Chapter Fourteen

Where a new home is arranged for Annie.

The Peacekeepers arrived within the hour to congratulate Annie on her victory and usher her into her new, well-deserved home sitting in the Victors' Village. The only complication with that was, however, that District Four simply had too many victors. More extravagant, Capitol-style houses were in the works but not quite finished enough for anyone to live in. Annie could have cared less about the house. She was perched at the foot of her bed with her old, ratty blanket draped over her shoulders, settled beside Finnick. She didn't move or even look at the Peacekeepers. Her parents dealt with them in the doorway, refusing their presses to show her the new blueprints.

"We'll wait, thank you," said her father hoarsely. "She's a bit rattled. She doesn't need to be taken to see any houses right now."

"It is regulation, sir–"

"Typical," muttered Finnick unhappily under his breath. His sea green eyes were dark. It was too much trouble to let Annie be with her family for even the slightest amount of time. The victor needed to be treated as such, starting the moment they stepped foot back in the district. District Four was very proud of its standing in the Hunger Games; Annie couldn't be the one to tarnish it. "If it is that much of a problem, her staying here, she can move in with me."

The Peacekeepers stared at him curiously. Mrs. Cresta's eyes flashed unsurely while her husband's narrowed. Vance made no effort to mask his disapproval of this offering. Annie ducked her head, hiding her face, embarrassed. She hated stirring up this much trouble. Vance shook his head in protest. Annie looked to Finnick carefully.

"Really. You all can. It's too big for my father and me alone," Finnick promised, sensing the discomfort in the atmosphere. Annie watched his collected expression pull together but listened to the rapidly nervous beat of his heart just inches from her ears. She found it cute how he was thinking of what her parents thought of him.

Calypso, bright eyed and dark haired and looking too much like Rayne for Annie to stand looking at her for too long, scuttled from her seat in the corner. She popped up at Finnick's side, eyes smiling while her face still wore the pain of her brother's beheading. "I like you," she decided.

"You have very good judgement," said Annie monotonously. She did not break her eyes from Finnick's face. Her own heartbeat was racing. He made her nervous. She tried to smile for the little girl.

"Annie's and my winnings combined are more than enough to feed everyone," Finnick continued. His grip tightened around Annie's frail hand. "Mags and I will be happy to watch Annie during the day while you're out on the water – and Calypso, too. You'll all be well off for the first times in your lives."

Mr. Cresta was unmoved by reasons. His concern for his daughter could be read in the lines settled into his face like a book, that was all that he was thinking of. As any father should, watching his daughter move in with a boy she is, dare he say, romantically interested in is hard. Mrs. Cresta squeezed his hand. His expression softened. He watched Annie inch closer to Finnick.

"We'll sort this out," said Mr. Cresta as he dismissed the Peacekeepers. The screen door slammed into its rickety, splintering frame loudly as the pair retreated down the walk. A strong sea breeze swept in through the squat cottage. He turned back to his family, sitting in every which nook and cranny of the house. "I'll take you up on that, Finnick."

He smiled brightly and patted Annie's hand. Her lips spread into a smile as well. Grumbles rippled through the room, mostly from Vance.

Annie didn't even spend the night in her old cottage that she spent weeks dreaming about in the Arena. She gathered her things, her baby blanket and the storybook from the mantel, and happily followed Finnick to the opposite side of District Four to the Victors' Village. Indeed, it was huge, spread out over countless acres of land. Annie had been kept away as a curious child; Peacekeepers stood watch around the gates and fences protectively at all hours, so she had only ever seen glimpses of it close up. Three story houses that were painted wonderful shades of ocean blue and creamy green with perfect white shutters and trim were collected into an expensive sub-community of District Four. Some were well kept with green lawns and weeded flowerbeds blooming, others were beaten and worn like most of the district's residents and dirty, but all were clearly being lived in. The Peacekeepers immediately recognized her face as well as Finnick's and welcomed them and the Crestas happily; they lived to please the victors. Annie kept nervously at his side, overwhelmed by the scenery. It was almost as bad as the Capitol, but less garish and much homier. The majority of victors from the Games are split up nearly equally between Districts One, Two, and Four, only sprinkled in occasionally from the rest of Panem, but seeing it took a greater toll on Annie than hearing it.

Annie knew immediately which one was Finnick's mansion. It was nothing special compared to the rest, the white trim and dark blue shell were identical to the rest. Strands of seashells hung in the windows. Fishing tools were kept on the porch. The only thing that led Annie to realize that it was definitely his was the one next door, actually. On the porch of the house next door sat a wrinkled old woman in a rocking chair, crafting fishing hooks out of wire. Annie smiled. Mags.

