Happy Valentine's Day.
Real butterflies had nothing on the ones in Finnick's stomach.
He sat on the stool in Fulvia's little makeup studio, hot and half-blinded under the brilliant lights she had trained on him. The collar of his white dress shirt seemed uncomfortably tight, the dark green silk tie choking…surreptitiously, he tried to run a finger between his collar and his neck –
"Stop fidgeting." Fulvia slapped his hand. "I didn't spend hours making you perfect, just to have you mess up my work because you couldn't sit still for five minutes."
Finnick knotted his fingers together and pressed them between his knees. Fulvia had a long tube in her hand and was shaking out clear gel into her plump palm.
"Hold still," she ordered, rubbing her hands together. Finnick obediently sat ramrod-straight as she ran her fingers through his hair, smoothing it back, its color in the mirror opposite him deepening from golden-brown to dark bronze. God, when was the last time he had slicked his hair back? It must have been Connor's wedding…four, five years ago. It seemed like a lifetime away, now.
"Here." Fulvia held out the tailored vest of pearl-gray silk and Finnick put it on. He noticed his fingers were shaking slightly as he did up the buttons. The suit had once been Peeta's, he knew, and how Fulvia and her people had managed to alter it from stocky Peeta's size to fitting long, lanky himself was a miracle to him – especially with Thirteen's tight supplies.
Fulvia bustled about him, straightening his collar, adding final dabs of concealer on the circles under his eyes that refused to go away. At last she stepped back, lips pursed fussily.
"Am I presentable, at least?" said Finnick, with an attempt at humor.
"Barely," was Fulvia's tart reply. "If it were just for Thirteen, who would care, but all of Panem is seeing this…"
Finnick preferred to forget that the happiest day of his life was going to be broadcast to an entire country. Oh well. At least the most intimate part of today was going to be safely off-camera.
"I don't know what it is," said Fulvia, "but you just need something…" Her manicured hand darted out and selected a stick of dark green eyeliner.
"Aw, no, Fulvia!" protested Finnick, leaning away as she tried to apply it at the base of his lashes.
"For Panem's sake, will you hold still?" she snapped. Grousing in irritation, she touched up the outside corners of his eyes with the eyeliner. "You'd think I was torturing you."
"This looks plenty like a torture chamber to me," muttered Finnick, sotto voce, eyeing the many lamps and various instruments of alteration and beautification.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
Fulvia shot him a baleful look as she stepped back, smoothing down the last few strands of hair that had escaped the gel. "There," she said, but even then she wasn't done, because she licked her finger and tried to sleek Finnick's eyebrows.
He put up a token resistance, but Fulvia, at this point inured to his squirming, ignored him. Abruptly she left, rummaging among the boxes behind him. Finnick sat, sweating slightly under the bright lights, his hands twisted together, a nervous lump in his stomach and another in his throat. He started to drum his heels on the metal legs of the stool until he remembered that would scuff the shiny black patent leather.
"Here we go." Fulvia returned to pin a boutonniere on his vest. Finnick squinted down at it – a half-opened white rose, with a couple sprays of lacy green leaves and a smaller white blossom he couldn't identify.
"Flowers!" he said in surprise.
"Yes, they were flown in especially from Six," said Fulvia. "You have no idea how much trouble Plutarch had convincing President Coin to allow that…"
Plutarch. Finnick let out a sharp breath and tried to distract himself. It wasn't hard. Because out that door, down a hallway, and in the newly-repaired Collective was his Annie, his mermaid, who was about to become his wife…
Fulvia stepped back for the last time, hands on her hips. "Stand up," she ordered.
Finnick obeyed, turning in a slow circle with his arms outstretched for her benefit. At last, Fulvia sighed.
"I guess that's it," she said, sounding a little forlorn for the first time. Suddenly her lips trembled and she whipped out a handkerchief, dabbing her eyes.
Finnick reached one hand towards her, concerned. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," she said, managing a smile. "It's just…you so deserve to be happy, Finnick…"
"Thank you," said Finnick quietly. "Truly."
