For BaronessKika who i made cry in five words or less. I'm sorry, forgive me? And a big huge enormous thank you to sohypothetically for the speedy beta work! I really appreciate it! This wasn't the chapter I was hoping to update with but the one i was planning is a nice long one (with a couple parts!) :) I hope you enjoy!

"Alright. That's enough, kiddo. Bath time's over." Finnick smiles as he gets splashed in the face from the boat that Noah smashes into the water. Picking up his son's hooded shark towel from where it rests beside the tub, Noah's moan of tragic disappointment has Finnick erupting with laughter as the boy abides by his words.

Having let Noah play with his abundance of bath toys for a solid hour, Finnick watched his son use every inch of his imagination to stage a battle between the people on the patrol boats and the rubber ducks. Unfortunately, he took the side of the rubber ducks (as per Noah's instructions) and lost the battle with one baby duck and his daddy to spare. The boy refused to let the baby duck be without his Daddy, it wasn't fair.

Once Noah stands up and lets himself be wrapped by his thick, dry towel, he looks like a giant prune with a hint of blue running the length of his lips.

"Can I pull the plug, Daddy?" Noah asks, excitement in his sea green eyes.

"Of course you can." Finnick smiles, drying some of the soaking curls with the hood.

Watching the water swirl down the drain always fascinates Noah. Where does it go? Why does it swirl and no flow like a waterfall? Finnick feels his heart swell with Noah's enthusiasm; nothing makes him happier than to know his son loves the water as much as he does.

"I wanna wear the fishy pajamas tonight," Noah insists as Finnick dries the rest of the boy off. Johanna isn't going to be happy if they trek water out onto the hardwood floors, the last thing they need on their financial plate is mold growing beneath the boards.

"Your fishy pjs are in the hamper so I set out your dragon footie pjs instead," Finnick calls back as he steps into their bedroom plucking said sleepwear off the solar system bedspread.

"Dad," Noah stops in the doorway, hands on his hips with a frown on his face. If his hair were longer and tied in pigtails he'd look like Rosy. "Footie pjs are for babies. I'm not a baby anymore, I'm six."

"My brother wore footie pajamas until he was ten."

"I'm not him. I'm don't wanna wear 'em," Noah huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Spoil the boy with extra bath time and get a tantrum in return; sometimes Noah was just like his mother.

"Alright then," Finnick drops the clothes back onto the bed and crosses to the mattresses to the drawers where he pulls out a pair of sweats for himself. "Then you'll get have to go to bed in your wet towel."

"It's not wet anymore. Se-" Running over to Finnick holding out the sleeve of his robe-like towel for his dad to touch, Noah stops. He watches in awe as his dad pulls his shirt over his head revealing vague lines that were once well defined muscles. He's seen his father in old photos with Gale. Now, it didn't seem so farfetched that his Dad was an Olympic diver.

Almost.

Noah's bite sized heart sinks to the pit of his stomach like a penny would in a fountain. Except he can't make a wants to, however, he knows his Dad would be very sad without him around, but he wishes he could turn back time and give his dad his old life back. That way, he could see Mama and have a chance to compete at the Olympics.

"Noah."

The boy hears his name with a jolt and realizes his Dad is kneeling in front of him, cupping his cheeks, his eyes crinkled with concern. "You really don't have wear the pajamas if you don't want to. I like the ones that say 'Hunk' on them better anyways."

Nodding his damp, matted waves Noah slips out from the towel and doesn't kick up a fuss when his father helps him change into the dry, flannel sleep clothes.

"Doesn't that feel better?" Noah nods again as he trudges over to his bed and pulls back the covers. He just wants to snuggle with Oatmeal for a little while, maybe then he'll feel less sad.

"Where do you think you're going, monster? Didn't you forget something?" Finnick smiles, scooping his boy out of bed and up into his arms. Puzzlement quirks in every line of Noah's face as he contemplates his father's words. What was he forgetting? He had dessert, took his bath… oh!

"Brush my teeth!" Noah finds a burst of energy as Finnick wriggles his fingers in his son's ticklish sides.

Making their way back to the bathroom, Noah sits on the counter, dangling his feet as his dad puts the toothpaste on the tooth brush for him. After he coated the whole sink and making Auntie Jo grumble about waste the last time he tried, Noah wasn't allowed to do it by himself again.

What he could do by himself was the act of brushing. It was easy and he got to practice counting to twenty. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Elev-

"Daddy, what'cha doing?" Noah stops counting when he catches the most peculiar thing in the mirror. A dense blob of white foam sits in the palm of Finnick's hand as he scoops portions of it onto his face, lathers it around his cheeks, under his chin and along his neck.

"Putting shaving cream on," Finnick dabs a spot onto his son's wrinkling nose.

"Why?" Noah spits into the sink before putting the toothbrush on the sink.

"Because I'm going to shave."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to go to work tomorrow looking like my boss," Finnick laughs at the thought of Seneca Crane.

"You're gonna shave the hair off your face?"

"Yes."

Noah glances away from his Dad to his own face in the mirror. Leaning in, he looks for proof that he too has little hairs growing out from above his lip and around his jaw but can't find any. Searching again, Noah feels for the scruff but his fingers find nothing but smooth skin.

"Do you wanna try, too?" Finnick smiles at his boy as he uncaps the plastic from the razor head. The frown tugging at the corners of Noah's mouth pull up quickly as the frustration in his eyes is overcome with joy.

"Yeah!"