"Would you look at this motley crew," said Mags. She took her cane and hobbled down the steps to them. "Hello, all!"

Annie turned to her parents, a ghost of a smile glazed over her green eyes. Her lips popped open, and she meant to introduce the woman. Instead, her gaze snagged on Calypso. Rayne. Rayne's beheading. She gasped. Finnick gripped her shoulders and began to whisper words of reassurance and comforts. She pressed her hands over her ears in a panic, trying desperately to shut out the mix of his pleas and Rayne's last words. Gobs of words spat from Annie's mouth, but nothing was coherent.

"Annie, dear," murmured Mags. "Everything is fine. Everything is fine."

She blinked and nodded. The panic had set into her bones. Annie just couldn't shake the alarm. She apologized to everyone quickly.

"This is Mags," said Finnick, gesturing to the tiny woman. "She was my mentor in the Games."

The wispy, white-haired woman stuck out her hand to Calypso first. Her friendly eyes flashed knowingly. The bright eyed girl shook her hand gently, as if frightened. Annie thought the notion was ridiculous, being scared of Mags. Calypso acted similarly around Finnick, too. Her eyes widened. It had never crossed her mind before but Mags was still a victor. Being scared of this frail old woman was justified in the same sense that Annie had been scared of Finnick. Annie had never thought of Mags that way. She stared at the wrinkled woman, amazed at her revelation.

"A pretty little thing, aren't you," said Mags with a smile to the little girl. She grinned, blushing. It was the closest thing she could say to her that hinted at her resemblance to her brother without being direct.

Finnick led the group up the steps into his mansion. Annie half-expected it to smell like the cleaners that stung her nose in the Capitol, but it smelled of salt water just like the rest of the district. She looked around, taking in the high-ceilings and polished floors. She knew that her cottage on the edge of the sea could fit into this house at least four-times over. It was so pretty.

"Make yourselves at home," welcomed Finnick.

"Thank you," whispered Annie as she watched her brothers disperse throughout the house. They acted like children, all spreading out and collecting together again to talk behind their sister's back. Her parents were busy talking amongst themselves, mostly under their breath. Calypso had taken an immediate liking to Mags and stood at the woman's side.

"Finnick," said a man. His voice echoed down the staircase. A middle-aged man who looked strikingly like his son appeared at the top of the stairs, rough hand gripping the rail for balance. "You were supposed to call."

"My tribute just won the Hunger Games," reminded Finnick, hugging Annie closer to him. "I was a tad busy."

They broke into smiles. Finnick's father was about to hug him when he saw Annie unable to pry herself from his son. He just nodded at his son. "I'm Merrick Odair, Finnick's father."

"Annie Cresta," whispered the dark haired girl. She hoped she sounded polite enough but was quite a mess after her recent breakdown. It was surely reflected in her tone.

"Indeed you are." A sly glance was passed to Finnick. Merrick's eyes darted to her finger and back. "Mags' ring?"

Finnick grunted, eyes bulging from his head. Understanding the message, Merrick turned away. He greeted Annie's parents in the same friendly tone. She couldn't help but notice that he spoke with the same sureness that Finnick had used around her before the Games, the tone she relaxed for. She watched her parents' expressions carefully; they spoke unchanging a million miles from her.

"Annie," said Finnick in her ear. His eyes searched her face for a moment. Confused, she watched him make a small gesture towards the staircase.

The rooms, terribly open and garishly bright, were overwhelming to Annie. Though they were nothing in comparison to being with Finnick. She had almost entirely forgotten what it was like to be with him, constantly, always a few strides away. Perched on the edge of a well-made bed, she sat and watched him. He was so childish; sitting on the floor with his legs crossed like was required in the schools of young kids. Young, before the reaping was a threat, before you worried about training as a Career or applying for tesserae. Annie's mind always trailed back to the Games.

Finnick's eyes gleamed, reflecting the sunlight that shown in from the windows. "I'm happy you're home, Annie," he said. The ghost of a smile touched his lips, though his eyes were practically howling with pain.

"Home," she repeated softly. Annie was still dazed, confused by the situation. How had her parents so easily agreed to moving in with Finnick Odair? They knew his reputation better than she did. Ease her way back into District Four, she supposed. She glanced to Finnick and nodded, the most she could manage to reassure him somehow.