Fulvia nodded, blotting her eyes again. Then she took a deep breath and switched back to her usual cheery demeanor. "Well, are you ready?"
Finnick nodded mutely. The butterflies in his stomach were mutating into jackrabbits.
"Then let's go."
Finnick followed Fulvia and found himself counting steps as he did so. Ten steps closer, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen…
They paused in front of the double doors that opened into the Collective. They were shut, but Finnick could hear the excited babble of voices behind them. He took a deep breath and clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking.
Gale walked up, wearing the dark gray formal military uniform, his hair slick like Finnick's. "All right?" he said, clapping Finnick on the shoulder. Fulvia involuntarily squealed as the rough gesture crumpled the fine white fabric of Finnick's shirt.
"Sorry," Gale stage-whispered. He winked at Finnick, who half-smiled and smoothed out the creases.
"Just go in," said Fulvia. "Just like in rehearsal."
"Right," said Finnick under his breath. Beyond those doors wasn't just another room, it was a whole new life…a whole new Finnick… He glanced at Gale, who nodded slightly, a small smile curving his lips. Fulvia patted him on the back. Finnick took another deep breath and nodded to her. Touching her earpiece, she said, "He's ready."
The double doors opened from within. Finnick stepped over their threshold, seeing the crowd of people draw back to form an aisle. Orange and yellow boughs culled from the trees on the surface festooned the plain gray walls. At the far end of the room, the podium had been removed so there was simply a raised platform under the curving spray of amber-colored foliage.
"Smile. You're on TV," whispered Fulvia. And despite his nervousness, Finnick found it easy to grin, to walk up the aisle naturally with Gale flanking him. It helped that he could see familiar faces. Evans. Haymitch. Katniss.
At last he reached the low dais. Dalton, the expatriate from District Ten, stood there, plastic folder in his hands. Off to one side was grouped a children's choir, the younger kids fidgeting worse than Finnick ever had. A dark-haired man sat next to them, fiddle and bow poised in his hands, ready to play. He met Finnick's eye briefly, and Finnick caught a gleam of gray eyes from under fierce eyebrows.
The fiddler, alerted by some unseen cue, raised his instrument to his chin. He nodded to the middle-aged woman conducting the children and together they struck up a tune, courtly but not formal. The fiddler was good; the children, untrained at best.
But Finnick didn't care – because the two aides in formal dress were about to open the doors again. Behind them was Annie – Annie, escorted by Beetee (who was, for tonight, making the extra effort to walk for Finnick and Annie) – Annie, his own –
The doors opened and his heart stopped.
He'd always thought it was a figure of speech to take someone's breath away, but now he saw that Annie had quite literally stolen his breath. Not just that – all air, all color in the room seemed to instantly flow to her as she paced slowly up towards him.
Shimmering silk the color of rain-wet pines encased her body, hugging tight to her curves until it reached her knees. Then it flared out into a ruffled train of layer upon layer of dark green gauze that foamed around her feet like waves on the shore. A corsage to match his boutonniere was tied to her wrist in lieu of a bouquet. Her bare shoulders were creamy white, smooth and gleaming slightly like the simple necklace of pearls she wore around her slender neck. Her hair, fine and shining as chocolate silk, was piled up onto her head into a disarray so glorious he could have wept. Pinned into the soft strands was a large magnolia, the ivory petals almost glowing against her brown hair and the glossy, dark green leaves. Her lips were coated in shimmering gloss the same pink as the inside of a conch shell; there was a light dusting of rose-colored powder across her cheeks and her eyes, large, limpid, and the color of tidepools in the sun, were fringed by feathery lashes the dark brown of coffee beans.
At first, Annie's eyes were downcast, shy at the multitude of unfamiliar people all staring at her. Then, after the first few steps, as she grew more sure of herself, she looked up to where Finnick stood breathless, met his eyes, and smiled.
Finnick's heart soared. He could only stare at her, so full of love and joy and pride he thought he might just about burst, as she walked serenely up to him and took his hands. And maybe it was just him, but Finnick was sure she was radiating a soft golden glow independent of the chill lights of District Thirteen.
