Chapter 10: 70th Annual Hunger Games

Finnick remembers everything about the Arena. He remembers the forest. He remembers the pond that turned toxic. He remembers blood splattered across the Cornucopia from the Bloodbath, the boom of the cannon reverberating in his bones. He remembers shivering in the night, his eyes burning with sleep deprivation. Silver parachutes and coils of rope. The trident that saved his life and stole so many others. He remembers the others, too. His competitors. His victims. He still hears their tortured screams; their pleas for mercy. He watches them over and over in his mind as they're bludgeoned to death, poisoned, shot by arrow or spear, or stabbed. He remembers Saskia's eyes flying wide open before he killed her. The recognition and terror in her face will stay with him as long as he lives. The Arena haunts him.

Annie remembers nothing of the Arena, yet it haunts her even more.

He's not given permission to see her for two days after she's retrieved from the Arena. 'Highly destabilized', the physicians tell him. 'Dehydration has caused her confusion and disorientation.'

He doesn't care. He just wants to see her, but they won't let him in. He's driven mad waiting, taking Capitol women to bed almost as if to pass the time. The thought of Annie emerging from unconsciousness in an unfamiliar room surrounded by unfamiliar men who poke and probe at her to test her physical health is unbearable. After what she's been made to suffer, she needs to be with someone she knows.

She needs him.

So on the third day, when he's given the go-ahead to visit her, it's all he can do not to lock the door behind him and hug her so tightly, she breaks.

Annie sits upright on her bed, wearing a sterile off-white hospital gown that nearly matches the pale grey of her skin. Her sea green eyes fail to sparkle as they fixate on a particular spot on the wall ahead. It isn't until Finnick stands directly beside her that she can tear her eyes away.

Gazing upon her, Finnick feels tears come to his eyes. What has she become? What have they done to his poor Annie?

Though his eyes are blurred with tears, he manages a small smile to comfort her. "I told you so," he says with a quiet chuckle. "I said I'd get you out of there alive."

At the word 'alive', Annie's eyes are suddenly alert. She studies him inquisitively at first, but then her eyes dart wildly around the room.

"Where's Mace?" she asks, stricken with panic.

Finnick's heart sinks. Those weren't the first words he'd dreamed of hearing. Not even close.

"I… he's…" he stammers, looking over his shoulder for advice from the physician in the corner of the room. The doctor nods at Finnick, silently reminding him that it's best not to tell her yet. Wetting his lips, Finnick turns back to Annie. "I missed you so much."

His words fail to register. "Where is he?" she asks again.

He gasps out his next breath, desperate for her to show him recognition. "Annie," he says firmly. "It's Finnick. Your Finnick. It's me."

She frowns as though she's been hurt by his words. Pulling the sheet up higher on her chest, she says, "I want to see him."

"From District 4," Finnick continues, his voice shaky. "We grew up next door to each other. Remember?"

"Get Mace," she orders.

"We lived on the beach. You taught me how to tie knots. You used to sit with me at night when I couldn't sleep through the nightmares."

"Mace!" she calls, shying away from Finnick.

Lip quivering, he goes on, "And when your name was called on Reaping Day, I knew I had to go with you. I knew I had to make sure you came out of the Arena. Because without you…" He shakes his head, the idea incomprehensible. He finishes weakly, "Annie, please remember me."

Annie softens at his plea. Still clutching the sheet to her chest, she asks, "He's dead, isn't he?"

He has to be honest with her, despite the doctor's orders. So he nods meekly.

Her face contorts with such pain and loss that he looks again to the physician for help. Two women have entered the room quietly, dressed in scrubs. All three who observe stand on edge, ready to spring forward if necessary.

It won't be necessary. It's his Annie.

"I do remember you," she tells him with gritted teeth. It's the first time she's acknowledged that she understands him, but it's with more rage than he'd anticipated. "You never liked Mace. You told me he had to die. You sabotaged him!"

"What? No!" Finnick cries in response to her accusation. Bits are true, and that's what unsettles him.

"You killed him," she reasons, her jaw trembling as sobs wrack her body.

"No," Finnick says desperately, reaching forward to push back her hair. "Annie, that's not what happened. You have to know—"

"Don't!" she snaps, shirking from his touch and bringing her knees to her chest. He retracts his hand, holding both hands up in defence to show her he won't act against her will.

"I didn't kill Mace," Finnick says, though he hardly believes it even when it comes from his own lips.

"You weren't there," she says, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "You didn't protect me. He did."

"Annie…"

"And then he died," she interrupts, "just like you said he would."