"I'm going to warn you, though, I will be headed back to the Capitol in a few days…" his voice fragile – held at a single monotonous note so that it wouldn't shatter. He was choking back tears.

"Please, don't cry," she whispered, inching closer to him. Annie nearly slipped onto the floor. She reached for his face, cupped his cheek in her hand. It felt unreal. "Please, don't cry, Finnick." Her lips stretched into a painful smile as she tried to comfort him. She couldn't fathom why returning to the Capitol would be so terrible. The general sense, she understood it. But was it really so unsettling that he, one of the strongest people she had ever met, was going to break down over it. "I don't understand…"

"I don't want you to understand. I want you to heal yourself first; I can't have you worrying about me, Annie." He sniffled. Finnick's eyes flashed as they met hers. "I will just be being a victor, is all." He touched the ring clinging to her finger. "Thing's will be okay here."

Annie hung her head, letting locks of dark hair fall around her face, creating a wavy curtain that hid away her eyes. She remained still for a few moments, processing what had been said, reeling. The brief sense of home she had felt only a moment ago was beginning to fade away, slip from her fingers like an open handful of sand. Annie felt alone and cold, like she was engulfed in chilled waves tugging her in every which direction. Her family wasn't adjusting to their new home in the rooms around her; she wasn't sitting in District Four. How had she only known Finnick for such a short time, yet was already so dependent of him? Annie glanced at Finnick through strands of hair falling over her face. Her eyes flickered and his smiled. She wiped a tear from his cheek.

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear. "It'll only be for a day or two," he promised. "Stay here, keep Mags company. She tends to get bored." He smiled, for real this time.

Indeed, Mags did get bored. Annie would think that she, being an old woman, would be content with sitting around her home and reading some Capitol newspaper or watching the television. However, this was not the case. Two days later, after Annie had seen Finnick off at the train station for the Capitol, she returned immediately to Mags' house so she wouldn't face Finnick's empty room. Calypso had practically moved in with the woman, she had taken a liking to a spare room at the end of the hallway. The seven-year-old kept Mags on her toes; she was a very energetic child with no way of knowing how to cope with the recent tragedy other than ignore it by distracting herself. The kitchen was now filled with countless crafts such as sea shell necklaces, paintings, several trays of cookies, and papers strewn about – some covered with sloppy handwriting beside beautiful, scrawling script and other drawings from the hand of a child. Drawings of a bright eyed, dark haired boy that haunts Annie's dreams. Mags was kind to look after Calypso, just as she had been with Rayne. Though, when the girl was resting, Mags always had to be doing something to keep herself busy as well.

"Are you hungry, Annie?" asked Mags, rummaging around through her cupboards. She never sat down, never stopped moving. She constantly hobbled about the house, propped up on her cane, refusing to miss even a single beat. She checked over her shoulder at Annie, sitting beside Calypso at the counter. "I can make you something if you'd like."

"No, thank you," murmured Annie. Her gaze was in a fixed position, staring straight ahead. She didn't want to risk breaking down at the sight of Calypso. She preoccupied herself by wondering what Finnick was up to, if he was still on the train, if he was having an awfully miserable time and was already desperate to come home. The relief of being in District Four had yet to wear off, being out of the Arena was a pleasure waking to every morning since that is where she spent her nightmares. She found herself envying those who have never left the district, the ones whose fear of the Capitol didn't extend past the Reaping Day. As if on cue, Annie's stomach rumbled. Calypso giggled.

"Well, if I don't have to cook, I say we head down to the beach today," announced Mags with a smile. Her eyes flashed brightly. She watched Calypso more closely than she ever watched Annie; the child was surprisingly more fragile. "What do you two think about that?"

Soon enough, Annie was ready on Mags' front porch, plush new towel in hand, dressed in an old and faded bathing suit and a pair of her brother's pants that she had cut off into shorts and fell from her hips. She followed behind Mags and Calypso as they walked from the Victors' Village into the market and to the other side of District Four, all the while the elder victor quietly introduced their new neighbors to them under her breath. There was Charlemagne, another Capitol favorite that had won his Games by gutting his victims like fish, and Marina, who was the child of a previous victor and practically won by default because she was the only one who knew how to swim, and Cael… Annie had forced herself to stop listening. She was struck down with crippling pain simply because of his name. She focused on kicking up sand with her sandals and the sun pouring over her skin.