Beetee sank gratefully into the provided chair as Dalton stepped forward, folder open in his hands. He took a moment to stare impressively over Finnick and Annie's heads at the gathered crowd before he began in sententious tones, "Marriage. Marriage is what brings us here together, today."
And thank God for whatever miracle had brought them together…Finnick had eyes for no one but Annie, never as acutely conscious as he was now of how lucky he was to have her by his side, whole and radiantly beautiful…
"Marriage, that blessed arrangement, that dream within a dream…"
Could Finnick really be sure he wasn't dreaming? He reassured himself by drinking in every detail of Annie's presence, every fine escaped strand of hair, every last little crease in the white skin of her hands, knowing he could never have imagined that much perfect imperfection on his own…
"We witness today the marriage of Finnick Riley Odair and Annemarie Cresta, two people who henceforth will be one…"
Annie's hand squeezed Finnick's and she met his gaze happily. She was practically trembling with joy, and Finnick felt his face yield to a warm smile that seemed to come from the depths of his heart.
"If any man or woman objects to the joining of these two, let them now speak, or forever hold their peace…"
Finnick knew one heart-choking moment as Dalton paused. But no one raised their voice, and the former Justice rolled on, his magisterial tones unimpeded on the words of the District Four wedding ceremony.
"When the dolphin takes a mate, it is for life. If one partner is seized by the shark, or killed by the long bite of the eel, then the other one sickens and dies as well. So it must be with you. Your fates are now woven together; your lives, intertwined."
A net, woven of strands of long, sweet-smelling grass, was draped over them. As the feather-lightness of it settled around them, it cast a crisscrossing pattern of shadows over Finnick and Annie.
"Finnick Riley Odair," said Dalton. "Do you take Annemarie Cresta as your lawful wedded wife, in sickness and in health, through storm and sunshine, to love, comfort, and provide for, as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," said Finnick, voice strong.
"Annemarie Cresta. Do you take Finnick Riley Odair as your lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health, through storm and sunshine, to love, cherish, and honor, as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," whispered Annie. Her great eyes met Finnick's, and he trembled at the depth of emotion in them.
Dalton nodded approvingly. "Finnick Riley Odair, what have you to say to your future wife?"
"Annemarie." Finnick let Annie's full name roll off his tongue like notes from a song, every bit as precious as she was. "Annemarie, I love you. You are my reason for existence. I would walk on coals for you, travel the entire world for a single hair from your head, a single kiss from your lips. You have no idea how much – " His voice shook and he stopped, tears in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "You have no idea how much you mean to me."
He could hear several women in the audience sobbing quietly. Dalton glanced at them before saying, "Annemarie Cresta, what have you to say to your future husband?"
Annie's hands tightened on Finnick's and she drew closer to him, taking in a deep, shaky breath.
"Finnick," she breathed. "I don't know what I've done to deserve you, when I was nothing but an empty, discarded shell, but you picked me, and – Oh, Finnick, thank God you're here!"
Disregarding wedding protocol, she flung her arms around Finnick, burying her face in his chest. Finnick held her tightly, touching his face to her hair, smelling the light fragrance of roses.
After a couple moments, Finnick gently pushed Annie from him, keeping his hands on her arms so she knew it wasn't a rejection. "Don't cry," he said, for her ears alone. "You'll smudge your makeup."
Annie smiled through her tears, raised a hand to her eyes to dash the moisture from them, but Finnick captured her hand and kissed her fingers reverently.
"Ahaggm." Dalton cleared his throat, unsure how to return to the scripted ceremony. Smiling, Finnick took Annie's hands again and looked to him.
"Go ahead," he said. Dalton nodded, scanned the page in front of him, and continued where he had left off.
"Finnick Odair, are you satisfied with what your partner has said?"
"I am."
"Annemarie Cresta, are you satisfied with what your partner has said?"
"I am."
"Do you each take the other to be your partner, loving what you know of each other, and trusting what you do not yet know?"
"Yes," said Finnick and Annie, in unison.
"Do you eagerly anticipate the chance to grow together, getting to know the man and woman you will each become, and falling in love a little more each day?"
