Chapter 8: 70th Annual Hunger Games
Finnick comes to love the peace and quiet of District 4. The sounds of the gulls crying and the waves lapping against the docks remind him of freedom now, not imprisonment. The cerulean skies overhead are wide open, and the sun shines down like it's smiling on them.
With Annie's head resting peacefully on his stomach, he could lie here in the sand forever.
Here on the beach is the only place where it all seems okay. When he's not on Capitol business, he works with Roscoe Roe to keep himself busy. Sometimes he takes out a boat and fishes in solitude. He spends time with Mags and helps with her physical and language therapy after her stroke. And he visits Annie. He tried to do so infrequently at first, but sitting alone in his empty house drove him mad. Stale, unhappy memories stain the walls of the house that destroyed his family.
He hasn't seen Fletcher since the night his mother was taken, though he knows his brother lives in a small house near the wharf. Just where an Odair belongs.
Annie and Mags – they're all he has left. He knows to tread carefully now. He does everything that's required of him by the Capitol without question. He won't make another mistake. Won't risk losing them.
"What are you thinking, Finn?" Annie asks him. She's practising different knots on a small, tattered piece of rope.
He's content doing nothing but staring at the sky. Placing a hand under his head for comfort, he replies, "If I set out now, I could probably catch a few sea bass for you and your mom. Dinner for a week."
Squinting in the sun, Annie turns her head to watch him. "No, don't."
"Why not?" Annie would never admit it aloud, but Finnick knows that she and Poppy are struggling. Poppy only brings home the meagre wages of a seamstress, and that's only on the days she can force herself to get out of bed.
"Because," Annie replies in a sing-song voice, "I want you to stay."
The corners of his lips twist into a smile and a warmth seeps through his skin. He shuts his eyes, relishing the feeling of being wanted.
"What about you?" he asks.
"Hmm?"
"What are you thinking about?"
"How I want you to stay," she answers jokingly.
Though it pleases him to hear it, he gives her a nudge, prompting her to give the true answer.
"Next week's Reaping," she says. Suddenly, he wishes he hadn't asked.
"Don't think about that," he tells her.
"I can't help it," she says, softening her voice. "You're not mentoring this year, are you?"
"I already told you I'm not," he replies. "But that doesn't mean I won't get called on to go. They always seem to need me there this time of year."
Annie's hands relax on her stomach, leaving the stray rope in the sand. "Oh."
After a period of silence in which Finnick listens to her breathing, he says, "One day, they won't call on me anymore. They'll lose interest. And then I'll be free to spend all my days with Roscoe. That old crank and I, we've got something good."
Propping herself on her elbow, Annie pokes his side. He squirms, laughing at her reaction.
"They won't get tired of you," she chuckles. "How could they?"
Their eyes lock. His smile starts to fade. He doesn't really believe it, either – it will be a long, long time before the Capitol releases their hold on him, if it's ever that easy.
With a sigh, he asks, "Will you get tired of waiting?"
Annie's smile is gone, too, hair falling loose from her braid and flowing in the breeze. "I'm already tired."
He knows. He can see it in her face. Every time he leaves for the Capitol and every time he returns, there's such a sweet sadness in her eyes. She's scared to love him when he could never fully belong to her, and he's scared to love her when he knows he may not get to keep her.
But he wants to. Oh, he wants to so badly. She's his happy thought amongst all the grey and black. So many times, he's had to restrain himself from pulling her close and kissing her. He holds himself back every time they meet. Thinks about it as he falls asleep.
But he cannot ask her for her heart when he can't give his in return.
He sits up in the sand and pushes himself onto his feet. Grabbing Annie's hand, he pulls her into a standing position.
"Come on. Let's go," he says, leading her towards the docks.
"Go where?"
"Fishing."
She jogs along behind his quick pace, asking, "What?"
He turns to face her. "If I have to go next week, then we'll spend all the time before that together if we can. But you need dinner. So you'll come fishing. You do know how to be quiet, right?"
Her jaw drops in indignation, and she gives him a light shove.
With a grin, he adds, "And still?"
Annie gathers her hair in its messy braid and throws it over one shoulder, ready for action. "Get in the boat, Odair," she says daringly. "We'll see who's the fisherman here."
"You all look positively resplendent," Marcocia Duterre tells this year's eligible contestants for the Hunger Games. Finnick snorts with laughter from his position in the crowd – most of the tributes are dressed in boring, basic shades, while Marcocia sports a wild pink blazer with a collar that nearly engulfs her entire head.
"District 4 is so lovely this time of year," she continues. Finnick wonders if she's had extra injections in her lips – somehow, they look even larger than before. They're painted pink to match her outfit. "Very warm and colourful. But of course, there are two lucky tributes who will have the honour of joining me in the exciting Capitol – let's find out who, shall we?"
