Once there was a way to get back homeward

Once there was a way to get back home

Sleep pretty darling do not cry

And I will sing a lullabye

Golden slumbers fill your eyes

Smiles awake you when you rise

Sleep pretty darling do not cry

And I will sing a lullabye

– Lennon/McCartney

Finnick became conscious of a deep warmth soaking into him, permeating his skin. The closest thing he could think of was lying on the beach, eyes closed, letting the sun warm him, but the energy that poured through him now was gentler than the sun, gentler and yet more powerful.

Gradually he realized that he was not, as he had supposed, lying down. Rather, he was being supported – in fact cradled – in someone's arms. From the smoothness of the skin and gentleness of the person's fingers on his face, he decided it must be a woman. Curious as to who it was, he opened his eyes.

The face that smiled down on him was one he hadn't seen since he was four – and yet he knew her instantly. Long bronze ringlets of hair, brushed with gold – smiling blue-gray eyes – a face that glowed with internal laughter –

"Hi," said Finnick, smiling.

Gaila Odair ran her fingers through his hair. "Finnick," she crooned. "Fin, Fin, Finnick, Finnie…"

"I'm dead, aren't I?" asked Finnick. But he couldn't feel sad. Or afraid.

"In earthly terms you are, darling," said Gaila. "But you can't be in two places at once."

That made sense to Finnick. But this talk of places made him wonder where he was. Sitting up, he looked around him, taking in everything with fresh eyes.

He and Gaila were sitting at the edge of a broad expanse of an undefined pearly substance not unlike clouds. Far away in the distance it merged with something soft and golden that wasn't sky, wasn't ground, but something in between. If Finnick looked to his left, he could just see the pearly spires of a fantastic city, glittering against a crystal-blue sky.

"Are we alone?" he asked Gaila, though it was hard to feel lonely under the golden radiance they were bathed in.

Smiling, Gaila shook her head and pointed to the city. "No," she said. "See?"

Finnick looked to the approaching figure and leapt to his feet, gasping in joy. "Dad!" he cried, and running over, was engulfed in Riley's bear hug.

Laughing, Riley thumped his back, then held Finnick out at arm's length. Laughing himself, Finnick put his hands on Riley's shoulders. "You look good, Dad," he said.

And Riley did look good – younger than Finnick remembered him, the laugh lines on his face indicators not of age but joy. Seeing his father's impressive physique, looking down at his own tanned chest, Finnick became aware that he was free of any bodily imperfections, any scars or flaws.

"I'm so proud of you, lad," said Riley. "I really am. What you've been through – it was the hardest thing in the world for me to watch. But you pulled through."

"Yeah – yeah, I did," said Finnick, voice breaking. Gaila came up beside Riley, linked her arm through his with obvious affection, and Riley kissed her hair.

"Is – is everyone here?" asked Finnick.

Gaila smiled. "They've all come to greet you," she said softly.

Finnick looked back towards the city. And now he could see Connor, hair black without a single silver hair, and Dalia, her glossy dark brown hair tumbling to her waist, each leading a child by the hand. Finnick moved to them, embraced each one. "Connor – Dalia – I'm so sorry –"

"Don't be," said Dalia, looking so much more relaxed than she ever had before. "My children will grow up in a world without fear or pain. What mother could want more?"

Another woman was walking up to them, with long orange-red hair and blue eyes. She looked vaguely familiar to Finnick, and he frowned, trying to place her –

"Don't ya know me, Finnick?" she asked, smiling.

"Mags!" gasped Finnick. And it was her, only fifty years younger. Finnick stared at her, speechless. "How – "

"Ah, Finnick." She walked up to him, kissed him on the forehead. "Welcome home."

And others were coming from the city, too – Boggs, smiling and no longer gray-haired – Seamus, Annie's partner in her Hunger Games – Jade, Finnick's first and only ally in his own Games – and others, all the people he'd had to part with over the years –

"I can't believe this," said Finnick. "Really, I – " He stopped, unable to say what he felt.

But, happy as he was, there was still someone missing…

"Annie's still…down there?" he asked.

He didn't know how he felt about that. All his life, he had been trained to think of death as a bad thing. But now he realized that it was only the separation itself that was painful. He could think of nothing better than for Annie to be with him, here, in this paradise of golden light and love.