Finnick's breaths are short, his heartbeat speeding – how can he backtrack from here? How can he explain it to her when she's already reasoned it soundly for herself?

"Then I was all alone," she continues. "There was nobody to protect me. Where were you?"

He pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I couldn't be there," he says with a gulp. "I wanted to, but they wouldn't let me. Annie, I was watching. I made sure you had sponsors. Remember the parachutes? They were from me."

She shakes her head, her eyes wild. "You weren't there. You killed Mace. You killed him!"

"No. I didn't!"

"Then where is he?" she demands, her voice rising. "I want to see him! Take me to Mace!"

She continues to scream for the tribute she lost while Finnick stares helplessly. A hand touches his shoulder, urging him to step back. He's led out of the room as Annie calls out. Everything is in slow motion. He backs away helplessly as the physician steps forward, a needle in his hand.

"No! No more!" Annie cries as Finnick stumbles out the door. It closes on him, but he stares through the window.

One of the women holds a writhing Annie down as the physician injects the needle. Annie's sea green eyes are wide with fear. Panic. With the thick metal door closed, he can no longer hear her screams, but he sees her calling out. He presses his palms to the door, calling back to her.

Then her head falls back on the pillow. She whispers to herself before she goes limp. And those sea green eyes catch his through the window one more time before they close.

Finnick can't bring himself to tell Annie the news of her mother's death. Not when she's this unstable. Not when she already hates him enough.

"I can tell her," offers Elsie, who's visited the victor more often than Finnick on doctor's orders. "She'll go into one of those moods again where she stares at the wall and her eyes go dead. But I know she hears me."

"No," Finnick brushes off his co-mentor. "It has to be me. It has to come from someone she knows and trusts."

Elsie tilts her head awkwardly. "With all due respect, Odair, you're the one she doesn't trust right now."

He knows that well enough – it's apparent in the way she holds the sheets up to her neck when he walks in the room and continually checks over his shoulder to make sure the doctors are still there to protect her from him – still, it hurts to hear it from someone else's lips.

Finnick has learned that the doctors are showing Annie clips from the Games to jog her memory. They say it's to help her sort out reality from her mind's own creations. They say it's for her own good and for Finnick's, too – when she trusts him again, he can take her home safely. Over and over, they make her watch clips of the Bloodbath. Mace's decapitation. The tribute who lunged after her in a meadow and who was blown to smithereens. He doesn't know if it's helping – she still distrusts him on instinct – but from studying her through a window as she watches, he learns her new habits. When the cannons boom, she covers her ears with her hands. Sometimes she squeezes her eyes shut in pain only to have the physicians ask her to open them again. And then there are times when she's so saturated in reality that she has to find a way out. That's when her sea green eyes turn dull and dead. The physicians try to call her back – once, even by using a small electric shock, which sent Finnick into a fit of fury that had him pounding on the windows and screaming for them to stop – but they can't.

When she's gone, she's gone.

He has to be re-introduced to Annie upon each visit, as if starting over fresh will gain her trust. Sometimes it's the doctors who introduce him, other times it's Elsie. No matter who has the honours, Finnick hates it all the same. He hates that others are interfering in what used to belong so sacredly to Annie and himself. He's sure that if he could just get five minutes alone with her, he could remind her what they mean to each other. That the Capitol is the enemy, not him. If he could just bring her back to the beaches of District 4, she'd remember.

Panem waits impatiently for a few words or even a wave from its newest victor. Bright lights, big crowds and open spaces are three things guaranteed to terrify Annie, so Finnick and Elsie make frequent appearances in her place and give interviews reporting on her progress.

"She's doing a lot better," Finnick lies to Caesar Flickerman. "She was very dehydrated when she was pulled from the Arena, as you can imagine. The side-effects of dehydration are what's really held her back these past few days. But she's regaining her strength and she asked me to let the Capitol know that she's looking forward to returning later this year on her Victory Tour."

The crowd cheers. With a chuckle, Flickerman leans in and says, "I think they're dying to know whether you'll be returning, as well."

Finnick forces a charming smile. "Wouldn't miss it, Caesar," he says, gulping down the bile that's risen in his throat.

Afterwards, while Annie watches the most horrific moments of her life over and over in a dark room with no one to comfort her, Finnick signs his celebrity signature over and over and takes pictures with fanatic Capitol citizens. It doesn't make sense to him. He's certainly not doing Annie any favours.

