Chapter 16: 75th Annual Hunger Games
Finnick clears the dishes one evening after supper, enjoying the menial tasks of washing and drying as he makes idle chatter with Annie, who sits on a stool at the counter while replacing a popped button on one of his shirts. In these comfortable moments, it's all Finnick can do not to imagine that this is his forever: he and Annie in domestic marital bliss, never to be disturbed by the prying eyes and clawing fingers of the Capitol. Sometimes – and he curses himself whenever he catches his mind wandering like this – he pictures a swell in Annie's belly: their child on the way with wide, innocent eyes the colour of sea foam.
"We could start a vegetable garden again," he suggests. "Out front, or maybe across the path – away from the tide."
"And we could have a chicken coop," Annie adds. "Don't you get tired of fish all the time?"
Finnick chuckles. "What do you know about looking after chickens?"
"We could learn," she says with a grin. "I would feed them every morning and collect the eggs. And you'd be in charge of slaughter and plucking."
"Oh, thank you," he says, his voice light with amusement. "Chicken slaughter is yet another thing I want on my conscience."
Her smile fades. Finnick regrets saying anything at all.
"We could do that, if you want to," he continues softly.
From the faraway gaze in her eyes, he knows he's lost her.
"Annie?" he asks, putting the plate and damp towel in his hands to rest on the countertop.
These stilted conversations are not uncommon. Finnick understands that sometimes it gets to be too much for her and she simply has to drop off. But this time, there's a throbbing guilt in his chest from his insensitivity.
He rounds the corner of the counter and comes up behind her, placing one hand on the tabletop and the other on the back of her stool.
Gently, he says into her ear, "Annie, come back." His fingers release the edge of the stool and slide up to squeeze her shoulder. "Annie, I'm sorry. It's Finnick. Will you come back to me?"
He rubs her shoulder and watches her eyes slip back into focus. Realizing that he's looming over her, she spins in the stool to face him.
He presents her with a broad smile. "Hi," he says, leaning against the counter.
But Annie has other things on her mind. That dip into oblivion left her with a burning question.
"Finn," she says, his mended shirt gripped tightly in her fist, "what if it was you and me? You and me, instead of those kids from District 12? What if we had to go into the Arena together?"
More than ever, he regrets his comment about the chickens. This is the last thing he wants to think about. Ever.
"Annie…" he trails off. She looks desperately into his eyes. He stammers, "I… it wouldn't be. Never will. You and I, we're never going in there again."
"But what if it happened?" she asks, her voice pleading for answers. "We could have been reaped in the same year."
"But we weren't," he argues, frowning. "We don't have to think about that."
Annie slouches in the chair, lowering her gaze to his chest. With that far-off look in her eyes, she says faintly, "Only one comes out. I'd want it to be you."
Muscles tensing, he grabs both of her shoulders in frustration and bends down to lock eyes with her. "You wanna know?" he asks, waiting for her to nod. He holds her stare with such intensity he's afraid she may start to cry. "If it was you and me, Annie, I'd take your hand and never let go. We'd run from the Bloodbath and never look back. We'd keep running until we found the nightlock, just like Katniss and Peeta. And then I'd take you in my arms. Kiss you one last time. And I'd eat the berries."
Shaken to life, Annie nods fervently. Without hesitation, she agrees, "I'd eat them, too."
He sighs, releasing his grip from her shoulders. "Okay. But we don't need to think about that."
Innocence drips from her voice as she remarks, "Katniss and Peeta are a little like us."
He shrugs, unable to concur but unable to break it to her uncorrupted naivety: the Girl on Fire may be smart, swift, and determined, but if there's one thing she's not, it's in love. Katniss and Peeta played lovers to win the Games.
But he and Annie, they won the Games because they were in love.
The worst part about going downtown used to be facing the parents of the children he couldn't bring home from the Games. Some of them look so much like their children – or vice versa – that it's like running into a ghost. They never speak to him. Usually they cast down their gaze, avoiding him like he's a leper.
And he is. Their distrust and accusations scream at him, even across a crowded marketplace. He didn't try hard enough. If he'd spent less time gathering Snow's secrets and more time charming the Capitol for sponsors, their children may have made it home.
It used to be what he dreaded in venturing to the core of the district. These days, what he fears even more is laying eyes on the deteriorating state of business, the girls in short dresses who prowl the streets for a man who will give them a loaf of bread or a few coins if they'll lie with him, the increased numbers of peacekeepers patrolling the wharves and prohibiting the fishermen from pocketing even a small percentage of their catch for the day. Not on our time, they say. Not on Capitol time.
Finnick feels a shift in the mood of the district's citizens. Though they're accustomed to strict control, the increasingly watchful eye of the Capitol bears down on them all. Mothers no longer let their children run free. Fathers keep their daughters under lock and key. And everything seems a secret – for even a close friend could tip off a peacekeeper in exchange for a meal or a trivial pardon from the law.
He expects to meet the infamous Katniss Everdeen during her stop in District 4 on the Victory Tour, but they won't allow him near her. He isn't certain why at first, for until now, he's always been asked to attend the district's festivities for the victor. But on the day of her arrival with Peeta, as they stand out on the steps of the Mayor's Building, hands linked and held high as if to say, 'Two made it out,' Finnick senses dissatisfaction amongst the crowd. And it isn't directed at the victors – it's directed at the Capitol. For these two did not step down; they fought back.
There's a strong storm of dissent in the crowds that gather to see the victors. And just as Katniss wears her token mockingjay pin on her chest as a symbol, she becomes a symbol to the people. Just like the mockingjays that were never intended to exist, she is the girl who was never intended to live. She is a symbol of defiance to the Capitol.
And that symbol is spreading like wildfire.