Gaila smiled, took his hand. "Come," she said.

Finnick obeyed, walking with her to where the pearly floor they were standing on dissolved into insubstantial wisps. Far, far beneath it, rolled out like a carpet, was a panoply of shapes and colors that resolved into continents, countries, cities. And the amazing thing was, no matter how hard Finnick looked, he could always see more detail…

With a start of surprise, he found the Capitol, its pristine streets sullied. The City Circle in the center was blackened and ruined, as if by many explosions, and gray-clad soldiers patrolled the streets.

"They won?" he gasped.

Gaila nodded solemnly. "The rebels won," she said. "But that hardly means anything, now."

Knowing what she meant, Finnick sighed. "Is Annie there?"

"Close your eyes," said Gaila, smiling.

Finnick did so.

"Now just think of her."

"Huh?"

"Think of her. Go to her. It's not hard. I visited you and your father many times."

Finnick took a breath, thought of Annie. It wasn't hard to conjure up thoughts of smooth skin, scented hair, eyes like the sea after a storm…

He opened his eyes and found himself staring right at her.

They were in a room, in the Capitol, Finnick assumed, because no compartment in District Thirteen would have allowed gilt window frames and teal velvet bed covers. Annie sat at the foot of the bed, back straight, dressed in an ivory silk slip. Her eyes were focused on nothing, and Finnick's heart ached…

"Annie," he said quietly. "Mermaid, can you hear me?"

She did not respond. How could she?

Throat tight, Finnick sat next to her on the bed, put one arm around her, put his other hand on hers. "I love you, mermaid," he whispered brokenly, kissed her on the temple.

Whether prompted by his words or something else, she drew in a deep, shuddering breath, eyes filled with tears. Finnick leaned his head on her shoulder, ran his hand up her arm, wishing desperately there was some way he could let her know he was still there, still loved her with everything he had.

The door of the room opened, and Finnick saw Evans walk in. Annie turned her face towards her.

"How are you doing?" asked Evans quietly.

Annie managed a little smile. "I'm all right," she said.

Evans nodded, but didn't say anything. She looked like she had aged years in the few days since Finnick had last seen her.

There was silence for a little while, and then Annie drew a deep breath. "You know," she said, looking at the opposite wall, "a lot of people expected me to go off the deep end when Finnick died."

"I know," said Evans.

"But I couldn't," said Annie, looking back at the nurse. "I can't." She stopped, expression a heart-breaking mixture of sadness and hope. "Not when I'm not living for myself anymore." And she placed a hand on her stomach.

They had a child…Finnick wrapped his arms around Annie, kissed her cheek.

"We have to go now," said Evans. "For Snow's execution."

"I – I know," said Annie. "Just give a minute?"

Evans nodded, left the room. Annie stayed seated for a moment longer. Then she took a breath and got up, putting on the knee-length navy blue coat that was draped over a chair. As she buttoned it, she turned towards where Finnick was standing, and looked straight into his eyes.

He couldn't tell if she was seeing him or not. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, her hands frozen on the buttons of her coat. For a long, long time they stared at each other. Finnick's heart felt like it was breaking out of his chest, making tears come to his eyes. Slowly, he reached out to touch Annie's face, but she was standing just out of his reach…

With a little shake, Annie turned and walked to the door, slipping on champagne-colored heels. She did not look back as she opened the door, but Finnick saw her hand tremble on the handle.

"I love you, mermaid," he whispered again.

She stepped over the threshold, faltered. And Finnick was sure he saw a tear trace its crystal path down her cheek before she shut the door behind her.

And one day eight-year-old Culainn will be sitting at the table, eating the fish sticks his mother made him. He will have bronze hair like his father, but turquoise eyes and pale skin like his mother, and he will ask, "Mom, what's the Hunger Games?"

And Annie, up to her elbows in dishwater, will freeze. "Where did you hear about that?" she will ask, turning to her son.

"Nowhere," he will say, though he really overheard the big kids at school talking about it, and he will wonder why his mother is so pale. "What is it?"

Annie will turn back to the dishes, though her eyes go first to the picture of the bronze-haired man hanging on the wall. "Nothing," she will say, though her fingers will shake as she picks up a plate. "Nothing at all."