He spots a greying, wrinkling man one day across the street from the Training Center. The man leans against a lamppost, crunching the rim of his hat in his hands as he stares mournfully at the crowd surrounding Panem's most beloved victor. Finnick catches his eye and gives a subtle nod of acknowledgement.

When the grey haze of the Capitol skies turns to black, Finnick sneaks out of the Training Center and hopes the man still waits.

He finds Wren Cresta in the alleyway behind a bar, slumped against the wall with a flask in hand. He approaches the man and helps him to a standing position.

"Thank you, my boy," Wren says, patting him on the shoulder. "Thank you for bringing her home. My debt to you will never be paid."

Annoyed, Finnick runs a hand through his hair and stares down the alley. "I didn't do it for you," he mutters.

Wren pauses, taking stock of his words. He swirls the hat in his hands like it's a steering wheel. "I see," he says weakly. "How is she?"

Finnick begins to repeat what he'd said earlier to Caesar Flickerman, but Wren interrupts.

"The truth, please, son."

A cat howls in the distance as a bar owner emerges from the back door to dump a box of empty bottles. He eyes them warily before retreating.

"Not good," Finnick tells him when they're alone again. "Not eating well, not drinking enough. She's lost five or ten pounds and her skin is grey. The doctors feed her through a tube most of the time."

Wren nods, gulping nervously. "And mentally?"

"Even worse," is all Finnick can manage.

"Yes, of course," Wren's voice cracks. "My sweet Annie, she wasn't made for this."

"Poppy killed herself," Finnick adds without remorse. Whether or not Wren helped him get Annie out of the Arena, he can't forget that the man abandoned his family.

"Yes," Wren repeats, clenching his hat so tightly that Finnick knows it won't ever be the same shape. He averts his eyes. "Yes, I was told."

"You don't care?" he asks contemptuously.

Wren considers his words before meeting Finnick's eyes, unafraid despite the boy's towering figure. "Son, you must know I've thought myself despicable every day since I left. And now, after all this, it's all I can do not to wade into the sea right after my wife."

"So why don't you?" Finnick prompts, the harshness of his words cutting like a knife.

"Because someone has to watch over her," Wren replies, gesturing to the Training Center in which Annie sleeps. "Especially now that she's a victor. You've no idea the things the Capitol will – well, perhaps you do, Mr. Odair."

Finnick isn't sure if it's because he feels sorry for the man or because he's willing to try anything, but with a heaving sigh, he says, "Look. She's unstable right now, but… you want to see her? It might… it might even help her, to see your face. She might remember."

Wren can only shake his head in refusal.

"She loves you," Finnick points out. "She's your daughter."

Wren wets his lips. "And as her father, that's why I'm entrusting her to the care of the man who loves her most."

He looks pointedly at Finnick, who stares back with hardened eyes.

"You'll stay with her, won't you?" he asks. "You'll keep her safe?"

Finnick gulps, replying with conviction, "As long as I live."

"You should know," Wren says quickly before Finnick walks away, "Snow isn't happy with her victory. He's pressing the doctors to get her to make a public appearance. Crane is under investigation. But Snow's not one to give up and move on. Now that she's won, he needs to make some use of her."

"What does that mean?" Finnick asks, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Wren holds back, but shakes his head. "Keep her safe," he repeats. "Watch over her."

Then he disappears into darkness down the alleyway.

Finnick tiptoes back into the Training Center and visits the medical unit. Through the window, he watches Annie as she sleeps, curled into a ball on her side. He watches her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes, the gentle movements of her lips as she whispers to herself. Then her leg delivers a harsh kick. Her brows knot. She rolls over onto her back. Then onto her other side. Another kick. She rips off the sheets. And then she screams. At first, it's just a shout. But then it's Mace's name, over and over and over, even after the nurses rush in to calm her down.

Finnick watches until tears spring to his eyes and he has to turn away. She'll never get better, only worse. The Capitol can't bring her back. He's furious with himself for even letting them try.

In the morning, he'll visit with Snow himself. Come hell or high water, she'll see blue skies once more.

He'll make sure of it.

Snow is a busy man, but when Finnick storms the President's Mansion the following day and demands to be seen with the level-headed Elsie in tow, they only have to wait three hours before Snow invites them to his office. The stuttering Oslo Busby is there, along with Radman and two other thick, snarling men who are not to be trifled with.

Finnick and Elsie sit themselves side-by-side at the end of a long, glossed table. They exchange a glance – Elsie reluctant, Finnick unyielding.