"Let's not," Finnick murmurs under his breath. Mags elbows him in the side and he doubles over with a grunt. For an old lady who's in stroke recovery, she has a mean jab.
Still, he must admit that he's glad to see her in the crowd rather than onstage awaiting the next tributes she will have to mentor, only to watch them die. She's not fit for another year and he's glad that another female tribute stepped in for her. He even finds it unfair that Mags was required to attend the Reaping – the heat of the sun boring down on her can't be good. But the Capitol states that if you aren't dying, you must attend the Reaping.
So he stands with her in the crowd as they await the next two tributes who will be chosen to experience the glitz and glamour of the Capitol before they die on national television.
"Ladies first, as always," Marcocia says while he hand digs around inside a glass bowl. There are hundreds of names entered in there, some entered ten, twenty, or even forty times.
Squinting in the sunlight, Finnick uses his hand as a visor to see her clearly. In grand ceremony, she unfolds the slip of parchment and holds it directly in front of her.
Marcocia leans into the microphone, declaring the one name Finnick hoped never to hear from her lips:
"Annie Cresta."
It can't be.
Despite the blinding sun, Finnick's world turns black. Annie Cresta. How is that possible? He suspected that she had tesserae, but with only herself and her mother to provide for, her name still wouldn't have been entered in the glass bowl many times.
From his vantage point, he sees Annie exit the roped area and walk down the aisle to the platform. The same walk he, himself, made only five years ago.
It can't be coincidence. It just can't be.
But what has he done wrong? What has he done to deserve this punishment – this torture?
Somebody volunteer! he feels like shouting. Every so often, there are volunteers in District 4. The ones who have trained for the Games and desire what they believe to be honour. Why can't there be one of them in the crowd? Why will no one take her place?
"No," Mags breathes from beside him. She takes his hand, though his entire body has gone limp.
Time is running out. Annie is climbing the stairs to shake hands with Marcocia, sealing the deal. There has to be someone who will volunteer. But what can he do? A Peacekeeper struts into view just a few yards away. It's as if he's warning Finnick not to react. One step out of line will result in punishment, just as it would for any citizen of District 4. And Annie will just be thrown into the Arena anyway.
Annie takes Marcocia's hand. He can see her shaking even from so far away. Marcocia begins to dig around in the bowl for a male tribute.
It's done.
What is there to do? Finnick wants to sweep her into his arms and make a run for it, but that's not a possibility – especially not now, when they'll never let her out of their sight. There's no way to get out of it.
He can't watch her on television from his comfortable home in District 4. If she must go, then he can't let her go alone.
He has to go with her.
Apparently, Mags has the same idea. With a thwack of her cane on the back of his knees, she urges him forward.
"Go," she says. "Find Jarvis."
"You think he'll let me mentor instead?" Finnick whispers, looking both ways to ensure that no one is overhearing their conversation.
"Yes, yes. Get on the train. Go!"
Terror in his eyes, he kisses Mags on the cheek and runs into the crowd. Come hell or high water, he'll be on that train. Snow will not steal from him yet another person he holds dear.
Where the Capitol takes Annie, they'll have to take him, too.
"Welcome aboard!" Marcocia greets the tributes. "Watch your step there – yes, wave goodbye. You're off on a great adventure!"
Finnick is already aboard the train, though he made it by the skin of his teeth. The tributes are permitted thirty minutes to say goodbye to their loved ones – just enough time for Finnick to let Jarvis off the hook and then race home to pack a few belongings. On the sprint back to the District Courtyard, he thinks about how easy it is, really – his speedy departure. He has no one to say goodbye to anymore.
He waits for the tributes in the common area of the train with Elsie, his female co-mentor. Elsie is middle-aged with hair that's already grey, and she greets him stiffly, seemingly annoyed to be inconvenienced by the duty of mentoring. Finnick knows she'd rather be back home with her husband and children – but then again, wouldn't they all? Mags has done her a great favour by agreeing to mentor all these years in a row.
The male tribute enters first. His shoulders are broad and his lips are set in a thin line, but Finnick senses that his gruff expression is only for appearances. His eyes betray him – there's a specific sadness in them that reflects his last goodbyes with friends and family. Finnick can relate.
He shakes hands with the tribute and introduces himself, receiving only a grunt in response. He was hoping the tribute would politely state his name – to be honest, Finnick has completely forgotten. He's not sure he was even listening in the first place, too consumed by thoughts of Annie.
Annie.
She enters next, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Though she's filled out over the years, as every woman does, Finnick can't remember ever seeing her so fragile – not even the little stick he knew at ten years old. He's overcome by the urge to rush to her, pick her up in his arms and shelter her from this world. It's his duty to do so – he brought her here. She will suffer because of him.
