The World Turned: Gabe Dixon Band.

It had been four months. Finnick was so good though. He really was. He had outsmarted, outran, and out powered every tribute and came out a victor. After four long months of watching him fight for his life, we were finally relieved of our worries. "Oh my baby," His mother cried when he was lifted out of the arena. "My beautiful baby boy!" He was scheduled to come home two weeks after his victory. He had a few interviews left but I never watched them. Even seeing him on the screen made me hurt, I missed him so much. His family had been so excited, asking my family to help in preparing his coming home party. At the end of that week he was fifteen and fall approached us, making the water a little cooler and in some parts, much too cold to swim in. I remember becoming sad over the idea of him and his family moving farther away from us in the Victor's part of the District. But I wanted him home so much more that it didn't matter if he moved to the other side of the shore, at least knowing he was safe and within reach…was good enough at the time. We all went to the train station to greet him when he came home. Several people had lined up to see him home. They stood anxiously waiting the train's arrival, just like me. Malta's family were absent, grieving I'm sure.

When Finnick got off the train that day, he was grinning. He waved as they do in the Capitol, as if he had been graced with the highest honor…although I've heard of several victors that weren't proud of what they had done in the arena, Finnick didn't seem to be bothered. He embraced his family and mine, Thomas his good friend, and lastly me. It was nothing like the moment in the Justice Building. This wasn't my Finnick. We went home that night and threw him his celebration. Many people congratulated him, hugged him, shook hands with him, and fawned over him. Girls threw themselves at him. "Oh Finnick, you're so brave!" "Oh Finnick, you're so strong!" "Were you scared?" "You were so great!" "We should sneak out…" on and on they went. My temper rose and as I was about to confront him, I had lost him. Maybe in the crowd, maybe to a more important person, either way I didn't see if fit to stay cooped up in our small, crowded cottage any longer.

The sea was calling my name. I remember walking out on the sand, feeling the grains between my feet and the cool night air calming me as it rose from off the ocean's tide. I walked to the small pools where our nets usually were and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a dark figure sitting only inches away from the water. It was a familiar shape huddled in the darkness with only the moon to serve as proper light. I crept up on the figure. "Finn…?" I breathed quietly.

The figure moved slightly. "Oh. Hey Annie," He said somberly. Finnick kept his eyes focused on the waves that would curl over and fold in on themselves.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked quietly, wrapping my sweater tighter around me, and sat down beside him. I still remember the feel of the night air. How cool it was, refreshing.

Finn didn't speak for a while, "Thinking I guess." He finally said with a sigh. He seemed to shiver so I sat closer to him. Normally, then, we wouldn't have been so close, but I guess being so far apart for so long made this new closeness ok.

"Are you ok?" I asked, watching his face, his green eyes never moving. His features were harder now, older, scarred.

"I think so," He nodded, still watching the ocean dance. He looked at me for only a second and then went back to the ocean.

We were quiet for what seemed like hours. "Happy Birthday," I finally told him, in hopes he would speak again. I had missed his voice. I had missed everything about him. "I wish I had gotten you a present," I shrugged with a bothered frown as I watched the ocean with him.

He chuckled quietly, bumping into me to get my attention. "You already did," He said lifting up his arm to show off his wrist. The piece of rope still clung to his wrist, the dirty old, ratty 'gift' that he never once got rid of.

I shook my head with a soft smile. "That's not a real gift."

Finnick was quiet. "It was to me." My heart melted at his pain. I hated that night with his lost stare and confusion about home. "Annie thanks for teaching me to net." I had noticed him unwrap the rope from his wrist and start fidgeting with it. His nervousness bothered me.

I moved to kneel in front of him and slowly pulled his fingers off the rope, taking his hands in mine. "You did great Finn," I said staring into the sea green eyes that never flinched or threatened me. They weren't menacing eyes like those that you'd expect from a victor but eyes of softness and worry, kind eyes that I knew and have loved over the years.

He broke our contact, "It was awful," He said with a quiet, low whimper. My heart sank. His hands started to move again, twisting and knotting the rope. He watched the waves or the sand but never me.

The night was completely still for only a second. The wind danced carelessly and picked up light objects like strands of my hair or dried leaves. "Do you want to…to talk about it?"

He shook his head at my offer. "No."

I was desperate to help him. "Ok," I said, trying to understand, trying to find ways to bring him out of the dark confines of his own mind. "Do you want to swim?" I asked quietly.

Finnick watched me with cautious eyes. "It's cold out there and the waves are too dangerous and it's night time…" He lectured, as if I hadn't known. But I knew Finnick better than that. He wanted to go.

I grinned with a small laugh, "So do you want to swim?" I asked lifting an eyebrow.

And there it was…Finnick's crooked smile. "Annie?" He asked carefully, a little taken aback.

I pulled him to his feet, "I made a promise to you Odair. I said if you came back home I'd race you to the bank." Finnick seemed tentative for the first time in his life.

He watched the waves. "No more races….but I do want to swim. Really bad," He said with a small, even a little guilty, smile.

I smiled back, taking my sweater off. "Then we'll swim…" I said. "I wouldn't want to have to beat you in a race this close to you being named victor of the 65th Hunger Games." I walked towards the water not worrying that my shorts and top stuck to me or the unnecessary weight that was added to us by our heavy clothes.

Finnick laughed, picking me up and spinning me around at the edge of the water. "Still think you're better than me, Cresta?" He said, superiorly as he tossed me into the water. The waves were cold, but ignored. We were laughing for the first time in months and he was happy.

"No. Not at all," I said jokingly, but in my mind, the phrase played on repeat. I could have never done what Finnick had done and survive, and I was grateful that he was so much better than I was.