The more the district riles up, the more desperately Finnick wishes it would simmer down. It's like being in the Arena all over again: he's constantly alert, even in his sleep, knowing that at any moment, his life and Annie's could be threatened by a riotous mob or the blowback from the Capitol.
Secrets are his specialty, so he hides his fears from Annie. After all these years of wishing he could fight back, he finds himself frozen with terror. Coward, he curses himself. But he can't get involved in an uprising, not when Annie teeters so precariously on the edge of an unimaginable abyss.
They hike even further into the outskirts of the district one morning, to a cove in the bay where the water is clear and still. Finnick holds the boat while Annie climbs aboard, then pushes it from the sand into the water and hops in behind her. He rows them into the bay, though not far, and they cast lines and wait for a catch in silence.
Today's not a good day for Annie. Her stare is blank and her mind is somewhere far beyond the present. Finnick steals glances at her while he bends and shapes the awl, his lips set in a thin line. He remembers a time when she never left him without company, even as he rolled his eyes at her and insisted he'd rather be alone. And he meant it, too. Thought loneliness was what he wanted. But somehow, little Annie knew he was lying even before he could admit it to himself. She never left him.
With a heavy sigh, he reels in the line and casts it again. He can't bear the thought of leaving her alone, either, not even when the Annie he knows doesn't exist within her body.
They've only been out in the bay for a couple of hours when Finnick hears a faint sound. He passes it off as a sloshing wave at first, or a gust of wind, but the sound grows louder until it can't be ignored. From their position in the water, they can see the downtown wharf miles and miles away. Finnick wonders if the sound originates there, because the more it grows, the more it sounds like human voices.
And then there's a blast. It's so distant that it might not even be real, but when four more follow in succession, Finnick knows he's just heard the firing of a rifle.
Alert and on edge, Finnick reels in his line and asks Annie for hers. When she doesn't respond, he leans across the boat and gently pries the rod from her hands. He's just managed to set it aside and pick up the oars when the thrum of an engine sounds overhead. Finnick squints as he looks into the bright sky – a hovercraft. No, two. Followed by three more.
His eyes widen as fear stirs in his stomach, and he begins to row furiously to shore. Annie, jolted by the boat's movement, returns to life for a brief moment to assess her surroundings.
"Why are we going back?" she asks.
There's no time to answer. Before a word escapes his lips, the first hovercraft has reached the wharf and drops what seems to be a package from its underbelly.
A bomb.
Even from miles away, Finnick hears the blast, and Annie's eyes are suddenly feral.
"What was that?" she asks, and this time, she's answered with two blasts.
His shoulders are already aching with exertion, but Finnick manages to get them back to the cove and, though his arms feel like jelly, he herds Annie out of the boat and drags it onto the sand before racing after her to duck for cover.
Annie covers her ears with her hands, her eyes squeezed shut as she murmurs to herself. As they cower in the shelter of the cove, he wraps his arms around her and cradles her head to his chest, keeping her safe and protected and offering what little comfort he can. With each blast that follows, Finnick feels that it's a stab to his own heart. The rebellion has begun. District 4 will fight, or it will perish.
They remain huddled in the cove for the longest time. The blasts begin to fade into the distance, and Finnick believes the hoverplanes are moving eastward. Annie stares blankly at the water while Finnick fixes his gaze on the sand, wondering what was lost today. What was gained. He should be there, and he knows it.
The late afternoon sun begins to dip, and he judges it's safe to emerge. He takes Annie's hand and they climb out of the cove, standing tall as they see the smoke rising from the wharf. And there on the rocks, they watch their district burn.
Finnick scowls at every mention of mandatory programming from the Capitol, loathing not only their senseless displays of total control, but also the damage it causes Annie. Snow's cool, calculated voice frightens her, sending her into fits of madness that sometimes leave her mind blank for days. It's not enough to keep her out of the Capitol each year – it's the constant revisits to the cold, hard authority and Hunger Games through the screen that render her raw, swelling wounds irreparable.
But this evening, as he sinks onto the sofa and throws an arm around Annie for consolation, he's pleasantly surprised by the mandatory programming the Capitol has arranged.
Why, it's only a stupid elimination ceremony for the dress Katniss Everdeen will wear for her wedding to Peeta Mellark. While the two victors from 12 have inspired uprisings amongst the districts, they have a similarly passionate, but opposite effect on the Capitol. Its shallow citizens are transfixed by the star-crossed couple, glued to their personal lives like it's all that could ever possibly matter. Finnick can only roll his eyes as the shots of Katniss in seductive poses and extravagant gowns grace the screen. Anyone who studied her in the Games can see she's not one for publicity and glamour. Her riveting grey eyes told of hardship, sorrow, and the ultimate will to survive – it's laughable that the Capitol truly believes that she'll marry the baker's son for love. Finnick knows Snow far too well for that. If she marries the boy, it's to keep her sister alive. He wonders briefly what Snow holds against Peeta. He must have a family, too. Perhaps even a different lover he needs to keep safe. Though it's hard to imagine that Peeta has eyes for anyone else, even to the ever-cynical Finnick Odair. Next to Katniss, he shines with love and adoration. He may be the most brilliant actor Panem has ever seen – that, or the biggest fool.
Annie, for one, chooses to enjoy the compulsory viewing. She snuggles into Finnick's side, curling her legs underneath her as she makes her own observations on Katniss' bridal choices.
"Not that one," she mutters. "Pretty," she says of another. And of another, "I'd like it if the sleeves weren't puffed. I want a dress that doesn't look like it was made in the Capitol."
Finnick can only chuckle. "You want one?"
Though she's resting on his chest, it's like she's forgotten he sits beside her. "Yes," she says, finding it odd that he would ask. "For our wedding."
As the Capitol audience hoots and haws in voting on gowns, Finnick studies the brown-haired beauty beside him. "Do you think about it?" he murmurs.
She smiles, unabashed. "Yes."