Annie's eyes widen at the sight of him. She's puzzled, but when he nods to her almost indiscernibly, she keeps her mouth shut. If no one knows how much she means to him, then it's best kept a secret.
"Slight change of plans," Marcocia says as she bustles in, urging tributes and mentors alike to sit on their respective sofas. "Due to an emergency, Jarvis can't be with us for the Games."
Bull, Finnick thinks – as if the Capitol would ever allow a mentor to sit out due to an emergency.
"Luckily, we're blessed with Finnick Odair, one of District 4's most popular – and most charming – victors!" She leans over the back of the couch to hug Finnick around the neck. He barely contains his shudder, reminded of the last time he was this close to Marcocia Duterre.
While Marcocia debriefs the tributes on their basic schedule before they enter the Arena, she walks around and perches herself on the arm of the sofa, her hand remaining on his shoulder. He grits his teeth to keep himself from recoiling, especially when her fingers trail across his neck and begin to rub his back.
He keeps his eyes on Annie and removes himself from his nerves so that he can't even feel Marcocia's touch. All he can feel is Annie's sadness. Her fear.
The escort finishes her debriefing and announces that dinner will be in one hour. She shows the tributes to their rooms and allows them time alone. While Elsie declares that she's going to unpack, Finnick sneaks away from Marcocia's grasp and, when no one's looking, slides into Annie's room.
Startled, she whirls around from the window and jumps, but he puts a finger to his lips to remind her to be quiet. He shuts the door as noiselessly as possible.
Then he is across the room in a flash, gathering her in his arms like he's longed to do since the moment her name was called.
"I didn't think it would be me," she says against him in a whisper. "I was scared – I always am – but I didn't think it would be me."
"I know," he whispers back, stroking her hair to comfort them both. "Neither did I."
"You didn't come to see me," she adds, her voice breaking. "I thought you would."
He sighs against her, holding her even tighter when the train makes a minor lurch. "I had to get on the train. No matter what."
"You hate the Capitol. You hate going back there," she murmurs into his shoulder.
"For you, I would."
She grips the material on his back, begging him not to let her go. He doesn't intend to. They sway with the movements of the train, lost in a silent embrace. Her heart beats wildly against his chest. She's terrified.
He is, too.
"Annie," he says, breaking their hold only to look her straight in the eyes. "It's my fault. Your name being chosen – it's no coincidence. Snow's doing this to punish me."
Annie frowns. "For what?"
"I don't know." He shakes his head, puzzled and angry. "But I know how he operates. He takes the innocent people I care for and makes them suffer for my mistakes."
Confused, Annie points out, "But he doesn't know about me."
"He does," Finnick insists. "When he killed my father, he threatened me with your life. He knew you then. He hasn't forgotten."
Annie takes a few moments to process this information, at a loss for words. She licks her lips, a heavy frown crossing her features. "So you think…"
"Yes," he confirms. "You're a tribute on purpose: to punish me. He's torturing me until I break."
"But…" she trails off, unable to form another argument. She knows it's true. She covers her mouth with her hand to muffle the sob that escapes her throat.
"Annie. Listen to me." With his hands firmly on her shoulders, he shakes her lightly until she looks him in the eye. "I won't let him do this. Not this time. I won't let him take you. We'll win this – I swear it."
The more tears slip out of her eyes, the more rage builds inside of him. He's angry. Furious. He's done nothing wrong; nothing to deserve this. Neither has Annie.
"How can I?" she finally asks through gasps.
"I'll find a way," he assures her with a confidence he's never before possessed. Unable to bear her tears anymore, he wraps her in another embrace. "But for now, I'm here. I'm not leaving."
His shirt dampens with her tears, but he cares not at all. "I didn't believe it when you didn't come to see me," she says with a sniffle, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "It hurt so much, Finn. I thought seeing you would be the hardest thing – but not seeing you was even worse."
"I know," he whispers. After a long period of silence, he adds, "I thought you'd come to see me, too. When I was chosen."
Annie sniffles again. "I wanted to," she admits. The train whirs by a cluster of trees, and Finnick watches the sights pass by as he hangs onto her every word. "But I couldn't. I told myself that if I didn't say goodbye, you wouldn't really be gone."
She slides her hands to his chest, pulling back to capture his eyes again.
"You'd have to come back home."
The things we tell ourselves to make it through the night, he thinks. He grabs Annie's hands. Intertwines their fingers.
"Then we won't say goodbye," he tells her. "Not now. Not ever."
Through her tears, she bravely nods.