"Alright, let me show you first okay?" Wetting the blades, Finnick drags the first line of foam off his face with ease eliciting an enthusiastic gasp.

Out of the corner of his eye, Finnick watches Noah watch him, awestruck like he was watching the water swirl down the drain. When he drags the razor, making it's penultimate line through the foam, Finnick catches the squeak that comes from his son's mouth.

"Daddy, can I try the last one?" Noah asks, scooting closer on the counter to Johanna's sink.

"Sure, just be careful. Go really slow, Noah." Finnick tilts back his head as he hands his son the razor.

Holding the tool as steady as he can in his tiny hands, Noah touches the blades to the underside of his father's chin before he stops. The blades in the razor are sharp like the blades on the knives in Uncle Peeta's kitchen, and even though Noah knows how good his Uncle is with a knife, he has cut himself too.

"Daddy, I don't wanna do it. I'm scared," Noah hiccups as tears bubble in his eyes. His hands tremble as he passes back the razor.

"Scared of what?"

"That I'm gonna to hurt you. I don't wanna hurt you. "

Finnick offers his son a gentle, sad smile. "Sometimes, you're so much like your mother." Noah's chin perks up as Finnick places the utensil back into his son's hand, this time, wrapping his fingers around the smaller ones. "How about we do it together, hm?"

Noah's wavy locks bob as Finnick slowly but surely lets the blades glide along the final line of foam. The trembling in Noah's hand doesn't cease until after they unfurl from around the plastic handle. His Dad dries off his face and picks him up off the counter.

"See that wasn't so bad," Finnick chimes as the boy throws back the blanket on his father's bed. "It'll take a bit of practice but you'll have years to learn."

"Yeah," Noah says distantly, squeezing Oatmeal's body as he nestles into his father's side.

"What's wrong?" Concern laces Finnick's voice and he wraps an arm around Noah securely.

"Can you tell me a story about you and Mama?"

Finnick feels his throat begin to tighten up as his tongue grows dry. If there was a story that he could tell that didn't include an array of college related tomfoolery, he would tell Noah every story he could about his mother. But there isn't. Unless...he could tweak a few details, add a little something lighthearted for the boy to hold onto. Make his mom seem more like a Disney princess and less like of a real one.

"Alright. Hmm...how about the time Mama told me she loved me?" This story required the least amount of adjusting. Cashmere had said she loved him but how she meant it was something else.

"Mama told you she loved you?!" Noah sits up, eyes shining. "Tell me! Tell me!"

"Okay, okay." Finnick pulls his son back underneath the covers before transposing a bland shopping trip with an unexpected ending into a tale of enchantment with secret kisses and a young couple's love fueled by the thought of becoming parents.

Finnick paints a glowing grin on her face for Noah instead of the overtired half-smile he remembers her wearing that day. "She was beautiful, y'know. Kinda like Cinderella, except without the ballgown. Though, as we made our way down the aisle to the back of the store, it was as if she was dancing. She was so happy to be having you even though she was also very scared."

"That's why you were there, right?" Noah let's out a yawn.

"That's why I was there…" Finnick smiles sadly, running his fingers through the boy's damp locks. "So we're looking through all these racks, and from what I could see your Mama had a theme going. Lots of blue, green and ocean-y things, everything that reminded her of me. She was convinced from the get go that you were gonna be a mini-me. Who knew she'd be right?"

Noah's laugh tinkles like a wind chime as his dad taps the tip of his nose.

"So we've got the cart piled high with onesies, shoes, shorts and t-shirts when I turn to Mama with these nifty sunglasses and I catch her staring at me with those big blue eyes of hers. She looked about ready to cry. I ask her is if she's alright when she puts the hanger back on the rack, wraps her arms around my neck and gives me a big kiss," Finnick divulges.

For the most part, this was true. Cashmere had looked about ready to cry but she didn't kiss him - in fact she only ever kissed him twice after their first night together- and smiled as she wrapped her arms around his core, holding onto him.

"I could taste your Mama's cherry lip gloss when she pulled away and smell the pomegranate from her shampoo when she leaned in and whispered in my ear, 'I love you'."

"D-did you tell her you loved her too, Daddy?" Noah's voice is raspy as his eyes droop heavily with oncoming sleep.

Finnick smiles, touching a kiss to his son's head; he refuses to lie to Noah unnecessarily. Thankfully, the boy doesn't seem to notice the answer that refuses to come as sleep pulls him under completely. He leaves Finnick alone with the dancing images of Cashmere, pale as a ghost with her overly-painted eyes and cracked lips curled into a pathetic smile. Speaking empty promises and half-hearted apologies for hurting him. But Finnick had known that later those lips would sink into a grimace as they blamed him for everything she could think of.

Turning his gaze from the ceiling to his son, Finnick watches the rise and fall of the boy's body as he clutches his well-loved teddy bear between his hands. All the boy wants is his mother, that really shouldn't be so much to ask.

She did (does) want Noah, she just didn't (doesn't) want him. Who knows, maybe in the course of the past six years, and with two more children of her own, she's become a better parent. A wiser person. Less brash.

With a sigh, Finnick slips out from between the sheets and grabs his cellphone before toeing as quietly as he can into the darkened hallway of their lifeless townhouse. Johanna isn't due home for another seven hours.

He wakes up the phone and scrolls through the contracts on the bright screen until he finds what he's looking for. The dial tone rings and rings and rings then clicks and a hello pushes through the receiver like a gasp.

"Hi, Cash. It's Finn." he runs his a shaky hand through his hair. "I think we're ready now."