"What do you think about?" he asks in amusement.
Sighing, she rests her head on his shoulder and lifts her chin to meet his eyes. "I think about floral arrangements. Centerpieces. The location. The music they'll play as I'm walking down the aisle. Our guests. My dress, of course."
She brings a smile to his face, and he can't help that it broadens at her every word. "Is that all, now?" he jibes.
Her grin matches his, and she replies, "No, that's not it." She raises her head from his shoulder and her smile fades, her teeth grazing her lower lip. "Mostly I think about how it will feel, wearing your ring on my finger and knowing that we belong to each other."
The strongest urge to kiss her rises in him then, Capitol programming and all. Eyes filled with longing, he runs his fingers up and down her upper arm and tries to find the right thing to say – but he can't. All he can think is that Katniss and Peeta don't realize how lucky they are, being promised only to one another instead of the thousands of clasping fingers and probing eyes in the Capitol.
They don't hang in silence too long, for the mood on the television changes. Caesar Flickerman, who's conducting the vapid program, declares that the honourable – Finnick resists a sardonic laugh –President Snow will be making an appearance shortly for an announcement about the third Quarter Quell.
Finnick's insides clench, and he curses himself for believing that the harmless shots of Katniss were the focus of the evening. With the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games approaching, he should have expected that the twist for the Quarter Quell would be revealed.
Annie stiffens as Snow takes the stage, and Finnick squeezes her to remind her she's not alone. But he, himself, feels a nasty chill scale down his spine as it's made clear that the president is enjoying this moment very, very much. Something evil must be inside the box containing the Quarter Quell decrees.
Snow delivers his signature speech on the Dark Days when the districts rose up to rebel against the Capitol. He reminds the Capitol audience of the districts' betrayal and that they must be given a fresh reminder of their follies during each Quarter Quell. To never forget. Their punishment will never end.
After reviewing the previous Quarter Quells, Snow takes an envelope from the box onstage containing the information for this year's Games. As he opens the envelope and his eyes scan what's written, his lips curl into the most contemptuous smile. A wave of terror washes over Finnick, and he wonders when the palms of his hands became so clammy.
"On the seventy-fifth anniversary," Snow begins to read, "as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
The audience is silent. Finnick is silent. Outside, he's certain the whole world has gone silent.
It can't be true.
"What does that mean?" Annie asks in a small voice, sitting forward on the sofa.
Finnick stares, eyes rugged and hard, at the screen as the audience begins to react with shrieks of shock. Not a muscle in his body has moved since Snow's word – he's rigid as the grim realization of the announcement sinks in.
Existing pool of victors.
"Finn?" she asks again, placing a hand on his forearm. His veins protrude with tension, and the unyielding rigidity of his body sounds an alarm in Annie. "Finnick, what is it?"
"It means," he says, his voice shaking even as he struggles to keep it even, "that in every district, the only ones reaped will be the ones who've already won the Games."
Annie takes a moment to process this, her grip intensifying on his forearm. "But Finn," she whispers, "that's us."
Finally able to tear his eyes from the hysteria of the Capitol, he meets her gaze and nods. He grits his teeth to keep his hands from shaking as he fights to maintain the fury that boils his blood. It can't be coincidence. It just can't.
Annie's eyes travel around the room, and though Finnick is consumed in his own rage and grief, head hung over his knees, he listens to her breathing grow shallower. Short breaths, as if she's been running for an extended period of time.
"You said we wouldn't have to go back in."
At the sound of her voice, small and nervous, Finnick raises his head. The only pathetic response he has is: "I didn't know."
It certainly wasn't the right thing to say to Annie. He'd curse himself for knowing better, but somehow he's lost the mental effort to do so.
This is how Snow intended for him to feel – for all of them to feel. Utter, soul-crushing defeat.
"But you said," Annie says, her voice more insistent now. "You said we'd never have to think of the berries."
"Annie, I didn't know," he repeats, clutching a fistful of his hair in distress. "How could I have known it would come to this?"
"You said!" she cries, covering her mouth with her hand to quell a sob. She shifts away from Finnick on the sofa, her eyes filling with tears before she jumps to her feet and begins to pace. "Back to the Arena. They'll put us back in. I can't do it."
"You're not the only woman," Finnick points out, but his insides mash together and he begins to panic at the thought. "There's Mags, and Elsie, and—"
Annie ignores him, her lips quivering with fear. "I can't go back in there," she mutters to herself. "I can't go back. They can't take me back there."
Finnick stands and promptly turns off the television, leaving them in silence apart from Annie's laboured breathing. He walks across the room and plants steadying hands on her shoulders, though it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to scream. He has to be strong. Staring into her teary eyes, wild with terror, he begs himself for strength.
"You're not going back in," he says, bending down so their eyes are on level. Annie shakes her head furiously, her eyes darting around the room. He gives her shoulders a light rustling, calling her to attention. "Annie," he says, this time with resolve, "you are not going back in there."
"They'll make me," she sobs, crumpling into her hands. "They're going to take me again. They're gonna put me back in there. I can't do it. I know I can't."
"No. Listen!" Finnick exclaims, frightening her with his urgency. "There's no way I'm ever letting them take you. Do you understand?" At his unusual coarseness, her shoulders fill with tension and her eyes fixate on the wall, but he shakes her again to life. "Dammit, Annie, stay with me. You're not going back in."
It takes a moment, but finally, her eyes leave the wall and connect with his, her face instantly crumbling. "They'll pick me."
"It doesn't matter," he insists, and with firm hands still on her shoulders, he guides her to the sofa and sits her down. Her chest is heaving rapidly now, and he knows he only has a few precious moments before her mind descends into chaos. He kneels on the hardwood floor in front of her and says, his voice as even as it can get, "You know why? Because nobody's gonna let you go back in. Not just me. But none of the other women, either. They were all volunteers, Annie, did you know that? They wanted to be in the Games. They wanted to take someone's place."