Finnick thought it would be difficult, training a tribute to die. It's in his brief conversations with Mace that he realizes just how monstrous he's become. He's short with the male tribute from District 4, and the snippiness comes easily to him. It's simple: either Mace dies, or Annie dies. The latter isn't an option. Despite his job to prepare both tributes for the nightmarish Arena, he can't risk giving the male a chance.
"You have to be nicer," Annie scolds him one evening as they catch a moment alone before a strategy meeting.
The night is dark, but it seems as though the world is whizzing by. Finnick feels a motion sickness that only grows stronger, directly related to their proximity to the Capitol.
"I'll try," he sighs, rolling his eyes. "But it's like talking to a wall. He can't even fake a sense of humour."
Annie glares at him, and he knows he's being unfair – given the circumstances, it's remarkable that neither tribute has melted down and begged to be taken home yet.
"Not just to him," she says matter-of-factly. "But to Marcocia, too. You completely ignore her, even when she's practically got her legs wrapped around you."
It's true – Marcocia sat so close to him the evening before at dinnertime, she was borderline on his lap. After he'd wakened and showered in the morning, he'd stood by the window and she'd approached him from behind, pressing her breasts into his back and wrapping her hands around his waist. Any excuse she could find to touch him, she did. And he wouldn't give her a sliver of acknowledgement. Never would again.
Finnick pauses at Annie's comment, lowering his eyes to his fingers, which are absently tying knots out of an elastic band. "Well, that's another story," he mutters darkly.
He feels Annie's eyes on him and suddenly wants to disappear.
"Did you… did she…" Annie begins. "Is she one of the women who…?"
Exhaling, Finnick can only nod. He can't bring himself to meet her gaze. He's so ashamed.
He expects her to cringe or wrinkle her nose in disgust. Instead, she leans forward and places a hand on his knee. "Oh, Finn," she breathes, her voice quivering with sympathy. "I didn't know."
He shakes his head, concentrating on the elastic. "She paid for it," he mumbles. "If I didn't do it... I had no choice. But I hated it. Every second. Hated what she made me do when she knows what I've been through." He pauses, biting his lip. "Hated myself for letting them own me."
"I hate them, too," Annie whispers.
Frustrated with the rubber band, he uses it as a slingshot and aims it across the room. He gulps, feeling awkward. These are things he never wanted to share with Annie.
She squeezes his knee. "You have to be strong for me, Finn, in all of this. Because I don't know if I can be."
Her eyes plead with his, until he leans forward and says firmly, "I will. I'll be strong."
"Every minute," she insists. "We can't let them defeat us."
He nods in agreement. "Every second. I won't let you die in there."
She winces at his persistence. "Don't say that," she says softly.
He raises his voice ever so slightly, repeating, "I will not let you die in there."
She groans in frustration, pulling back from him. Her hair falls over her shoulder and into her eyes.
He begs for her attention. "Annie, listen to me. It's you and me. If you fight from the inside, I will spend every minute of every day fighting from the outside. They took everything from me, Annie, before I even knew it was gone. This time, I have a chance to fight back."
A pained expression is on her face as she brings her knees to her chest. "I know," she says mournfully. "But I'm scared."
"I'm scared, too," he assures her. "And that's how I know it's worth fighting for."
Outside the train, the world rushes by. When he stares closely, Finnick swears he can start to see the twinkling lights of the Capitol – beautifully deceptive, deceptively inviting.
Grey haze fills the Capitol skies. Finnick feels the haze rooted in his bones, like it's a tumour inside of him that grows and spreads like a cancer. He sits in the stadium chewing his fingernails and obsessively craning his neck over the heads in front to check the jumbo-tron. Once President Snow enters the stadium and announces the 70th Annual Hunger Games, the tributes will start to make their way out by district, dressed in elaborate – and usually ridiculous – costumes.
Desmeretta, who remains the stylist for District 4, waits with their tributes just outside the Training Center, ready to set them off in the parade. Finnick had paced the halls of the Remake Center all morning, nervously asking Desmeretta of her plans for Annie.
The stylist had cocked her eyebrow but made no insinuations on his curiosity. He gave her specific guidelines – Annie was to look strong, but not brutish. Kind, but not easygoing. Vulnerable, but not weak.
"Is that all, now?" Desmeretta had asked with a twinkle in her eye.
Realizing he sounded a bit ridiculous, he cracked a smile.
"Don't worry," Desmeretta had told him with a light nudge. "I'll make her beautiful."
Finnick chuckled, replying, "You won't have to try too hard."
And as he stands in the Training Center with the other mentors and various prep teams, all of their eyes glued to the screens around the room which broadcast the parade of tributes, he realizes he was right. Annie needed no help.
She is radiant.
"How did you do it?" she'd asked him earlier in the morning, before she'd been ushered away by her prep team. "How did you smile and wave at the people who will be happy to watch you die?"
