I realize it's been a while, since Lollipop actually reviewed twice (that's a first xD). Thank you for reading and reviewing.
I give you Annie and Finnick, and Johanna!
Year 70, September, five weeks after Annie's victory.
Finnick gently pushed the sliding door open, letting the instrumental music that played day and night between the walls of Annie's house wash over him. He smiled slightly. It was a pleasant sound despite the distress it hid. Every sudden loud noise was a terrible, murderous explosion to Annie's ears, and every explosion brought back Barnacle, his severed head rolling away in the dust.
Annie's house was all spacious rooms and mirrors, with crystals casting sparkling lights on the stone walls, cushions on the floors and spinning shelves in the middle of the room where everything Annie had collected over the years was neatly set and regularly rearranged. There was almost no other furniture. Unlike Gilly's house or the house that had been built for Finnick and that he now shared with Mags, it had no second level or attic, but the roof was one large terrace where Annie could grow flowers and gaze at the skies.
Nori had discovered a love for buildings a decade after her victory and her talent was architecture. Along with the mad designs she revealed to the Capitol for their entertainment, she designed homes for victors of the Hunger Games, available to any mentor who desired them, and whenever the last cannon announced a Four, Mags and Nori would choose the plan most fitting and have the workers from Two work day and night to adapt the existing buildings, bare skeletons of homes, into something habitable for when the victor came home.
At the center of the house was a small inner garden with roses, a small fountain and a pool of crystal water.
Annie was there, she was always there. Today she wore a fluid summer dress the dark red of late sunsets, watching as the masons finished her pool.
Pretty dresses. Finnick had barely been able to look at himself during the first weeks. Annie spent half her days in front of mirrors. He wasn't sure he recognized her, even beneath the colorful makeup.
"Chelsea made ice-creams for the orphans, there are left overs, and Chelsea doesn't know what to do with the pile of drawings, shell bracelets and small presents they left her. I thought you'd like to see them."
Annie would have loved those things before. Finnick was certain she still did.
Finnick was always careful with his words. At first Annie had talked, but now if he even hinted at the Games, she would run away. Finnick had run after her once. He still had the thin knife mark on his arm.
Annie shook her head, her back still to him.
"You've never seen the outskirts of the Village," Finnick said, his voice soft as he struggled not to turn the words into a plea. "I thought it'd be a great time to explore."
Finnick didn't know how to get her curiosity back.
"I want perfumes," Annie said. Her voice was bored, she didn't make eye contact. She hadn't bothered in days.
She visibly stiffened when he took a step closer. "Don't you have anything to do?" She said coolly.
Finnick would do anything for her but some days, he could barely stand her.
He swallowed back bile. Where was he going wrong? Where was Annie?
A deeper sense of shame invaded Finnick, clutching at his insides and bringing furious stinging tears to his eyes. He'd been selfish. He couldn't stand what he'd done, how he had hidden, during Annie's Games, and instead of being a man about it, he was screwing everything up with his stupid pride.
Mags, let me take care of her. Look at you, you can't speak! You're tired all the time. If even Lorelei and I feel guilty for making you do anything, how do you think Annie would feel?
He'd hurt Mags. It made him ill. He'd been so sure it was for the best.
"What kind of mentor was Mags, Nori?" He'd asked on their second day back from the Capitol.
"Bossy, overprotective for some things but also tough. Mags pulled her punches, but she wouldn't have me sit around." Nori had smiled. "She tore the people who dared comment nastily about my victory apart. I never doubted that she was on my side."
Gilly and Chelsea had different stories, Mags had been gentler with Chelsea, more motherly with Gilly, but the lesson behind it was the same. Slowly but surely Mags had pulled them out.
He'd tried to pull Annie out. He'd been so sure – He'd thought he'd figured how people worked! What use had those years in the Capitol been if –
Finnick had tried to be stern, to not let Annie call the shots. At first, it had seemed to work. Some days she would flinch when their fingers brushed, but others she would throw herself in his arms, burying her face in his chest, her thoughts and fears spilling out in rapid whispers.
But Annie didn't speak to him anymore. It had been over a month, her complicated house was almost completely done, and sometime in the last two weeks, Finnick had lost her.
The last time he'd seen her smile was Parcel Day. She hadn't gone to town, but she'd watched from the Village as the whole of Creneis joyfully unpacked the delicious supplies. She'd smiled. She'd smiled at him as he'd grinned, witnessing the parcels being given around for the first time, just like her. But then the silence had returned.
Finnick watched that spoiled little princess walk around the house, all dresses, jewels and paints. She was looking for something, she wasn't finding it, and she wouldn't let Finnick in.
Finnick closed the door behind him, his head hunched like a guilty child's as he walked back to the house that had been built for him but that still didn't feel like home. Home was closed forever now, empty since Uncle Cereus had died, the shutters shut. He understood why Mags couldn't live there anymore, but he missed it. He missed them, Cereus and Mags, when she'd been so strong.
The Village was silent. The children had been told not to come anymore. Sixteen twelve-year-olds, butchered and drowned. Annie hadn't seen happiness when they'd laughed and played outside her window. She hadn't set a foot in water, but Mags had said that was what the pool was for. The music had been Mags' idea too.
Finnick felt like beating his head against the wall, hard.
Mags saw Finnick come in, guilt written all over his handsome features, and she knew it was time they had the conversation that had been playing in her mind for weeks.
She tapped the space next to her on the sofa, wrapping her hand affectionately around his wrist as he heavily sat down.