"They won't this time."
"Yes, they will," he assures her, though a violent flip in his stomach warns him he might vomit with such terrifying uncertainty. For himself more than for her, he repeats, "Yes, they will."
Her shallow breathing continues. Near hyperventilation, she asks, "And who—" gasp, "—will take—" gasp, "—yours?"
With a shake of his head, he answers, "Don't worry about me."
"No," she says desperately, grasping his arm. "They can't take you, either. What would I do if—"
"Shh," he interrupts her, pulling her trembling body towards him and wrapping his arms around her. Into her hair, he murmurs, "Don't, Annie. Don't think so much."
She weeps into his shoulder, gripping a fistful of the shirt on his chest as she sobs, "But I need you."
"You have me," he insists, stroking her hair as calmly as he can. "It'll be all right."
And he hates himself for saying so, for he knows it's the boldest lie he's ever told. He thought he had more time. While he never doubted the danger he was in, he thought Snow would use him to his full potential in the Capitol, and he could bide his time, gathering more secrets, his arsenal of weapons to kill the man he hates with the fire of a thousand suns. But Snow has outsmarted him once more, for he knows his life has been reduced to nothing but a ticking time bomb.
My plans for those who rebel are not altogether pleasant. Snow admitted it outright, and Finnick hates himself for being too blind to have figured it out sooner.
He will be reaped. It is vengeance for his camaraderie with the outspoken Johanna, for building Annie a house on the sea, for defying the peacekeepers, for openly supporting last year's victors from 12. The price for his arrogance and insubordination is death. But first, slow, agonizing torture.
If Snow hates him enough – and Finnick is certain he does – Annie's name will be pulled from the glass bowl right alongside his, and her nightmare will come true.
He stops himself from fisting Annie's hair in anger and instead whispers gently in her ear as she sinks to the floor with him. All the while, his mind is whirling.
He can't let her go back in the Arena. He promised her. And any death would be preferable to death at the hands of the Capitol. He owes her so much more than that.
It may come down to those damn berries after all, but not until he's exhausted every last option. If not for himself, then for Annie.
Though Annie's lost for the night, her breathing slows after a long while, and Finnick takes her to bed and climbs in beside her, wrapping them in a cocoon of blankets and shelter. Even with his arms holding her tight, Annie has the most violent nightmare she's had in years. She wakes screaming, eyes nearly rabid as they fly open in the dark. Not even his words can soothe her this time, and he ends up holding her down against her will for her own safety, apologizing over and over until the sobbing stops.
Come morning, he'll visit the female victors of District 4.
He only has to visit one victor, and she is a feeble elderly woman with garbled speech and a cane to move from room to room.
"My mind was made the second it was announced," he understands Mags to say. "If her name is called, I'll take her place."
"No," Finnick says, and his heart goes out to the old woman, his guiding light. "Mags, I can't ask you to—"
"You didn't," she points out.
"Maybe Elsie or Haya will—"
"No," she interrupts again, dismissing his idea. "They have children. Families. It's no secret I don't have much time left anyhow."
"Don't say that," he says with a frown.
The woman smiles, reaching across the table for his hand. Her skin is spotted from years under the harsh rays of the sun, wrinkled and loose on her bones, and her fingers tremble slightly in his palm. "They're right to call you golden, you know," she says softly.
He stares at the table, his organs spun and wrung out in all directions. All that's left in his hollow chest is implacable emptiness.
"I just can't let them take her again," he mutters. "I wanted to do so much more, but if that's the last thing I ever do, then so be it."
"You'll be a favourite," Mags points out. "Would it be so impossible, to win again?"
"I don't know," he sighs, refusing to think about his own fate until Annie's is safely determined. It will be worse than any other year, that's for sure – even after mentoring for only a few years, Finnick can't bear the thought of entering the Arena with familiar faces. There are some victors who will be entering for sure – not all districts have a pool as large as 4. Chaff, the handless victor from 11. Wiress, the batty woman from 3. He can barely allow Johanna's name to cross his mind without cringing. And Katniss Everdeen, of course. The Girl on Fire. She'll go up in flames with the rest of them, and it kills him to picture Snow's delight.
"It will be awful for you, to be in there with so many friends," Finnick says, his voice gentle and distant.
"Yes, I'm quite fond of so many," she replies. He marvels at her bravado in such a dismal situation. With a twinkle in her eye, she counters, "But you and I, we're family. You come first."
Frowning to keep from breaking down, Finnick asks, "And what about you?"
"It's my time."
He shakes his head. It's no one's time in a manmade Arena designed to terrify, maim and slaughter. And Mags is so helpless… it's on the tip of his tongue to declare that she can't volunteer; he'll let Annie go.
But he can't. It will never come to that, and he knows it as sure as he knows the woman in front of him is family indeed.
With a pat to his hand, Mags says, "Let's not think about it. Instead, I'll have you fix the leak in the sink faucet while you're here."
Dry laughter rises in his throat. "How can you care about that now?"
She delivers him a scolding glare. "I fight my own battle against Snow, sure as you do. And this – cool indifference – is how I fight back."
The victor was defeated long ago, he realizes, and as she hobbles across the floor to the kitchen counter, he wonders if perhaps it might not be so terrible to die. If defeat is all that awaits him in life, then he can only hope Annie's idea of an afterlife exists – it might be nice, he thinks, to laugh at Snow from beyond the grave.
The early hours of the morning are when he does his best brooding, and with the Quarter Quell looming, he finds he's awake each day even ahead of the sunrise. On a clear, warm day he sits himself in the sand and watches the waves roll in, soaking in the landscape of District 4. It won't be long before he never lays eyes on it again. Once, he was a victor, boyish, proud and indomitable. But after all he's seen and done – and especially after the 74th Annual Hunger Games, where there's rumour that the soft-hearted Seneca Crane, Head Gamemaker, was disposed of – he knows he will not be afforded a second chance. If another victor doesn't kill him, the elements will. The gamemakers will see to it.