"You imagine it's District 4, not the Capitol," he had replied. "And it's not a going-away, it's a coming-home."
His eyes are glued to Annie on the jumbo-tron, following her through the streets of the Capitol and past the thousands of flailing citizens. It's not her element, but she waves boldly to the crowd, blowing kisses and twirling in her costume for their delight.
And while she imagines that she's coming home to District 4, he pretends that she's coming home only to him.
Annie – or more specifically, keeping Annie alive – becomes an obsession.
She needs allies. She needs sponsors. She needs strength.
He pores over the pool of tributes, studying at length those who would be useful in an alliance and those from whom it's best to run. He devises their weaknesses based on their character and their performance in the group training sessions.
He's been around the Capitol long enough to know his best bets for sponsors. But if Annie can get more on her own, that's a plus. She needs to perform well in the private session with the Head Gamemakers, for a high score will generate Capitol investment in her fate.
And as for strength, he tries to give her as much as he can. Every moment she's not in training or prepping for her interview or being made over, he finds his way to her. To repeat to her that she is not alone. Together, they'll get her out of there alive.
Sometimes she believes him. Sometimes she doesn't.
He can't blame her for that. Not when he's sneaked away at night by Radman, who has another wealthy lady in waiting for him. Not when he so willingly performs his duties and then tiptoes back into the Training Center, running a hand through his dishevelled hair and contemplating whether or not to knock on Annie's door. He always holds back. She doesn't need to see him like this. Not now – not ever.
But he knows that his short absences make her wary of him. How does he explain to her that he does it for her protection?
Because when he's with the other women, and his eyes glaze over with what they perceive to be lust, but he knows to be emptiness, his thoughts are fixated on her. Only her. These days, he can't even remember the Arena. Not even the look in Saskia's eyes before he killed her.
He can only see Annie. And that's an image he can't – won't – part with.
He won't let them take her.
She will not die for him.
At night, before he's summoned, there's a quiet knock on his door.
It's Mace. He stands at the door looking disgruntled to be there, which Finnick finds odd, as his blatant avoidance of the male tribute should not have counted as an invitation to his room in the black hours of night.
A heavy silence hangs between them as they wait for the other one to speak first.
"What is it?" Finnick finally asks, holding the door open so that Mace can enter.
The rough-edged tribute steps slowly into the room, as if he expects to find something different inside than the setup of his own room just down the hall. He turns to Finnick, who is taking great pains to shut the door without making a sound.
"I'm here to make a deal with you," Mace says.
Finnick blinks, thoughtfully striding forward a few paces. A wry smile crosses his lips. "You sound pretty sure of yourself there. What do you have that I might want?"
Gruffly, the boy shakes his head. "It's not what I have. It's what I can do."
"And what's that?"
"I can protect her."
The silence that engulfs them now is thicker than before, filled with unspoken suspicions and wariness.
"Annie," Mace clarifies, as if he could be speaking of anyone else.
Crossing his arms, Finnick asks airily, "Why would I care for her protection?"
"Because she's your tribute," Mace points out. With a careless shrug, he adds, "Because you love her."
Finnick searches the eyes of the tribute for malice or envy but finds only truth. Lying to him would only be a waste of time.
"We both know she'll die in there if there's no one to watch out for her," Mace continues, arms hanging limp at his sides. "She'd give her life to save another's, and that's the difference. She needs someone who'll keep her safe. Otherwise, she'll be exploited and then, when she's of no further use to her alliance, she'll be killed. Easy."
These kinds of things are what keeps Finnick awake at night, but he's determined to keep a cool demeanour.
"So I'm supposed to believe you'll protect her?" he asks evenly.
"Yes," Mace replies simply. "If we make a deal."
"Which is?"
"You get me sponsors."
Finnick fights a laugh. Isn't that what all tributes want? What all mentors work for?
"Elsie and I are working on it," he replies.
"I want you to work on it," Mace tells him pointedly. "I know who you are. Your name carries a lot of weight in the Capitol. You can get all the sponsors you want – but if we make this deal, you're promising that those gifts will go to me. I'll share 'em with her, if there's enough to go around, but they get sent to me."
Finnick frowns, finding his proposition comical. "And if I give nothing to Annie, then how am I doing her any favours?"
"By keeping me strong, you're keeping her safe. As long as it's within my means, I'll protect her. If we make it to the final two, well, I'll make sure it's as painless for her as possible."
Finnick considers it. He has to admit that Mace's reasoning is logical – if he wants Annie to come out of the Games alive, it can't hurt to ensure someone in the Arena is watching over her. One on the inside, one on the outside.
And if they make it to the final two… well, Finnick has to make sure that doesn't happen.