Finally, Annie could see the sea glimmering in the distance, beyond bucolic houses that dotted the seashore. One cottage in particular that caught her eye was her own, an abandoned squat house that was technically still her family's. She ignored it as best she could, just like she had been to avoid looking at Calypso's face, and carried on as if she hadn't seen it. The memories of cold nights, too terrified to sleep because of the pending reapings seemed to seep from the cracks in the windows, the smell of homemade bread infused with bits of seaweed wafted from the chimney. Her heart twisted into knots just thinking about what she had left in that house. Annie, though, wanted nothing to do with it; she wanted to start fresh like the Games had never happened. The house would only weigh her down.

The beach was cold, the sand damp, and the ebbing waves numbed her toes as they rolled over the shore. Down the strip of beach, the marina was dead and empty, all of the fishing vessels out at sea. It wasn't unusual to see other families scattered about the beach. Mothers with two much time on their hands brought their young children to build sandcastles, young schoolgirls and boys splashed about in the waves to celebrate a day off school, and Careers with too much time on their hands frequented the shores in leisure. Annie had never spent much time there herself. She would trek down to the marina every morning, sometimes with her mother and others without, and twist out nets like a machine. She had good friends there, older boys from school and her brother's friends, so someone was always there to talk with her and keep her mind occupied. It was surprising how little time she had spent on the actual beach when you consider how well she can swim. Annie had always spent more time swimming out in deep, dangerous, open waters, diving off the back of her brother's fishing boat when she went out into the bay with them.

Calypso had plopped into the sand and begun to scrawl her name into the damp sand beside an engraved butterfly. The waves lapped at the girl's toes and sucked the hem of her tattered dress back into the sea, staining the bright cream fabric with salt water. Annie remembered a time when that would have been her, only there because she needed to distract herself. She had been in the same position to escape watching Finnick spearing tributes to death in the Arena.

"Annie," said Mags, waving in front of her eyes. She had to keep yanking her cane out of the sand to keep from stumbling over. "Stay with me now."

"Okay," mumbled Annie, feeling the grainy sand stick in between her toes.

Soon, at her side, Calypso had etched three stick figures into the sand and had labeled them as such: me, Mags, Annie. She then continued to draw in three more figures, above the heads of the trio. Her sloppy handwriting called them Rayne, Mommy, and Dad. Annie looked away quickly, feeling the tears swell in her eyes. There weren't many left that believed in some peaceful afterlife, but she clearly did by the cloud they were perched on and the smiles on their faces.

The afternoon was spent in the summer breeze. Annie thought mostly about the Capitol, about Finnick, and about her family. It was so strange to think that they were out on the water right now, carrying on because they were forced to like nothing had happened to them. She swayed in the breeze, lost in her thoughts. Her heart was struck with a strange longing, an unfamiliar, overprotective worry that swallowed her entire being like diving into the ocean. That's when Annie knew something was wrong.

No matter how brave Finnick deluded himself into thinking he was, he always began to shake with fear when he approached the door to the president's office. It gleamed, adorned with the golden Capitol seal, at the end of a narrow hall in the most hidden corner of the building. His heart stammered within his chest, weak with terror, and his breath hitched with each step he took. Finnick's fingers searched instinctively for the staff of the trident that wasn't there.

He hesitated at the door. He had been there so many times that he was trusted by the guards to enter independently, but always found himself wishing for their company at this moment. A smile flashed in his eyes as he thought of Annie for comfort, smiling, standing in between Vance and Rayne. It had never happened, but Finnick whished that it had. It would have made her so happy. After waiting for his heart to calm, he stepped inside confidently.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Odair," greeted Snow. The white-haired man sat comfortably behind a glossy, lavish desk, snake-like eyes gleaming. His unnaturally, disgustingly puffy lips curled into a distorted smile. "It's good to see you."

"The pleasure is mine, sir," said Finnick stiffly. It amazed him how his manners never seemed to fail him, his mother taught him well. His green eyes flickered darkly. His mother, dead by Snow's command.

"I'm in no mood to play games today," Snow informed dismissively. What a poor choice of words, thought Finnick while he masked a scowl. "So I will cut to the chase. I know we let the communicator slide in the Arena. I know all you did was to protect her. But…Ms. Cresta was not supposed to win."

Finnick was unmoved by this statement, a cold stone statue. He knew that already. Once he had written the poem, as if the odds weren't so heavily waged against her, Finnick knew that Snow would do all that he could to keep her from standing any chance in the Arena. He nodded, understanding.