For now, he takes great pains to study the way the sun rises over the water. The way it begins as a pink flare and then bursts into a brilliant array of oranges stretching across the horizon. And he watches its reflection grow and spread through the sea until it beats down on him, strong and sure.
Today, as the sun's rays reach the land and begin to crawl their way up the beach, there is a flickering in the sand only a few yards away. It shimmers in the sunlight, and Finnick knows on instinct that it's no common seashell.
He pushes himself up and approaches with wary curiosity, for as he gets closer, he can see it's a fleck of gold.
Odd, for Annie's section of the beach is mostly secluded, and gold certainly does not wash up from the sea.
He squats in front of the gold, realizing that whatever it is, it's nearly buried in the dry sand. He looks from left to right, but there's no one. No one to claim it.
He musses the sand with his hands to uncover a gold bangle. He's frowning now, knowing he would have seen the golden twinkling in the sand if it were there yesterday. Who could have been on the beach?
Attached to the bangle is a note. Just a simple scrap of parchment tied loosely to the ring.
For the boy with the golden smile, it says.
His head snaps up, certain someone is watching him. The boy with the golden smile – that's what they call him, the ones in the Capitol. Who left it here for him to find?
Flipping the note, he reads the scrawl on the back: There is a way. Wear it if you can be it.
There is a way? A way to what? Doubt crawls through his bones until he reads the front of the scrap again – for the boy with the golden smile – and he's absolutely certain that someone meant him to find this. But who? Snow? If Snow had something to give him, he'd do so personally, or through one of his messengers. The clandestine nature of this delivery causes Finnick to suspect that Snow knows nothing about it at all.
He examines the gold bracelet again. In the light, it glimmers, and Finnick realizes it's that the thin bangle is decorated in flames. They glow, almost orange in the sun, and when he moves the bracelet back and forth, it's like the fire is spreading.
Held up at eye level, he realizes the inside is inscribed, too. He has to shield the bracelet from the sun to make sense of the markings, but it only takes a minute to realize that the tiny, miniscule bird engraved in two places on the insides of the bangle is a mockingjay, half of a Capitol creation that survived despite all odds. Katniss Everdeen's token. The Girl on Fire.
Stuffing the bangle in his pocket, Finnick again surveys the surroundings for any signs of watchful eyes. There's nothing; no one.
Wear it if you can be it.
The mockingjay. The flames.
Someone knows of his quiet vendetta against the Capitol, and that someone wants him to set the world on fire.
The week before the Reaping, Finnick leaves Annie tending to her vegetable garden and makes a trip to what used to be the fish market. Now, the downtown core is piles of rubble, charred buildings, and broken windows. The district put up a good fight, but Finnick has a feeling the Capitol will strike back. He's surprised they haven't crushed his people already.
Whatever will happen, Finnick hopes it happens soon, for the dirt-stained faces of the war-torn citizens tell a tragic story. The district has been effectively shut off from the Capitol, meaning it receives no supplies or coin in exchange for its fish. Without trade, there will be no fabrics from 8 for clothing, no vehicles made in 6 for transportation, no grain from 11.
And Finnick knows well enough that Snow won't simply release one of his districts. He will push them back in line, or they will be obliterated, just like District 13 so many years ago.
Whatever will come, Finnick doubts he'll be around to see it.
And that's why he makes the journey through town. His trip has a purpose, and that purpose lives in a modest cabin nestled in the peninsula. Finnick is relieved to find the home, along with so many others, untouched by rebel activity and Capitol bombers.
A woman answers the door, one with wavy orange locks and a baby on her shoulder.
"Hello," Finnick says, unable to call forward his charm for the first time he can remember. The woman's eyes are wide with shock. He adds, "You must be Kessie. I'm Finnick."
Patting the baby's back, she nods and replies, "I know."
Of course she does. Everyone knows Finnick Odair. But even if they didn't, he has a suspicion that Kessie would have recognized him anyway – the striking similarities between him and his elder brother are impossible to ignore.
A little girl with a mop of curly red hair peeks around her mother's skirts, thumb in her mouth. Fletcher was right – she has his eyes. Dixie's eyes. Finnick gives the toddler a half-smile as a rush of emotion swells in his chest.
"I'm sorry to bother you," he says to Kessie. "I never meant to come here. But I had no one else to go to."
Kessie Odair holds the baby with one hand and places her other hand around the shoulders of her curious daughter. Her eyes are not unkind. "What do you need?"
"I need to speak to my brother."
Kessie nods again. "Bellamy," she says to the girl, "run out back and tell your father he has a visitor."
The child obeys her mother and skirts away, looking over her shoulder ever few steps as if to make sure the stranger is still there.
Kessie opens the door fully and invites Finnick to enter. As soon as he steps over the threshold, he can see that the family certainly lives in a humble abode, cramped and full. It's clean but untidy, with articles of clothing, toys and books spilling over shelves, onto furniture and sprawled across the floors in every room. A warm sensation settles in Finnick's stomach – with a twinge of sadness, he remarks that the house is so similar in size and character to the one in which he and Fletcher grew up.
"I'm sorry for the mess," she apologizes, a flush creeping onto her cheeks. "If I'd known you were coming, I would have cleaned up a little and maybe made a pot of tea – would you like tea?"
"No, thank you." There's a pregnant pause before Finnick adds, "And don't be sorry. I think this looks just like a home."
She gives a timid smile as the back door opens. Fletcher steps around the corner into the hallway, carrying Bellamy in one arm. His smile fades when he sees his brother, but he continues to approach, setting the girl lightly on her feet next to Kessie. She continues to regard Finnick with wide, curious eyes.