"Mr. Odair, so nice to see you again. Your extended stay is quite the treat for the Capitol," Snow says, his tone light. He ignores Elsie just as Finnick ignores Snow's henchmen. When it comes down to it, it's just the two of them: Odair vs. Snow.

And Finnick isn't fooled by his pretence. "Well, it ends today," he replies. "Tomorrow at the latest. We're taking Annie back to District 4."

"I see," Snow says, seemingly amused by Finnick's conviction. "And the physicians support this?"

"It's what's best for her," Finnick continues, avoiding his question. "Nothing is familiar to her here."

Snow takes a sip of water, mulling over Finnick's words. The heavy silence pounds in Finnick's eardrums.

"Not even yourself, Mr. Odair?" Snow asks, feigning surprise. "One would think you'd be familiar to Miss Annie after the sweet little love you cultivated back in your home district."

Finnick glares at him, sizzling with rage at the implication that they've been watched all this time. Snow keeps all his secrets in the palm of his hand, ready to throw them if necessary.

"Then again, you've been receiving rave reviews from your patrons this visit. Perhaps you and Miss Annie have had a falling out. Pity," Snow muses, "but young love doesn't last forever."

Out of the corner of his eye, Finnick sees Elsie shift nervously beside him. Though he's boiling, he grinds his teeth and announces, "She'll be coming home with us. Today."

Snow sighs, leaning back in his chair. "I'm afraid not. It's in Miss Annie's best interests that we keep her under the supervision and care of Capitol physicians."

"You don't know her best interests," Finnick replies. Elsie squeezes his knee to remind him to keep calm. "What's best for her is to go home. Get away from this place. She needs to forget."

"Annie Cresta is mentally unstable," Snow says, his voice eerily light. "She will not have the care she needs in District 4."

"That's not up to you to determine," Finnick argues.

"Nor is it up to you," Snow bites back. "You may return to District 4, Mr. Odair, but Miss Annie will remain in the Capitol where she can receive the best care available."

Finnick's nostrils are flaring as he declares, "Then I'm staying, too. And she won't be living in that medical ward. She needs air. And light. She'll live with me."

"I'm afraid that's not an option," Snow says. "Disregarding the fact that it's certainly not prescribed by doctors, you do not have a home in the Capitol. As a frequent visitor, you hold much more allure and mystery than as a permanent resident."

In other words: you're a marketable good, Finnick Odair, and we know how best to market you.

Oslo's eyes dart around the room from speaker to speaker while Radman's teeth are bared in a chilling smile as he stares into Finnick's eyes.

Finnick will not let himself be intimidated. "If she stays, I stay with her."

"Have you asked Miss Annie her opinion, Mr. Odair?" Snow asks. "I understand she won't speak to you. She believes you to be the cause of her tribute partner's death. Perhaps she doesn't wish for you to stay."

"That's why she needs to go home," Finnick reasons. "She's confused here. Watching the Games over and over is only making it worse."

"She doesn't have a home anymore," Snow says, throwing out another argument. "No family – not after her mother's tragic death. She needs to stay in the Capitol where she can be monitored."

Finnick opens his mouth to argue when Snow interjects.

"She's like her mother," he says, leaning forward on the table as though the secret is just between himself and Finnick. With a smile so jarring, it jangles Finnick's nerves, Snow adds, "Predisposed to madness."

"She's not mad!" Finnick cries, making a move to rise from the table. Elsie tugs on his arm to keep him seated, placing a shaky hand on his shoulder.

Snow leans back, casually throwing out, "She's unfit to re-enter society."

"You don't know anything!"

"Are you suggesting that most educated physicians in all of Panem made a wrongful diagnosis?"

"I'm suggesting that she's being brainwashed," Finnick seethes. "That you're instructing them to do all they can to keep her as far-removed as possible. And you're doing it to punish me."

At that, Snow chuckles. "Mr. Odair, why would I have reason to punish you?"

"You don't," Finnick answers haughtily, "but you punish me all the same."

Snow's lips curl into another evil smile. "My, my," he breathes, "you care a great deal for the girl, don't you? More so than I suspected – especially with your pick of the Capitol's most desirable citizens."

Finnick clenches his teeth, staring the man down.

"Of course, I can see why," Snow continues, raising his eyebrows in thought. "She's quite ravishing, isn't she? I see what interests you about her. So lovely, but so – what's the word? So empty." He pauses for a moment before remarking, "It seems the Capitol has made its mark on her after all."

Finnick frowns, wondering what he means – and then he's taken back to the eve of the Hunger Games. The last night he spent with Annie.

"Such a wonderful place," she'd said, staring out the window at the Capitol below. "But everything here is so empty."