"The odds were never in her favor," said Finnick simply, hollow voiced.

"Indeed," agreed the president. He cleared his throat, clasped his hands on his desk top, and continued. "However, she did win. Ms. Cresta has had a growing admiration amongst Capitol citizens since then."

Finnick's eyes widened. His heart skipped a beat. This was the exact speech that Finnick had listened to when…the one that haunted his dreams…the one that ruined his life, his free will. No. It couldn't be. This wasn't really happening. He clenched his fists as the president's grin widened.

"So you have caught my drift. Yes. You've made her quite the desirable object, Finnick Odair."

"She is a person! A living, breathing person! Not some ditzy Capitol doll!" The words burst from his mouth before he could stop himself. "She is broken, too! All because of your Games! She hasn't even been home for a week yet and you're planning to bring her back here? Annie's gone mad!"

The color had washed from his face. Finnick's chest rose and fell violently as he gasped. Desperation glazed his eyes. His heart ached for her, for his Annie. For the mad girl he loved, who waited so eagerly for him to return home. What had he done?

President Snow, wearing an evil expression of satisfaction, leaned back in his leather chair. "You will watch your temper," he said. "She would make the state so much money…would you want me to just kill her instead?" He hissed, smirking.

"No!" roared Finnick. Desperation coursed through him. There were too many people who needed Annie, her parents and her brothers, Calypso and Mags, not just him. He couldn't let her slip away. "Let me take whoever wants her, let me keep her safe. Surely I will be good enough for them." He whimpered and ducked his head. "Please."

A single white eyebrow raised curiously. "If you wish," said President Snow. He didn't bother to mask his smile, his pleasure, and that triggered a torrent to flush Finnick's mind with happy images of spearing the president with his trident.

"Think of Annie," he muttered to himself as he turned out the door, dismissing himself. "Think of Annie."

"Think of a safe place," said President Snow, tone as sharp as a razor blade. "That's what she'll need more than a comforting thought."

"MAGS! MAGS! MAGS!" screamed Finnick into the receiver. He passed back and forth in the empty bedroom, exhausted. He raked his fingers through his already disheveled hair, yanking it away from his face. His heart was beating a million miles per minute. He couldn't calm himself, not even after what he had forced himself through that night – a usual with a new fetish. Finnick shuttered at the thought. "MAGS!"

"Finnick Odair," she cooed soothingly. "Calm down. We are never going to accomplish anything if you keep yelling at me."

"You weren't saying anything!" he spat impatiently. "Where's Annie? Is she with you? Can you see her?"

"You've gone mental if you think I'd give her any chance of listening in on this conversation," she chastised. The pair had been on the telephone for more than an hour now, and with everything having been explained to her, Mags was at an utter loss for words. "She is next door with her parents. There hasn't been a single Peacekeeper in the Village all night, I've been keeping an eye on that."

"What are we going to do?" he demanded furiously, slamming his fist into the wall. A hole broke through in the drywall. Finnick pulled his hand out and blew off the dust. The Capitol is weak in every sense. "She can't stay in District Four. He said it won't be safe for her."

"Finnick." Mags had raised her voice now, too irritated to remain under a calm mask anymore. "She is the newest victor and you aren't thinking very hard. If we keep her in the lime light, in the public eye, President Snow can't touch her. The Capitol loves their victors." The words poured from her mouth.

"A bit too much," Finnick scowled.

"I will call Gossamer, have her set up some sort of Victory something, and then Annie will be guarded against even the president. Get some sleep, Finnick. You're going to need it, we will leave when you get back."

It has almost been a month since I updated. A MONTH. Can you believe me? Who do I think I am? Pssh. I don't blame you if you've abandoned this story.

GUYS! I am so terribly sorry. I promise that won't happen again. This story deserves to be finished. I hated not being able to write this story, but it just got so hard... On the upside, EIGHT DAYS! WE ONLY HAVE EIGHT DAYS LEFT.

Anyway, there was obviously a lot going on in this chapter, which made it more fun to write, but I don't know how well you readers like that. I thought that for three weeks of writer's block I jumped back in with a great start, but that's just me. I really want to play up the relationship between Mags and Calypso, I want them to be like grandmother and granddaughter. I just thought that was a nice, subtle touch to the story.

A huge thanks to leftmyheart on tumblr. She is the one who inspired me to pick this back up. Go follow her :D

Finally, thank you readers. I love you all. Please, let me know what you thought of this chapter and how you think the story is coming along. Constructive criticism is always welcome.