"Finn," he says calmly, nodding his head in acknowledgement. "Wasn't expecting you."
"I know," Finnick replies, hanging his head in shame for a brief moment. "I didn't mean to bother you, but I had no other choice." His apologies seem stuffy and formal, even to the charming victor himself. "Do you have a minute?"
Fletcher nods again and, realizing Finnick means to have a conversation in private, he informs his wife that they'll be out back. As Finnick follows his brother across the wooden floors of the house, he hears the girl say in hushed tones to her mother, "He looks like daddy."
Daddy. There's a lump in his throat thicker than a stone, and Finnick feels the air whipped from his lungs, a hollow in his chest. Something that could have been there, but never will be.
"Congratulations," Finnick says earnestly once they've shut the doors and stepped outside. The houses in this village are arranged in neat little rows, where one's backyard faces another's. It's not a lot of space, but it's enough to live. "When was she born?"
"Five months ago," Fletcher answers, and Finnick can see he's been hard at work cutting rocks. Fletcher turns to face him, adding, "We named her Ivy."
Finnick gulps, a crease in his brow. "I wish you hadn't told me that."
Keeping his calm demeanour, Fletcher counters, "Then why did you come?"
For two brothers who shared a bedroom before the younger won the Games, Finnick finds it remarkably difficult to summon words for Fletcher. Feeling harsh and stony, he answers, "I have to ask a favour of you."
There's a sarcastic flavour to Fletcher's eyes as he deadpans, "Helping you build a house wasn't quite enough?" When Finnick says nothing, Fletcher says, "Go on."
With a deep breath, Finnick announces, "I'm going back into the Arena."
"You won't know that until the Reaping."
"I do know it," he insists. "Snow practically told me himself last year."
Folding his arms across his chest, Fletcher asks, "How could he have known? He only read the envelope—"
"He knew," Finnick interrupts. "I wouldn't be surprised if he wrote it himself. And he's going to make sure it's me."
Fletcher's grey eyes darken. "You came out once before. You'll do it again."
"I'm also fairly certain he'll rig Annie to go in with me," Finnick offers.
He allows Fletcher a minute or two to mull this over. Finally, his brother sighs, "That's not good."
"Mags will volunteer for Annie," Finnick says, beginning to recite the plan. "I'd rather it be one of the other female victors, but she's more stubborn than a mule. If Mags goes in the Arena with me, that means there's no one here for Annie." He takes a shaky breath, treading on shaky feet now. "That's where the favour comes in. I know I've done nothing to deserve it. All I've ever done is hurt you, take things away from you. But I'm asking," he says with a gulp, "because we were brothers once, and because you're all I have left."
Fletcher ponders this. He scratches the scruff on his chin and sits down on one of the rocks. Squinting in the sunlight, he looks up at Finnick. "You're asking me to look after her?"
"She doesn't need much," Finnick says hastily. "She lives comfortably over there; she doesn't want for anything. I just… I can't leave her alone. I can't bear the thought that she'll think she's been abandoned. I need to know someone is checking in on her. Making sure she's safe. Because sometimes she loses herself, and if I'm not there to call her back, she could go days…"
He trails off, unable to continue. His own grief nearly chokes him. It's difficult enough to think of Annie waking up alone after one of her nightmares, but the idea of her living in isolation for the rest of her life… He's paid in body and blood for his own indiscretions. He can't have her continue to suffer for them after he's long gone.
Pushing himself off the rock, Fletcher stands tall, only an inch or so more than Finnick in height. Finnick stares beseechingly, his hopes resting on the goodness of his brother's wasted heart.
"She's your family. And you're mine. She won't be alone," Fletcher confirms. Gesturing to the house that contains his wife and children, he says, "We'll see to that."
Finnick nods gratefully. "Thank you."
"But it's only temporary," he's quick to add. "Until you return."
Gazing upon his brother, Finnick sees their mother and father so clearly. The ones who gave their lives for him. It was only due to Fletcher's disdain and resentment that his brother managed to escape the clutches of the Capitol. And now, Finnick must follow in the footsteps of their parents. Succumb, or watch everyone else perish.
"I can't promise that," Finnick says, his voice cracking, "and I have another favour to ask."
"One of these days, I'm going to ask for a cash settlement," Fletcher jokes, but he is sombre again at Finnick's serious expression.
"When they bring my body home, don't let them bury it."
Fletcher begins to protest, but Finnick interrupts.
"Don't let them put me in the ground," he says in an overpowering voice. "I don't want that. They trapped me in life; I won't have them trap me in death."
"So what would you have?" Fletcher asks, his tone contesting.
"I would have my ashes be thrown to sea. Far out. As far as the horizon."
"It won't come to that."
"Promise me."
His lips are set in a hard line, but Fletcher has to concede. "All right," he says. "If the time comes, I'll do it myself."
Finnick nods.
"Any more simple favours?" he asks derisively.
Wetting his lips, Finnick says in a soft voice, "Just one."
"On with it."
"Tell them about me someday," he says, his eyes prickling with tears. He quickly gulps them away. "Not the bad stuff. Not anything, really. Just that they had an uncle, once. And he wished that he had been brave enough to be a part of their lives."
It's the first time that Fletcher averts his eyes, no doubt thinking of his daughters. The family he must fiercely protect.
With resolve, he lifts his head. "They'll know," he assures Finnick with a nod. He places a hand on his shoulder, the grey of his eyes boring honestly into Finnick's as he says, "I'll be waiting this time, brother. So you do what you can to make it back."
Finnick's heart is heavy, but he nods for Fletcher's sake.
And when he leaves their cottage with tears of rage and injustice and loss in his eyes, he knows those were last words.
The very last words.