And suddenly, Finnick is enraged like never before to discover that his most private moments – the things he holds most dear – have never fully belonged to him. He has always been watched. His blood bubbles as it rises, his breath coming in short bursts.

"Perhaps the fair Annie would do well in your line of work?" Snow suggests airily.

It's all Finnick needs to fly over the edge. He bursts from his chair, slamming his fist onto the table. "Don't you dare! Don't you even think it!"

The nervous Oslo Busby flinches while Radman and the other brutes charge forward to grasp him. Snow holds up his hand to stop them.

Pointing a threatening finger at Snow, Finnick says with conviction, "I'll die before you have her." He shrugs Elsie off when she tries to calm him.

In amusement, Snow replies, "Oh, that won't be necessary."

His refusal to take Finnick seriously only further infuriates the victor. He steps out from the table and lunges for Snow, his hands yearning to wring the man's neck. "You won't touch her!" he yells, apprehended by Radman and then by another brute. They wrench his arms behind his back, but he continues to scream. "I'll kill you! I'll kill your whole family! Don't forget who you made me to be, Snow! I'm a killer!"

"Yes, you are," Snow agrees coolly. Finnick sees the third henchman approaching with a shocking device. He grunts and struggles in Radman's grasp, unable to release his hands. "You can threaten my Head Gamemaker, Mr. Odair, but you will not threaten me."

Finnick hears Elsie trying to reason with the brutes in the background, but with Radman's heavy breathing in his ear and Snow's snakelike eyes fixated on his, he can't focus.

"Remember who runs this country, Mr. Odair," Snow continues. "Remember your place. I don't want it to come to this again."

Snow nods to his henchman, who extends the electric device to Finnick's neck despite his thrashing. The second it touches his skin, a volt of electricity shoots through his body. It's so startling and so harsh that he cries out in pain, his legs giving out on him. But he's not permitted to collapse – Radman has him in a stronghold.

With only a few seconds to recover, he's shocked again at a higher voltage. His body convulses and spasms, the pain so intense, he's sure it will never go away. He is heavy and on fire, unable to think of anything but the excruciating pain over Elsie's muffled screams in the distance.

"One more, shall we?" he hears Snow murmur. "Just for good measure."

He doesn't have time to brace himself before the shock comes again, like a thousand bees stinging every pore in his skin at once. Radman releases his arms and he promptly falls to the ground, jerking his limbs and shaking uncontrollably.

After blacking out for a few moments – or perhaps a few minutes, it's hard to say – he's roused by Radman, who pulls his trembling body up and throws him carelessly onto a chair. Finnick can barely keep his head up.

"Miss Annie may go home with you, Mr. Odair," Snow says, carrying on their meeting as though nothing out of the ordinary has taken place. Nauseous, Finnick struggles to remember the reason he came. "But I will require something from you in return."

Woozy, he doesn't reply.

"You will mentor for all Hunger Games from this point forward," Snow states. "Annie will attend bi-weekly sessions with a Capitol-prescribed physician. If she is found to be regressing, she will be brought back to the Capitol. If she is found to improve, she will mentor just as all victors do – and if the girl has any bidding patrons, she will be expected to perform just as you are regardless of your protests. You're not in a position to bargain, Mr. Odair, and I'm being far too kind as it is in allowing her to return to your district. I trust that in the future, you will not forget where you stand. I will not be so forgiving. I need not remind you that while you are most popular in the Capitol, you are by no means essential."

Finnick's mind is whirling, unable to wrap around Snow's words, his crafted caveats equally dangerous. All he can understand is that Annie is coming home with him. His Annie.

She'll see those open skies again, feel the sun beating down on her neck and the sand squishing between her toes.

Feeling electric - from the voltage or from Snow's permission, he can't quite be sure - Finnick leans heavily on Elsie's shoulder as Radman escorts them from the President's Mansion. In the vehicle, he fades in and out of consciousness on the way to the Training Center. His head lolls to the side, mouth agape, eyes cloudy.

He's barely cognizant as Elsie mutters, "You're a damn fool, Finnick Odair. A damn fool to fall in love."

President Snow is true to his word, and the next morning, Finnick, Elsie, and Annie board a hoverplane and speed off toward District 4. They're scheduled to arrive by mid-afternoon.

While Elsie has been a supportive co-mentor, she can't contain her impatience any longer. Eager to get back to her husband and family, she stares excitedly out the window and joins the pilot up front, as if her idle chatter will encourage him to take the hoverplane up a notch.