Running his tongue over his teeth, he examines the strong, healthy boy in front of him, sizing him up. Judging the character of the tribute he cast aside long ago.
He holds out his hand. Mace shakes it.
"Deal?" he asks.
"Deal," Finnick agrees coolly. "But I have to warn you – if anything happens to her on your watch when you could have done something about it, then you better hope to God you die in that Arena, too."
He can tell that Mace has something on the tip of his tongue. A deadpan threat, perhaps. But whatever it is, he doesn't say it.
Instead, he smacks his lips and heads for the door, muttering only one word: "Noted."
They've gone over potential questions a million times, but Finnick can't stop himself from raking his chewed fingernails through his hair on the night of the interviews. There's so much that could go wrong. So much that depends on a three-minute exchange with Caesar Flickerman.
"Stop, before you pull it all out," Elsie tells him, grabbing his wrist to keep him from launching another assault on his hair. When he catches his reflection in the glass walls of the Training Center, he realizes she's right – he's tugged his bronze hair so fiercely that it now sticks up in all directions. He looks like a mad scientist.
"We've done all we can," she continues as she smoothes down his hair. "It's up to them now."
That's little consolation to him. With Annie's mediocre score in the private session with the gamemakers – a 7 – her interview could mean the difference between sponsors and no sponsors. The difference between life and death.
Finnick wishes he could just do it for her. Cameras and crowds don't intimidate him. If anything, they turn on a switch inside him. Rev him up.
He's not so sure about Annie.
"They'll be fine," Elsie assures him as they take their place in the crowd outside the Training Center, where an elaborate stage and several cameras are set up. Under her breath, she adds, "Your girl will be just fine."
He snaps to attention, eyeing his co-mentor suspiciously.
Elsie raises her greying eyebrows at him. "Yes, I know," she says quietly. "I remember her from the day Mags had her stroke, but even if I didn't, I'd still know. The whole of Panem can see that you're nervous – and Finnick Odair doesn't get nervous. You have to get yourself in order. Remember that you're in the spotlight, too."
She's right. Finnick takes it upon himself to smooth down the rest of his hair and straighten his collar. Sponsors will be looking for the best tributes, after all – and the best tributes can often be found in the mentors who have the most confidence.
Still, he's nervous. His palms begin to sweat when Caesar Flickerman takes the stage. The first six interviews are a blur – the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 3 all play up their strongest angle. Athleticism. Smarts. Brutality.
When Caesar offers Annie his hand to lead her across the stage, Finnick's heart stops. He had no idea what Desmeretta would design for her this evening, but the beautiful ocean-blue dress brings out the shine in her sea green eyes. If the Capitol hasn't fallen for her yet, Finnick doubts they ever will.
"Miss Annie," Caesar begins, keeping her hand in his for support, "how are you this evening?"
She gulps in air as she takes in the immensity of the audience. "Very well," she replies, "though very nervous."
"Nervous? What for?"
"There are a lot of faces out there," she remarks, and the crowd chuckles.
"Only to support you," Caesar assures her.
With a small smile, Annie looks out into the audience. She catches Finnick's eye. He winks.
"Well, thank you," she says, addressing the crowd. "You've all been very gracious to me. Back in District 4, I couldn't have dreamed of coming all this way and being treated like a princess."
"Of course you couldn't!" Caesar exclaims. "And I'm sure you never dreamed of being mentored by the notorious Finnick Odair, our resident Prince Charming and one of the Hunger Games' most celebrated victors!"
The crowd cheers, and Finnick's hair is tousled by a drunken Haymitch, District 12's mentor who sits behind him with a snort.
Annie can only laugh, the melody of her voice sending pleasant shivers down his spine.
"Tell me, Miss Annie – has our handsome Finnick Odair used his charm on you?" Caesar asks, leaning forward as if he's expecting the answer to be a secret.
Finnick can only shake his head in annoyance. Out of all the questions they'd rehearsed, they'd never discussed how to tackle a question that featured him. He can tell that a sarcastic reply sits on the tip of Annie's tongue, and he pleads with her not to let it slip – the Capitol adores him, and it wouldn't be in her best interests to put him down on camera.
"He tries," Annie answers to the audience's laughter. "I'm sure if you asked him, he'd say he's won me over."
Finnick knows that the next image will be one of his reaction – for the cameras, he can only shrug and deliver a charming smile.
"But you wouldn't say so?" Caesar persists.
Annie crosses her ankles and releases her hand from Caesar's, folding it neatly onto her lap. Looking directly into the interviewer's eyes, she chooses her next words carefully. "I think there are some things that even my mentor doesn't know about me. He might underestimate me."
"Is that so?"
She gives a sly shrug and a close-lipped smile, her eyes playful.