He sets fire to his house in the Victor's Village the night before the Reaping. He stands in front of it, flinching every time an ember gets too close, intent on watching it burn to the ground. The other victors step outside in shock and terror, but they do not call for help.
He will not be made to live anywhere. He will not be constrained within the four walls that brought about his family's demise. And if he does not return, he will not have it stand here for his family's memories to be picked apart.
The Odairs were servants of the Capitol in life. If there's one last thing he does, it will be to free them in death.
And as the house crumbles in front of his murderous eyes, he fingers the gold bangle in his pocket. The bangle covered in flames.
Katniss Everdeen sparked a fire, and he will ensure it spreads.
All it takes is one longing, grief-stricken glance at one another in the dimly-lit room before they are in each other's arms, ripping, tearing, clawing, grasping. They make love fiercely and desperately, without uttering a word. If he worries he's being too rough, her sharp nails digging into his back tell another story. And afterward, panting violently, damp hair pasted to the back of his neck and forehead, he holds close her trembling body and convinces her the droplets on his cheeks are beads of perspiration.
This day will be a beautiful one. Finnick knows it as soon as he opens his eyes to the blinding orange hues of the sunrise. There can't be a single cloud in the vast, cerulean sky. It's a day for trawling, for fishing, for boating. A day to hunt, to gather, to build, to recreate.
But instead, it will be a day for the Reaping.
As his eyes adjust to the light streaming in through the doors of the veranda, he lets his gaze rest on Annie, who sleeps peacefully on his outstretched arm, her dark hair fanning over her bare shoulders. Just watching her soft breaths blow strands of hair back and forth is enough for his chest to constrict and his throat to tighten with emotion.
This will very well be the last time. The last morning he will wake with her in his arms.
The thought of it is too much to bear, so he takes great care disentangling himself from her and quickly dons a pair of shorts before quietly exiting the bedroom. He's hungry, but he does not feel like eating – still, he cuts himself a slice of Annie's fresh-made seaweed bread in the kitchen and takes it with him outside along with a coil of rope.
He doesn't go very far, just a few yards west of the house, where all there is to see is open sky and an endless ocean. The sand is warm and soft beneath his toes, and he sits with the rope on his lap and begins to knot. His fingers move so mindlessly – yet so accurately – over the rope that he doesn't even have to look anymore. That's just as well to him; he'd rather spend every last minute in the district taking in something beautiful than staring at a harried string of rope.
The tide is unthreatening this morning, climbing stealthily up the beach at a snail's pace. The sea is the clearest blue it's ever been, he's sure of it, and he wonders how many fish he could have brought home today – or in a lifetime – if he'd ever been given a chance.
An hour must have passed, gazing silently over the sea, before a hand is on his shoulder. Annie uses his broad shoulders to ease herself to the sand beside him, a mug of tea in the other hand. Wordlessly, she rubs his back, and he notes that it stings from their romp the previous night. It's a pleasant kind of pain, one he'd be happy to endure forever.
But in all his life, he's never been afforded such luxuries.
"When I was young," he says after a long period of silence, "I wasted so much energy hating District 4. I hated the way the stench of fish soaked into every article of clothing, every particle of air. I hated how the sun dried out and burnt my skin. I hated fishing, the tediousness of it all – readying the trawlers, sailing to the deep ocean, the long wait for a catch that might never come at all. I hated that my only option was to keep doing it for the rest of my life."
He sighs, bringing a knee up to his chest and resting an arm across it. Annie's fingers trace the lines in his back as her eyes stray to the water.
Gulping down his anger, he asks, "Now that I'm older, you know what I hate about this place?"
"What?"
He wets his lips. "Nothing."
Her hand glides to his shoulder then, resting there. She turns her chin to him, stating gently, "It's your home."
He nods, finding a fierce sense of belonging in his chest that he's certain was never there before. Everything is so serene. So untouched. And better left alone.
"Our home," he says with emphasis. District 4 is a fishing district; merely a set of lines drawn along a topographical region and assigned an equally meaningless number. But it's home, and surely there's nowhere else he could ever have found Annie.
"There are six other men," Annie remarks, using both hands now to cradle her mug of tea. She reads his thoughts like lines on a page. "It's not going to be you."
While she stares into her cup, he steals a glance at her. Her wild, tangled hair and loose-fitting sweater, thin fingers curled protectively around the mug. They say she's mad, but perhaps she's the only one who clung fiercely enough to herself and never allowed them to rip apart her soul. Somehow, she's an innocent, after all this time.
And he can't bear to tell her that it is going to be him. It is, and his name has been written on the parchment for a lifetime.
"Let's get started with the women," says Marcocia Duterre, her curvaceous hips swaying with seduction as she saunters to a glass bowl containing only four slips of paper. Just four.
Finnick stands in a roped-off area with the other male victors, his arms limp at his sides. No matter the strength of their rebellion, the district is crushed once again. The colourfully-dressed woman digging her polished fingernails in the glass bowl says it all.
Slowly, he turns his head to the right. Annie stands in her own roped-off area alongside Elsie and Haya. Mags is there, too, holding her hand. And behind them, the district watches on, their mouths forced shut.
Finnick faces the stage again as Marcocia unfolds her chosen slip of paper. With a breath, he closes his eyes, and it's like he's fifteen all over again.
Not Annie. Anyone but Annie.
Marcocia's voice is clear and crisp as she calls out, "Annie Cresta."
There it is again – that stab of pain in his chest; the urge to bolt, to grab Annie's hand and flee, made so much worse by her sobs.
His eyes fly open. With her cane gripped in her boney fingers, Mags hobbles forward, urging Annie to stay put.
"I volunteer," she declares in her garbled voice, far braver than anyone he's ever known.
And Finnick's eyes close again, his head hanging over his shoulders. He can't look at Annie or he'll break down.