Finnick is weak from the after-effects of yesterday's electric shocks. His movements are slower and every so often a teeth-gritting muscle spasm occurs, but he hides his pain and weariness from Annie. From here on out, he's determined that she will only know happiness. He owes her that.

But there's one tragedy he must share with her first: the news of Poppy's death. It has to come from him, and it has to come now.

Annie sits staring out the window, hands folded neatly in her lap and a blank expression on her face. After a spasm in his calf, Finnick joins her in the next seat, placing his forearms on the armrests. Annie doesn't budge, though he sees her eyes flicker to him and then back to the window.

"You might be hot when we step off the plane," he remarks, noting Annie's blazer and dark pants. "It'll be pretty warm in the district this time of year."

He shuffles in his seat, digging around in the pocket of his khakis. He finds what he's looking for and holds out a brass key. "This is yours. It's the key to the eleventh house in the Victor's Village. I was just holding onto it for you."

Calmly, Annie takes the key from him and holds it tightly in her hand. Again, she looks out the window.

Finnick stares at her feeling a helplessness he has grown used to. A pang of yearning strikes his chest, longing for just one more glimpse of Annie's smile. The warm crinkles around her eyes.

With a sad sigh, he tries again, leaning over the armrest to stare out the window with her. "You know what helped me after I won the Games?" he asks, not expecting an answer. Annie doesn't move a muscle, so he continues, "Being with you. Everything changes when you win – your house, your lifestyle, the way people treat you. Your mind thinks differently than it did before and no matter what you do, it always brings you back to the Arena… you start to question everything you have, all the people you know, until one day, you have yourself convinced that none of it's real. Every hug, every kiss, every cheer – it's not because they love you, it's because they're afraid of you. Your mind warps everything because you can't trust yourself anymore."

Though Annie stays still, he sees her eyes lower to her hands. He knows he has her attention.

"I've been there, Annie, and I know you remember that. But you were right back then – I never wanted to be alone, I just wanted someone I didn't have to question. And that was you. You were the only one who stayed the same after my Games. You helped me sort out what was real and what wasn't. Remember all the nights you found me on the beach? Do you remember how you'd sit with me so I wouldn't have to be alone?"

Annie gulps, giving a slight nod of her head.

"That's what I'll be for you," he tells her. "I'll be here to remind you what's true and what's inside your head. I won't lie to you. But you have to trust me... just like I trusted you."

Pushing her hair behind her ear, Annie meets his eyes for the first time. He holds onto the connection as fiercely as he can.

Now comes the hard part.

"Annie, your mom… she won't be there when you get off the plane," he says.

"My mom?" Annie repeats, confused.

He nods, taking a shaky breath. "She couldn't bear it," he says, voice cracking with emotion. "You were all she had left, and watching you in the Games… it was too much."

Annie seems to comprehend the meaning behind his words. He can almost see the wheels cranking in her brain as tears well in her eyes. "That's true?" she asks, barely above a whisper.

"That's true," he repeats, brows knotting with emotion.

A tear slips from her eye and rolls slowly down her cheek. "Then who do I have left?"

Finnick swallows, wanting so badly to wipe the tears from her eyes and shelter her in his arms. "We have each other," he tells her firmly. "Just like before. Just like always."

The hoverplane lands in the meadow behind the Victor's Village. There's no parade, like there was for Finnick – Annie's several days late for her homecoming and the district has had to return to its daily life.

It's better this way, Finnick thinks. Overwhelming Annie in her fragile state might tip her over the edge, and another piece of her loosely-connected being would be flung into the madding crowd, never to be recovered.

The few faces awaiting them belong to the residents of the Victor's Village. Elsie's the first out of the plane, bounding into the arms of her husband with cries of relief. Those greying hairs of hers shine in the sun, and Finnick sees her in new light – she appears fifteen, not fifty.

With a gulp, he holds open the latch of the plane and says to Annie, "Ladies first."

Her face shows trepidation, but Annie bravely steps into the sunshine, clutching the rail for support. The victors and their families give a light round of applause, though from the quick rise and fall of her shoulders and the white of her knuckles, it's clear to Finnick that Annie would rather be back in the medical ward than center of attention in a crowd of unfamiliar faces.

Finnick pokes his head out and follows Annie at a safe distance down the steps. He breathes in the salty air of his district, anxious to lay eyes on the sea but just as happy with the bold blues in the sky.

Annie halts on the bottom stair, reluctant to take that last step onto the grass. The victors, waiting expectantly, stop their clapping.