"Well, it seems that Miss Annie might have a few surprises up her sleeve, after all," Caesar tells the crowd.
Though Finnick finds his face alight with a smile, he's also curious to find out what it is he doesn't know about his neighbour-girl.
"And what about the Arena, Annie? Have you thought about it?"
"I think about it all the time," she answers honestly.
"Are you afraid?"
Finnick's smile fades. He was hoping that the conversation wouldn't tread into serious territory.
Again, he can see Annie struggling with her words. She drags her teeth across her lower lip, contemplating her response.
"I have a great many things to lose," she admits. "It's not that I'm afraid of what's inside the Arena – it's that I'm afraid of entering it with last words still on my lips. Things that perhaps I should have said to the ones I love in case we never speak again. Things that I wish I had the courage to do."
"There may still be time for that," Caesar points out gravely.
Annie delivers him one last polite smile. Finnick doesn't know how she does it – it's so poignant that it can only be sincere – but there's such sadness in her eyes, his heart lodges in his throat.
From the collective sigh in the audience, Finnick realizes that he's not the only one. Annie's worked a particular kind of magic over them all.
"I suppose there is," she agrees. Her timer hasn't gone off, but she stands from her chair, extending her hand so that Caesar can escort her off the stage. "Then if you don't mind, I'd like to be excused so I can get started."
Leaving before your time is up – Finnick is fairly certain that's not allowed. But if Annie hasn't won over the crowd, she's undoubtedly stolen the heart of Caesar Flickerman. He thanks her for her time and sends her off with a kiss on the cheek and a good luck.
Finnick squirms in his seat, wondering how in the world he'll make it through seventeen more interviews before he can see her again.
When all is said and done and the twenty-four tributes retire from the stage for their last sleep in luxury, Finnick finds Annie, removed from her ravishing blue dress and wearing the standard outfit of tribute-in-training. She's speaking quietly with a member of her prep team while Mace stands by with a dull expression.
As Finnick approaches with Elsie, he catches Annie's eye. She quickly looks away, resuming conversation with the stylist, and Finnick wonders if he's done something wrong.
Elsie asks everyone if they're ready to go. It's getting late, and it's best to spend the final night before the Arena asleep, if you can get there.
The mentors and tributes begin to filter through the Training Center to their respective floors. Finnick can see that the crystal elevator will be packed. Elsie and Mace are up ahead, but before Annie can climb in, he grabs a hold of her wrist and gives her a gentle tug.
"We'll take the stairs," he tells the others.
After walking up the first flight without exchanging a word, Finnick wonders if Annie means to give him the silent treatment from now on.
"You did so well tonight," he tells her in earnest. "They loved you."
She nods placidly as she leads the way up.
"And your dress… wow." He feels stupid even as he says it, but even more so when Annie doesn't look back.
"I'm not worried about sponsors," Finnick continues. "There are some tough competitors in the Career pack and I have my eye on that girl from 9, but ultimately, I'm pretty sure we can—"
"Can we not talk about the Games?" Annie interrupts.
Her words hit him like the wind knocked out of his chest, effectively shutting him up.
When they reach the fourth floor, he reaches ahead of her on the landing and holds shut the door leading out of the stairwell.
"Annie," he gasps, catching his breath from three flights of stairs. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad. Not tonight."
Panting, she gulps in a breath of air and lets her shoulders sag. "Finn – it's not that. It's…"
"What?"
She bites her lip, a flush creeping up her neck. "What I said during my interview… I meant it."
"I know. You're too honest to fake it."
"Will you come to me tonight, then?" she asks in a burst. "Instead of those other girls?"
Her voice echoes in the stairway. There's a fluttering in Finnick's stomach. Nerves, maybe. Or something else he just can't place.
If he's certain of anything, it's that he'd never deny her, would rather be nowhere else.
So he nods.
Watching a recap of the interviews takes forever, and Finnick repeatedly taps his knee in impatience until Elsie orders him to stop it – he's only making the tributes nervous.
"It's not that I'm afraid of what's inside the Arena – it's that I'm afraid of entering it with last words still on my lips," Annie's words circle around and around in his head. "Things that perhaps I should have said to the ones I love in case we never speak again. Things that I wish I had the courage to do."
So when they bid both tributes goodnight and retreat to their own bedrooms, Finnick stares out his window at the hubbub in the Capitol for no more than fifteen minutes before he's sneaking out on tiptoe, down the hall to the room he knows to be hers. The tribute from District 4 for whom his heart beats uncontrollably.
She is waiting.
Her dark hair, styled in an elaborate up-do for her interview, has been released of pins and hangs loosely in waves. She wears a champagne-coloured pair of pajamas made of fine silk. And she stares out the window at the enormity of the Capitol, the place that never sleeps.