No one helps the old woman as she takes the stairs one at a time, leaning heavily on her cane. Marcocia simply waits, seemingly taken aback by Mags' determination. The district waits, and for the first time, there is no cheering. Not a single clap amongst the crowd. No one dares cheer the old woman who's headed for certain death to save the life of a mad girl.
"And onto the men," Marcocia says once Mags has taken her place on the platform. She tries to keep her voice chipper, but Finnick can tell that even though she's done this for years and years, she's nervous in front of a crowd so eerily quiet.
Finnick wets his lips, his jaw set. This is it.
"Finnick Odair."
Just as if it was written by Snow's own hand.
With a deep breath, he steps forward, standing as tall as he can.
"No," is Annie's gasp.
"Any volunteers?" Marcocia asks.
Finnick does not glance over his shoulder at the men to find out the answer. He already knows that no one will take his place, for they all know he sealed his fate long ago.
As he begins his march to the stage, Annie's voice grows louder, breaking the thick, suffocating silence.
"No!" she yells, her voice wracked with sobs. "No, you can't take him!"
Joining Mags on the platform, it takes every ounce of strength he has not to look down at Annie. If he looks at her, he'll never be able to look away.
Marcocia announces the tributes of the 75th Hunger Games to the narrowed eyes in the crowd as Elsie and Haya keep Annie within the confines of the roped area. But as the seconds pass and Finnick does not go to her, she grows more and more hysterical.
And then he and Mags are being ushered to the waiting rooms by the peacekeepers, and he looks out to the faces of his home district – the people who have twice condemned him to death.
From high on the rafters of the Justice Building, he sees bronze hair reflecting gold in the sunlight. Fletcher gives him a nod.
"Not Finnick," Annie pleads from below, whimpering in Elsie's arms. "Please."
Before exiting the platform and leaving the district forever, he returns a nod to his brother for the last time.
It's funny, he remarks, how none of his visitors from ten years ago visit him today. Leander and Roscoe dead. Dixie somewhere in the Capitol. Keane and Odin long since parted ways, knowing they would never understand why so many pieces of him returned jagged and incomplete. Fletcher begged by Finnick not to come.
Nothing is the same. He is not that fourteen-year-old boy anymore, competitive and arrogant and naïve. He is not sure even a shred of that boy still exists.
The mockingjay bracelet slips off his wrist, and he holds it up to the grainy sliver of sunlight peeking through the hole in the wall. Its golden hue reflects, and he turns it back and forth in his hand, certain he can see the bird inside flapping its wings.
Fly away, mockingjay. This world is too ugly to deserve you.
The door to the room opens. In a flash, Annie is across the floor and in his arms, tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking his shirt.
"You did it once," she says, her voice muffled in his shoulder. "You can do it again. You'll come home to me. You'll win."
He sighs, breathing in the fresh scent of her hair. "Annie…"
His indefinite response causes her to pull back. "Finn," she says, green eyes wide and insistent, "say it. Say you'll win."
With a great deal of pain, he holds her head in his hands. Wiping away her tears with his thumbs, he murmurs, "I love you so much."
Her face crumbles, a sob wracking her body. With hands clenched into fists, she pounds at his chest. "Say it!" she cries hysterically. "Say you'll come home! Say you'll do everything to get back here!"
He lets her pound at him, the pain from the blows like a gentle breeze compared to the agony of his tortured heart.
Finally, when she's exerted herself past the point of hysteria, she collapses into him, weeping openly. "Don't leave me alone," she pleads. "You promised you wouldn't. You swore if they took you, you'd come back."
"I didn't know it would be like this."
Voice shaking with emotion, Annie asks to no one in particular, "How can they do this?"
He could stay here comforting her forever, but he hears boots approaching in the hallway and knows they're almost out of time. Without further ado, he places his hands on Annie's shoulders and lifts her chin to ensure she's focused on him.
"Listen to me," he says. "Fletcher's gonna take care of you. He's gonna check in on you and make sure you have everything you need."
Annie shakes her head fervently, a fresh batch of tears surfacing.
"Yes," Finnick insists despite her protests. "And if you need to, you go to him. He'll never deny you. Okay? Do you promise?"
Another sob.
"Annie," he says as the doors open to a peacekeeper, "promise me."
"Time's up," says the peacekeeper.
"I wanna go with you," Annie says, her lip trembling.
"Promise me," Finnick repeats, pulling her to his chest for one last desperate embrace.
The peacekeeper places his hands on Annie's waist. "Out we go," he says.
"No," Annie pleads as she's ripped away, "no, please!"
"Annie, it's okay," Finnick tells her as she fights the armed guard. "I love you." She's frantic, begging for him to let her go. He follows them to the door, and before it's shut on him, he promises one last thing: "I'm yours."
Annie calls out one last time. The peacekeeper's boots fade in the distance as he carries Annie away with him. He thinks of her going back to the house on the sea all on her own. She won't have anyone to hold her, to shake her out of nightmares. There will be no one to make sure she eats on days her mind drifts away, no one to assure her she's safe.
He gives himself a minute. Just one minute, to be overcome with grief. A sob escapes his throat as he leans against the door and hangs his head.
And then, silence.
I'm posting this early (and in a rush – eek!) because I'm going out for the day. This chapter ended up being about twice the length I intended it to be… heh, sorry about that. If there's one thing I can say for certain, it's that I am a TERRIBLE editor. I can't ever bear to part with anything.
The Hunger Games instrumental soundtrack got me through the writing of this chapter. My favourite song is "Searching for Peeta", and I played it over and over during the scene in which Finnick finds the gold bracelet in the sand, and when he burns his house in the Victor's Village. I also played "Healing Katniss" on repeat as I wrote the scene of Finnick's last morning on the beach.
Thank you as always to everyone who's taken the time to read and especially those who have been kind enough to leave reviews. For all you anonymous reviewers, please know that I appreciate it as I'm not able to thank you personally :)