Annie can't take that final step. Finnick sees her leg lifting, ready to climb backwards into the hoverplane.

He approaches from behind and places a supportive hand on her shoulder. "I'm right here," he murmurs into her ear. "We're home."

The mention of home seems to comfort her, and she takes a few hesitant steps forward.

All eyes are on Annie in the weighted silence. Finnick waits behind her, his hopes hanging in a precarious balance.

Looking old and tired and alive, Mags wobbles forward using her cane. The stroke has left her speech garbled and sometimes nonsensical, but Finnick understands every word as she says to Annie, "My dear. Welcome home." She gestures Annie forward, holding out her arms for a hug.

Finnick, who's prepared for Annie to balk, is floored when she embraces the old woman. His love and gratitude for Mags multiplies tenfold… even if he wishes it was him in her place.

As Mags provides Annie with the comfort and safety she's so longed for, Finnick is greeted and congratulated by his neighbours. But he doesn't feel triumphant at all. In fact, failure sinks deeper and deeper into his skin.

It's a quieter, duller reunion than Finnick expected, and for that he's grateful, if not surprised. It seems that the victors, together with the district, sense that Annie's victory has lost her just as much. After just a few minutes, the crowd disperses as the sun begins to dip.

"Come," Mags says to Annie. "Dinner's ready for you. Cracked crab and artichokes. I bet you've missed fresh seafood."

Annie nods with a small smile and lets Mags take her arm. After a few steps, the old lady looks over her shoulder at Finnick, who stands alone in the meadow wondering what to do with himself.

"You too, boy," she says, motioning him over. "Did you think I'd send you home without dinner your first night back?"

He didn't intend on being scolded upon his welcome, and certainly not in front of Annie. But the newest victor is amused by Mags, and Finnick can't help snorting with laughter through his frown.

He marches toward Mags and gives her a kiss on the cheek. "Boy, did I miss you," he says, flashing her a charming smile.

Affectionately, Mags pats his cheek. "Now run ahead and start the stove. At the pace I'm moving these days, I'll be there in about an hour."

This earns a snicker from Annie, who knows that Mags' house is only a hundred yards away.

It's he who wants to make her laugh, but for now, Mags will do. So he leaves Annie with the only person he trusts and heads down the street, hoping against all hope that home will bring her back to him.

Dinner is mostly a quiet affair, though Mags tries to lighten the mood by regaling them with the district's gossip. Annie eats a few bites of crab and can't digest anymore, her stomach no longer adjusted to solid foods after starving in the Arena and being fed through a tube under physical and psychiatric care. She avoids Finnick's eyes, staring mostly at her plate.

"I think I'd like to sleep now," she tells Mags.

"Of course, dear," Mags replies.

"May I go home?" she asks.

Both Finnick and his mentor know she's not talking about her house in the Victor's Village. Mags replies, "Oh, no, dear. Finnick will air it out for you and get you settled tomorrow. For tonight, I've got the guest bedroom all prepared. Just this morning, I asked Qais and Jarvis to fetch a few things from your home on the beach." Though Annie's reluctant, she doesn't have time to protest as Mags holds out her hand and says, "Come. I'll take you up and help you with your things. Finnick will clear the table."

Helpless and unwanted, Finnick putters around in the kitchen for what seems like hours, but can't be more than thirty minutes. He's glad Mags talked Annie into staying – he can't stand the thought of her sleeping alone in her giant new house. All the same, only he knows the demons that plague Annie at night. If she wakes screaming, only he would be strong enough to keep her limbs from thrashing as he whispers to her that she's safe.

Mags rejoins him, and together they sit in the living room – she quilting, he sipping on hot water and lemon – discussing in hushed voices the things that have transpired. He tells her about his mother the Avox, Wren the Capitol spy, and Snow's conditions for bringing Annie home. In turn, Mags tells him about the mood following Annie's victory and her mother's untimely death.

Quilting is an activity that Mags has picked up in stroke recovery, and she focuses solely on her needles as she remarks, "It's been hard on you. I see the struggle and grief in the dark circles under your eyes and I know you don't intend to part with her again."

Finnick wets his lips, unable to argue with that.

"I made a bed for you, too," she continues, "but you must know that it will take some time. She won't seek comfort from you until she feels she can trust you again. And she won't trust you until she can work through her own memories: what's real and what's been warped."

Capitol doctors have prescribed numerous medications for Annie and tactics to help her cope, but nothing makes more sense to Finnick than Mags' prescription. It's like he said to Annie earlier on the hoverplane: there are things that are real, and things that one's mind perceives to be real. Without another's help, there's no separating the two.

