . . .
". . ..alright, I'm here."
. . . Finnick Odair breathes a sigh of relief.
"I'm right here."
And continues to hold her close.
". . . what would happen if you disobeyed me, Mr. Odair."
Finnick is immobilized, leg and arm restraints wrapped so tight he can't move even an inch.
His head is secured too, President Snow has rendered him completely incapable of missing even one second of this 'demonstration' unless he closes his eyes.
In which case his eyelids will be cut off.
And so Finnick . . .
"Please, no, please, let her go! She never did anything wrong!"
"I never said she did, Mr. Odair."
. . . must watch.
Watch helplessly as the white haired old man who should have been someone's dottering old grandfather push the button at with one meaty hand.
And watch the lights dim, smell a slightly singed odor permeate the room.
"No! No! No!"
And watch Annie Cresta writhe and scream as the electricity race its way through her nervous system.
Mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.
Body rigid, hands clenched like claws.
"I warned you, Mr. Odair. I warned you."
The vague metallic odor of blood under roses assaults his nasal passages.
"But you didn't listen."
And Annie Cresta . . .
"And now her blood, her death, is on your hands."
. . . continues to scream.
Finnick Odair roils up out of his nightmare, thrashing and swiping at the empty air.
Panting and sweating, teeth clenched, eyes filling with tears of rage and fear for Annie, sweet Annie.
Annie who never bothered anyone, Annie who never asked to be in the Games.
Annie who only wanted to sit in the ocean and watch the waves.
Annie who talked to the Avoxes and made him a necklace and tried, tried so hard to not to lose herself, be stolen and destroyed by the Capitol and President Snow and the bastard Hunger Games.
He's tangled in the sheets and this terrifies him even more, she needs him and he's trapped and now she'll die and it's all his fault-
He crashes to the floor in a thudding heap, graceful, smooth, haughty Finnick Odair and if only everyone who admires and envies him in the Capitol could see him now, see him weep and thrash and crawl.
They would laugh and President Snow would laugh and nobody, nobody, would give a second thought of the ruined, brutalized Annie-
The fall jolts him out of his nightmare and he's in his room, tangled in sheets and tears and snot.
He's shaking badly and he's got to get ahold of himself-
"Finnick? Are you okay?"
His sister's at the door, timid and shy, she was so young when Finnick went to the Games she never knew him before he became the thing he is now.
"Yeah, Vali, I'm fine. Go back to bed."
He strives to keep his voice amicable, not scream and swear and throw things at the door she hovers behind.
She pads away and Finnick, in his heap on the floor of his bedroom, tries to slow his breath, his pulse.
Annie,-
Calm his racing mind.
And stop the flow . . .
- if I love you, they may hurt you.
. . . of his bitter tears.
He's quiet the next day, as they sit in the surf together.
Morose, he guesses.
He shouldn't be, he's got to be the strong one, in case she is weak.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Of course."
But Annie's having a good day, a strong day.
"Are you sure?"
So much so she evens dares to graze her fingers across his cheek.
"You look like you didn't sleep well."
He doesn't flinch away, he's trained himself not to.
"Did you have bad dreams?"
But he is obsessed with the fear of hidden cameras, where would they be, afloat in the bobbing waves, it's ridiculous but-
"No. I don't dream."
- all he can think about is President Snow finding out and hurting Annie just to hurt him and-
"I wish you wouldn't lie to me, Finnick."
- Finnick Odair-
"I'm sorry."
- is having a very bad day.
"Did you ever have a girlfriend? A real girlfriend? You know, before . . . everything?"
It's not a question he expected.
He guesses . . .
"Oh. Um, yeah."
. . . he should have.
"A few."
Days have followed, one after the other.
The six month anniversary tour is drawing steadily closer and he really needs to get together with Mags and come up with a game plan for helping Annie survive the new and fresh hell that will be.
"Nobody serious."
But Annie Cresta, however, seems to have different ideas.
"Did you ever, um, well, . . ."
He can't believe she's asking this question, he really can't believe she's so timid about asking this question.
". . . you know, . . . get close with any of them?"
He guesses that's what being a Capitol whore does to a person.
"Oh. Uhh . . ."
Steals away their ability to blush.
"No. I mean, I was only fourteen."
And then they wonder when other people do.
""Did you, uh, . . ."
Like Annie now.
". . . kiss them?"
Blushing so prettily it makes his heart hurt to look at her.
And he laughs at her question.
Not cruelly. Not mockingly.
Just . . .
"Yeah. A little."
. . . mildly amused.
But also sad, if he were to allow himself to feel it.
It's been so long since he's done anything so innocent as kissing.
Kissing just to kiss.
Sweet. Innocent.
Pure.
If he looks back on it, he really doesn't think he can remember it clearly.
It's all been marred, scarred, and butchered by the Capitol and everything he's done to protect his family.
"But mostly it was just kid stuff. You know, . . ."
He clears his throat, feeling suddenly awkward and foolish.
"Trading seashells. Holding hands."
Annie smiles and it's even prettier than her blush.
"Wh-what about you," he feels compelled to ask.
Conversation, sharing.
Supposed to be a two-way street.
"Have you had any boyfriends?"
And now the blush is back.
"Um, yeah. A couple."
"Anybody serious?"
He expects her to say no, it's Annie, of course so she'd never-
"One. Right before the Reaping."
Oh.
But it makes sense.
She's eighteen, not a child, not a girl.
A woman.
"What happened?"
She shakes her head.
"The Games. I can't . . . he wouldn't . . ."
She seems distressed, he wonders if she's about to be triggered into an episode.
She does crack a smile that doesn't fit the conversation, a tear does slip down her cheek.
But she holds her own.
"I'm not the person he knew."
And keeps going.
"And I . . . I can't relate to the person he is now that I am . . ."
He's preparing to reassure whatever callous thing she's about to say about herself.
". . . the person I am now."
And Finnick Odair wants to hug Mags Flanagan.
That silent, sweet woman whose poured so much care and love into Annie this entire time, that wonderful lady.
He knows this is a great deal Mags' influence and he loves her even more for it.
"Yeah, I know," he manages through the lump in his throat.
"My own family doesn't know me, the friends I used to have."
He huffs quietly.
"I don't even feel like I know me sometimes."
And Annie's hand is there again, that gentle touch, on his cheek.
Almost lighter than the salty breeze coming off the sea.
"I know you. You're a good person, Finnick. A good man."
And then he realizes . . .
Oh you poor Annie.
. . . she doesn't really know him at all.
Just a bit of rambling here, take what you will.
Thanks to DinahRay for reviewing so much, my goodness that was some tough stuff to work through.
Almost to the Victory Tour.
Ugh.