"Yes."
"Do you promise to love and cherish each other, through whatever life may bring you?"
"Yes."
Dalton nodded again, looking pleased. Whoever had draped the net around Finnick and Annie now removed it. A young boy and a young girl, dressed in white, walked up to the dais, each bearing a bowl of clear water.
Smiling, Annie dipped her fingers into the bowl the girl carried and touched her wet fingers to Finnick's lips. He tasted the salt in the water, felt her mothwing-light touch. Wetting his own fingers, he brushed the salt water across Annie's lips, smiling a little because his fingers came away brushed with pink from her lip gloss…As they had been performing the traditional gesture, Dalton had been reading a blessing...
"Now you will feel no rain, for each of you will be shelter for the other. Now you will feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other. Now there will be no loneliness, for each of you will be companion to the other. Now you are two persons, but there is only one life before you. May beauty surround you both in the journey ahead and through all the years, and may happiness be your companion and your days together be good and long upon the earth."
The children's choir had lifted their voices, too, in the District Four wedding hymn that Finnick seemed to have heard so many times without ever appreciating its true meaning…Even now, he did not hear the words so much as he absorbed the meaning, forgetting the specifics of language in the deeper realization of what it truly meant to be married to the woman he loved.
The last treble note died down, accompanied by the hovering wail of the violin strings. Dalton paused, once more surveying the assembly majestically, and asked, "Are all here satisfied?"
"Yes!" chorused the crowd.
"Then by the authority vested in me," said Dalton, "I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."
Finnick cradled Annie's face in his hand. With her heels on, her mouth was almost at the same level as his, so all he had to do was lean forward and press his lips to hers. At the moment they tasted like salt water and lip gloss, but it didn't matter to him. All he was conscious of was a deep joy that ran from the tips of his toes all the way to the top of his well-greased head…
The audience was cheering and Finnick turned to face them, tucking Annie against his side, his ineffable happiness expressing itself in one great big golden grin.
Aides were passing through the crowd, handing out glasses of a sparkling amber liquid. Finnick wondered what Plutarch had done to persuade the woman to allow alcohol until he and Annie were given their own glasses and he realized it wasn't champagne, it was apple cider.
Evans stepped forward, her eyes sparkling as she reached the platform. "A toast to the newlyweds," she said, her own glass held high. "May thy life be long and happy, thy cares and sorrows few; and the many friends around thee, prove faithful, fond and true. May your voyage through life be as happy and as free as the dancing waves on the deep blue sea."
The words of the traditional wedding blessing, accompanied by the innate melody in her District Four lilt, seemed to cast an aura of solemnity on everyone. In silence, all raised their glasses to their lips and drank. Then Annie giggled as the bubbles from the cider went up her nose, and the spell was broken.
The fiddler struck up a rousing tune and those guests from District Twelve whooped, clearing a space on the floor for dancing. A tall, bony woman with a deeply lined face and stringy gray hair seized a laughing Gale's hand and began dancing with him, other guests quickly joining in.
Finnick and Annie were among the crowd, and person after person was coming up to them, offering congratulations. Annie clung tight to Finnick's side, and even though he was impossibly happy, he felt a little buffeted by all the strange faces, strange handshakes…for one dizzying moment, he experienced that old illusion of his where everyone was whispering about him behind their hands –
A firm hand at his elbow steadied him. Finnick, turning, saw Gale, his hair a little disheveled, his collar open. Annie smiled at him. "Hello, Gale."
Gale tipped her a salute. "Hello," he said, smiling back. "Only it's not Miss Cresta anymore, is it?" When she blushed, he chuckled and shook Finnick's hand. "Congratulations."
"Thank you," said Finnick, his words heartfelt. Gale nodded, meeting his eyes.
"I wish happiness for both of you," he said quietly. "Truly. I can't think of anyone who deserves it more."
"Thank you, Gale," said Annie. Her eyes were shining softly. "That means a lot."
Gale dipped his head. Then he glanced over his shoulder, eyes sparking in a mischievous grin. "Hey, I think you two are needed."
