I do not own The Hunger Games.

Finnick Odair is precious.

The Girl With The Green Eyes

Conflicted


". . . her, Mags."

"I tried not to, I really did. I mean, it's not a good idea at all."

He hesitates.

Is he really going to say it again?

"But I love Annie. I love her."

He hesitates, feeling like an idiot.

Smooth, slinky Playboy of the Capitol.

Awkward and unsure and shy.

Over a girl.

Just a girl.

Oh, yeah, so that's what it felt like to be thirteen again.

Before my first kill.

Before my first -

"And I think she wants me to. But I . . ."

And here he falters even worse.

If Mags were to laugh right now or even smile too broadly, he'd outright die of humiliation.

"But I don't know how," he manages to finish.

"I can't, I don't . . ."

It's a mess, he's a mess.

"I never . . . really . . . had a true, serious relationship before the Games. Just . . . kids' stuff."

Just like Snow wants.

"I've only ever known . . . you know. My patrons, my . . . job, at the Capitol.

Job.

Nice way of putting it.

Because that's his job.

Putting it.

And that, now . . .

"But I don't love any of them, I don't like any of them, I can't stand any of them and the things I have to do with them."

. . . is the problem.

He stops speaking, chews the inside of his lower lip for a moment and Mags lets him.

Sex, charm, 'love' are his stock and trade at the Capitol.

His business.

His job.

Thanks to President Snow.

"I don't know how to separate it. I don't know how to not see them when I'm with her."

"I don't know how to kiss or touch or hold . . ."

He needs to say not like a Capitol whore.

But he can't, he's too ashamed.

And he's feeling upset, more than upset, he's starting to feel hysterical.

It's an impossible situation.

"And it's not even just the past. It's the present. The future."

Annie would want to be kissed, be touched, be loved, properly.

"This is not going to stop. I can't stop. Snow will kill my family if I do. He would kill Annie."

But not only is Finnick unclean and not worthy of being the one.

"So how can I be with her . . . and then go to the Capitol and . . . and then come back to her?"

He feels like crying, like screaming.

"How can I do that to her, how would that make her feel, me doing . . . and coming back to her like . . ."

Like punching something.

"How could I face her like that?"

Like stabbing something with his trident.

It's that bad.

He should have never let himself get in this situation, he's done Annie a disservice by leading her into such a fool's errand.

"I . . . I . . ."

But he's also been selfish.

He wants to be near Annie.

He wants to take care of her.

He wants to protect her.

He wants to be close to her.

He wants to be near someone so clean and pure and good.

He just . . . can't.

He's been everyone's one, he's had no choice.

And what Annie will want, like any normal person would want, companionship, intimacy, Finnick will not know how to give.

Not without turning on the 'work mode'.

And he doesn't want to connect her with that.

And he doesn't know . . .

"What do I do, Mags?"

. . . what to do.

Mags had fallen love with another Victor, married him.

Lived as happily ever after as anyone in Panem could, he supposed.

But neither Mags nor her late husband had been farmed out to the highest bidder for their bodies.

That had been later, a Coriolanus Snow initiative.

And he looks to her in desperation.

Mags Flanagan, the only other person in the world Finnick Odair fully trusts, doesn't speak aloud.

She can't.

She never will.

The stroke that nearly killed her, took her voice and Finnick will never hear it again.

Instead, she smiles, lovingly, sadly.

Holds his hand in one gnarled hand.

Reaches out the other.

And lays it lightly, gently, on his heart.

Gazing into his eyes.

And in this way, he can imagine her words.

And Finnick Odair . . .

Thank you, Mags.

. . . listens.


Believe it or not, I did some research on sex workers and their struggles with intimate relationships because I really wanted to understand the struggle of real, live human beings and transfer that to Finnick as the sounding board.

So my husband is super bewildered by Google search history now.

"What are you writing for?"

"Hunger Games."

"What?"

"Sit down, honey."

Also, I don't know if Mags ever married, but in Catching Fire, she's wearing a ring on her left hand, so I ran with it.

Anyway, thanks for reading.