It may be her last time to do so.
Finnick wipes the thought from his mind, hating himself for letting it slip in the first place.
"Hello, Miss Annie," he says quietly, locking the door behind him.
She looks over her shoulder, a faint smile on her lips – Caesar's fond nickname has caught on.
He crosses the room until he's behind her, willing her to face him so that he can fix his eyes on hers and hold them there for as long as she'll let him.
"Such a wonderful place," she says softly, placing her palm flat on the glass. Staring thoughtfully at the streets below, she adds, "But everything here is so empty."
He gulps, wondering what to say to that – he knows firsthand just how empty it can be. But he won't use their last night for that conversation. He just wants to be with her. To breathe her in so that, tomorrow and the next day, he can remember that for one night, he was hers.
Very gently, he wraps his arms around her waist and embraces her from behind, looking over her shoulder at the sights below. All the nights they spent together flood his mind, painting a beautiful pastel swirl in his memories – the sand, the sea, and Annie's tangled hair. Niggling in the darkest corner of his brain is all the nights that were wasted spent apart. The nights he was strong enough to remind himself that she was better off without him.
The charming and self-assured Finnick Odair can't think of a thing to say. Their minutes together hang in a precious balance: he's desperate for her to know his heart, but determined not to get caught up in goodbyes.
Annie, it seems, has different ideas.
She spins in his arms until they're face-to-face, cradling her hands to her chest. With a broken expression, she takes a breath and says, "There's one thing I want you to know."
He stares intently, wondering if it's what she alluded to with Caesar Flickerman – things her own mentor didn't know about her.
With a sigh, she says without ruffles or charade, "I love you and I always have."
The statement shocks him. He feels the urge to look away, to block her gaze, but that would be cowardice. He can't do so, not when she so bravely stated her feelings with such honesty in her bright eyes.
The words hang on his lips, but he can't say them aloud – not when he can't accept her admission. Heart in his throat, he shakes his head, a knot in his brow.
"You don't love me," he insists. "I'm the reason you're here."
"Shut up, Finnick," says Annie, annoyed. "Let me go on. I love you. And whether you believe me or not, you have to know that if I have to die, I'd do it for you. I would. And I wouldn't take back a single day; I'd never wish we hadn't met just so I could keep on living. The truth is that my life is better for having known you. It's… it's something, rather than nothing. And if that means it's cut short, then so be it."
"Annie…" he trails off, unable to go on. His lower lip quivers.
"They can take my life," she tells him firmly, "but that doesn't mean they've won. Because when I die, you'll know that I always loved you."
Finnick blinks back the hot tears that prick at the corners of his eyes.
"They want you to be alone, Finn. They won't stop until you are," Annie says, catching his gaze with her inquisitive eyes. They shine with tears, and in them, Finnick finds the sea-green of the ocean on a clear, sunny day. "But I'll always be yours, even when I'm gone. Even the Capitol can't change that."
With shaky breaths, Finnick brings his trembling hands to cup Annie's face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks.
"You're not gonna die," he tells her.
"Yes, I am," she replies calmly, though a tear falls from her eye. She latches her hands around his wrists, holding him to her.
"No," he argues. "I won't let you die. I won't give up, not until you're out of that Arena and in my arms again. You're gonna live."
Annie averts her eyes, releasing a gasp that turns into a sob. Though his hands firmly grasp her cheeks, she shakes her head ever so slightly. "Stop being so stubborn. Face it, Finnick. I'm not strong enough."
"We're strong together," he insists.
"No," she cries. "Even if I make it past the Bloodbath, even if I make alliances and get sponsors, I can't do it. I can't kill anyone."
"You won't know that until it's time," he says, his voice unsteady. "Sometimes you think you can't do something, but when your life's on the line, you—"
"I can't," she interrupts, tears cascading down her cheeks so fast, he can't catch them all with his thumbs. Sniffling, she adds, "Finn, it's not in me. And even if it was, I wouldn't. Please don't ask me to. I can't. I won't."
Choked, Finnick feels his heart snap in two. He presses his forehead to Annie's, weeping with her – for what they could have been – as the haze breaks around the moon.
When he's composed enough to speak, he manages to murmur a reply: "But I need you to."
Then his lips are on hers, their tongues mingling with salty tears. They grip each other with a determination not to let go, ignorant to the pain, to the break in circulation.
"Don't leave me," Annie whispers, eyes pleading.
He shuts his eyes, promising her with another kiss that he won't.
Entwined, they fall asleep with dried tears on their cheeks and the taste of what could have been forever on their lips.
I'll be back next Sunday! Also, thanks as always to those who have taken the time to read my writing and to those who have reviewed - especially those who reviewed anonymously whom I can't thank privately :)