"What? Why?" said Finnick, panicking slightly.
Gale grinned at them. "To dance, of course." He laughed at Finnick and Annie's blank looks. "What, did you think you could get out of it that easily?"
Soon (Finnick couldn't quite comprehend how) he and Annie were standing in the middle of the great circle of nearly all the guests, who were dancing with their hands joined. The fiddler had changed the tune; it was slower now, fluid – a waltz.
Finnick grinned at Annie, placing one hand on her waist, raising her other one up. "Shall we dance, mermaid?" he asked.
Annie smiled at him, eyes sparkling. And they danced.
They were hampered a little by the train on Annie's dress, but even so it was easy to melt into the music like ice cream, for Finnick to feel nothing but the silken touch of Annie's skin, to see nothing but her own sweet face. They moved in their own graceful circle inside the larger one of the other guests…
And then there was more dancing, faster paced, that they joined in with (Annie removing her high-heeled shoes first), and a fantastic wedding cake iced with waves and dolphins and sea anemones, and when no one could dance anymore chairs were brought in and they all sat gratefully, listening to the fiddler scrape out a hauntingly melodic tune on his violin. Finnick held Annie's hand as they sat next to each other; she rested her head on his shoulder and he kissed her hair.
After the fiddler was done, the woman walked to the front. Finnick automatically tensed, and Annie, sensing the subtle difference in his bearing, straightened with her eyebrows drawn together. But the woman only had a few words to say.
"Congratulations on your marriage," she said, silver hair gleaming. "May it be long and happy."
Then, with a nod to the couple, she stepped down and was soon out of the room. Her place was taken by Beetee, who walked up to the dais but sat down to make his speech.
"Well, here we all are," he said. "And though I'm better with wires than words – " he paused for the little ripple of humor that ran through the room " – I guess I'm the one making the speech tonight." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts.
"I'm sure all of you realize that tonight is an evening of great significance," he said, light flashing on his thick glasses. "Not just for the bride and groom, but for the entire country. Here we have two young people whom it seemed the fates were conspiring against. It seemed at every step in their relationship, the Capitol was there, thwarting their desires, denying them their right to pursue happiness." Annie hid her face in Finnick's shoulder, and he squeezed her hand comfortingly. "Though often separated, and forced to endure more than any human being should, neither one faltered. Both Finnick and Annie stayed true to each other, despite all that was happening to them. In a world that grew increasingly more uncertain, the one stable thing they had was their love for each other. And now, at last, they have been rewarded with the happiness they so richly deserve."
There were tears in Finnick's eyes as he wrapped his arm around Annie, kissing her on the temple. He loved her so much, he thought he might die from it…
"This wedding is more than just the happy union of two young people. It is our way of saying to the Capitol, to those who continually try to oppress us under their iron fists, that they cannot, can not deprive us of our happiness. Because no matter what they do, we will always find the way to thwart their own twisted ambitions."
Beetee waited for the applause for his speech to die down before continuing. "And now, as it is 23:00, I am informed by President Coin that we all must return to our own compartments." There was a disappointed moan from the guests.
"I know, I know," said Beetee, with a good-humored smile. "But that's how it has to be." With a little effort, he stood up. "To Finnick and Annie Odair!"
Everyone else rose, echoing his cheer. Grinning, Finnick took Annie's arm and they walked out together, the guests filing out behind them. The usually quiet halls of District Thirteen were filled now with laughter and cheers as people hailed each other, congratulated Finnick and Annie, perhaps discovered new friendships and romances of their own…
At last, Finnick and Annie reached the silence and seclusion of an elevator. As it quietly whirred up to the level of their new compartment, Annie leaned against Finnick and sighed happily. Finnick smiled affectionately down at her. "Did you have a good time?" he asked.
"Yes," she sighed, beaming up at him. Finnick chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. Annie put her arms around his waist, snuggling contentedly into his side.
With only the hint of a jolt, the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Finnick walked out with Annie, down the long gray corridor, searching for the number that marked their new compartment. 3010…3012…3014 –
Finnick stopped in surprise as the door slid open. Annie laughed quietly at the look on his face. "Surprise," she said. "Do you like it?"