He kisses Mags goodnight before retiring upstairs in the bedroom next to Annie's. He leaves the door ajar and sleeps lightly, prepared to rise upon the sound of kicking legs under bed sheets.

He's in the room before she starts screaming. Her restlessness rang through the walls. He lights the lamp on her nightstand and places a gentle hand on her shoulder, wincing when her body struggles and throws him off.

She wakes with a start, her eyes wild and afraid.

"Where is he?" she asks, her voice trembling.

"Annie," he breathes, "Annie, it's me."

"Where is he? Where's Mace?"

"You were having a nightmare," he explains.

Covering her hands with her lips, Annie's eyes spill with tears as she releases a sob. "Finnick," she whimpers, gazing upon him with sadness.

His chest puffs to hear his name from her lips. "Yes," he nods fervently. "It's Finnick. I'm here."

"Why did you kill him?" she asks, her voice breaking.

"What?" His heart splinters. "Annie, I—"

"He only wanted to protect me," she cries, "and you took him away."

Finnick knows that Mace's first concern was not to protect Annie, but it's not the time to convince her otherwise. As it is, he's unsure how to argue when Annie has built up her own proof in her mind.

"Annie," Finnick tells her firmly, "It wasn't me. I didn't kill him."

"You made her do it," she insists. "The one with the bloody axe and the thirsty smile."

"Who told you that?" he asks. "Was it the doctors in the Capitol?"

Her face crumbles as she backs away from him in fear. "The trees told me," she says, another sob wracking her body. "They whispered to me in the wind. They said you took him away so I'd be alone."

Face contorted in confusion, Finnick asks, "The trees? Trees don't talk."

"Yes they did!" she cries, covering her hands with her ears. Shutting her eyes tightly, she says, "They said you'd lie to me. They showed me how you pretend. All those girls in the Capitol. Pretend, pretend. You're not real."

"Annie," he pleads, grasping her wrists in his hands and prying them away from her ears. "Annie, that's not true."

She's nearly hyperventilating now, shaking under his touch and recoiling into herself. Her hair hangs in loose tangles over her shoulders, giving her an even wilder appearance. "Don't," she begs. "Don't make me. I won't kill them."

With every new phrase that flies from her mouth, Finnick's chest deflates, his heart snaps, his breath escapes him. If a monster is what he'd become when he won the Games, it's nothing compared to what she thinks of him now.

"Listen to me!" he says, raising his voice and forcing her to look him in the eyes. Tears run down her face as she gasps for breath. "I'm not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you. I want to tell you something, and I want you to listen."

She shakes her head frantically.

"Annie, they're all things you know. We'll go slow. Just listen."

A sob escapes her throat.

"You are Annie Cresta," he tells her, holding her wrists in place. She's so frightened of him that she turns her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "You are seventeen years old. Is that right?"

With another sob, she nods.

"You live in District 4."

She keeps nodding.

"I'm Finnick Odair. We used to live next door to each other."

Another nod.

"Every since you were young, you've known how to net."

Nod.

"And swim."

Nod.

He loosens his grip on her wrists when he feels her tendons relax.

"This year, you were reaped for the Hunger Games."

Annie gulps. Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes. Turning her head towards Finnick, she nods again.

"You won."

She licks her lips.

"I was your mentor. It was my job to keep you alive. Is that right?"

"Yes," she says.

With a heavy sigh, he says, "I had to get you out of there."

"You killed Mace," she offers.

"I didn't kill Mace. Another tribute killed Mace."

She scrunches her nose in confusion, a fresh batch of tears welling in her eyes. "That's all I know. You killed the one who protected me. I saw you kill before. You had a trident. You killed them all."

She's thinking back to his own Games, and suddenly, he's catapulted into his own personal nightmare.

"I-I…" he stammers.

"Finnick," she whispers, "your eyes were so cold. You didn't even blink."

Mags finds him in the morning, knees pulled to his chest as he rocks himself back and forth on the porch. Dried tears stain his cheeks, illuminated as the sun rises in a brilliant orchestra of pastels.

"She hates me," are the only words he can muster, his voice barely a whisper.

"But you love her," is Mags' sober reply. "So what else matters?"

Gosh dangit. I can't lie, this chapter ran far, far away from me and I'm unsure whether I prefer the outcome or my original direction. Either way, I haven't been thrown off-course and I know where I'm going from here, so we're all good.

Hope you kids are having a wonderful and sunny weekend! Catch you all next Sunday.