The drab gray walls had been swathed with loops and loops of some gauzy golden material that warmed the fluorescent light and turned the room into their own little haven. Finnick stared at it in disbelief. "Annie…how did you…"
She giggled again. "Plutarch had it smuggled in," she said. "He was going to use it for the wedding ceremony, but I convinced him to let me have instead." She looked up at Finnick. "Aren't you glad?"
Finnick laughed, encircling her in his arms as the door slid behind them, enclosing them in their own golden cloud. "Yes, I am," he said. "Very." And he bent his head to kiss her, holding her against him, one hand at the small of her back and the other securely knotted in her hair –
Annie winced and pulled away as Finnick's injudicious touch tugged on the pins in her hair. "Sorry," said Finnick instantly, disentangling the offending fingers. "You all right?"
Nodding, Annie slipped out of his grasp. "I'll just be a minute," she said, walking into the adjoining bathroom. Then – tantalizingly – she shut the door behind her.
Finnick stared at the closed door, pulse suddenly pounding. Sitting down on the bed, he untied and removed his shoes, lining them up neatly. The door still remained closed. He began to unbutton his vest.
From behind the bathroom door came the sound of running water. Finnick paused, listening. "Mermaid, are you all right?" he called.
"I'm fine," was her bright reply. Finnick finished with the buttons and shrugged off the vest. His fingers had trouble with the knot of his tie and he accidentally half-strangled himself before he could get it undone –
The bathroom door opened and the soft silk slid through Finnick's fingers to the floor. Annie stood there, still in her dark green gown, but she had taken the flower out of her hair and it tumbled loosely about her almost to her waist, framing her face – which she had washed free of makeup – in silky waves of dark brown. Finnick didn't think he'd ever seen anything as beautiful.
"Finnick, could you get my necklace?" asked Annie, walking to him and turning around. He complied, reaching up to gently pull her hair out of the way, fingers lingering on her skin.
The tiny gold clasp on the pearl necklace seemed too small for his fingers, and he had to stand up to undo it. Letting the necklace fall into a little coil onto the nearby dresser, he kissed the back of Annie's neck.
She drew in a breath, shoulders rising a little. Finnick brought his hands to her arms, running his fingers down until he reached her slim wrists. His face pressed to her sweet-smelling hair, he crossed Annie's wrists in front of her and pulled her back against his body.
"If I go too fast," murmured Finnick in her ear, "if you ever feel uncomfortable…you must let me know."
Annie nodded, but her hands curled around Finnick's, fingers intertwining with his. All she had to do was turn her head and her perfect, rose-petal lips were right there…
Finnick kissed her soundly, feeling her return his kiss with a strength that surprised him. His lips parted, opening hers with them, and Annie twisted in his arms to face him fully, pulling herself as close to Finnick as possible. And it was with surprised gratification that Finnick realized Annie had been awaiting this moment perhaps as eagerly as he had –
Twined together, they half-turned, and then Annie fell backwards onto the bed, taking Finnick with her. Holding his weight carefully above her, he kissed her lips, her jaw, her throat. Annie arched slightly under him, and he could feel her hands running down his chest, undoing the buttons on his shirt…
The fine white fabric fell in a little crumpled heap on the floor. Annie's searching hands yanked the undershirt off over Finnick's head, and he responded, gasping a little, the hot blood pulsing in his veins and making his hands tremble as they traced the contours of Annie's face. He rolled over onto his back, pulling Annie with him so she lay half-curled on his chest. Her hands on his face, she bent her head to kiss him, hair falling like dark curtains around him. Finnick's hand moved to her back, and the zipper of her dress slid easily under his fingers…
And then there was nothing but the wealth of sensation, almost too much for Finnick all at once – the rush of heat, the silky smoothness of her hair, her touch, bare skin against skin, and the bit of his mind that wasn't taken up with the immediate physical experience was conscious of a deep lyric strain, a song that was felt, rather than heard, running through him and resonating in the deepest core of his body.