"You are no mentor," she said, her gaze burning into those pained green eyes.
Annie was stronger than Finnick thought, and Mags had let him make his mistakes. Mags understood his fierce protectiveness, and she knew he felt he had failed Annie during the Games and those were the only reasons Mags had allowed this to go on.
"You let me be her mentor these last weeks," Finnick said, defiance flaring in his eyes.
"A lesson," Mags replied.
"You do realize that Annie is the one suffering if I screw up?"
Mags smiled, warm pride entering her eyes. It was hard to remember some days, that Finnick was barely twenty, but not today. She was glad, that he would think of Annie first, but he had forgotten that Annie was no oblivious Capitolite. Annie was a sharp girl when she cared about someone, and Mags doubted there was anyone alive Annie cared more about than Finnick.
"She will not suffer," Mags said, her smile broadening slightly as her great-nephew ducked his head in apology. "This may even be good."
"What should I do, Mags?" He said. "They want me back in the Capitol, maybe I just should stop delaying."
"Delay," Mags whispered. She pursed her lips as she sought the right words. "You cannot be mentor and friend."
"What do you mean?"
"Annie sees you pain." Mags' teeth stubbornly clamped together. "Sees you in pain." She sounded mentally deficient, and she feared she would not improve much anymore.
Mags disliked relying so much on sign language, afraid stopping to fight to recover speech would leave her impaired forever. But there was no way around it, so she painstakingly explained to Finnick that Annie could see how much he struggled, but as long as he did not acknowledge it to her, Annie would only suffer from his pain in addition to hers. Finnick was too close to her in age, they'd been too close before, for Annie to see him as a mentor, and, just like she grieved and felt she had completely failed Barnacle, she felt she had stolen Finnick's happiness. It was better that Finnick be the friend, more experienced certainly, but not in a position of authority, not pretending he could handle everything alone.
"I will talk to her," Mags said. "Later, you will apologize to Annie."
A wry grin split Finnick's lips. "Sure, Auntie, whatever works."
Mags grinned back. Her boy was mortified, but he'd be happier that way. "Go help Gilly."
"What, with finding her Annie-kitten? She's down in town?"
Mags nodded.
When Finnick had left, Mags went back to the instructions she had been writing down. Her fingers painfully clutched the pen. Tall bloated letters had replaced her angular script, and writing was slow. Mags forced the rising frustration away. She had to accept that everything would take more time.
Despite the leaden weight on her heart, she was glad her Cereus would never see her like this.
She took a blank paper out. She could use Lorelei as an interpreter for the whole conversation, but she knew Annie would respond better to privacy on the matter.
Mags squinted as she entered Annie's house, slightly disoriented by all the candle flames and fairy-lights cast by the crystal lamps. Annie's eyes widened upon seeing her. The girl turned the music down slightly, and led Mags to the only armchair of the house, a wary, questioning look in her pale green eyes.
Circe, that girl painted herself worse than Nori.
"Thank you, for Finnick," Mags said warmly.
Annie's eyes flew open, her dismay heartbreaking . "Thank me?"
Mags passed her the card she had written, wincing self-consciously at the atrocious penmanship.
Finnick is not whole either yet. In the Capitol he must pretend and lie, wear a friendly face -
"A lover's face," Annie whispered.
Mags nodded gravely. She wondered when Annie had learned. She knew that Finnick had never told the girl or discussed it in more than vague hints. It was a conversation for another time.
-for people he would rather not interact with. He won at fourteen and lost his friends and his parents. He has persuaded himself that he would be fine, with no equals, being himself in the Village alone, confiding in me only. He persuaded himself that he has to be your mentor. He is completely wrong. He needs a friend and I am not displeased that you acted as you did.
Annie shut her eyes. When she opened them again, an accusing sigh escaped her lips. "I hurt him, Mags. You can be evil."
Mags nodded, her eyes tired and serious. No one knew better than FLASH's former Careers how manipulative Mags could be. She had allowed Annie to treat Finnick terribly, but she couldn't lead them through life by the hand. "You and Finnick must help each other. I need you, Annie."
Mags waived out of the window where Lorelei was waiting. Mags hoped that Annie would master sign language within a year or two.
Before Annie could learn of their rebel schemes, she had to be finally told of the world she lived in. Annie would mourn Barnacle and feel guilty a long time, but some misconceptions had to be cleared.
Mags signed to Lorelei, who spoke for her.
"Had you and Barnacle both survived, had the Capitol even started hinting it wanted to save both of you, not only would one of you have died a very painful death, but Four would now be paying the price."
Mags smiled mirthlessly as Annie's head snapped to her, her eyes wide in question.
"Esperanza died because Delfina protected Finnick so well that for the first time two victors were demanded. I was a prisoner in the Village. You remember how the Homeguard came, how neither I nor Finnick could come to town. Delfina made the Capitol realize they'd had enough of vengeance, that maybe it was time to work with the tributes, to look differently at the Districts. I refused to let Finnick pay for it, so Snow tried to have Four turn me in. "
"No," Annie said, her eyes wide. "But Finn said -"
"Finnick believed in my strength and the support I have in the Capitol and he was certain I could handle an angry Snow if it came to that. He is wrong. He cared too much to take that away from you so he just told you to be careful in what you showed the cameras, to hide at first how deep your bond with Barnacle ran. He would have let you protect Barnacle until the end."
"We would have paid," Mags said hoarsely.
Annie blinked, a grimace slowly deforming her face. "I hate them," she whispered, her eyes wide with realization. "I hate them!" She shouted, her lips twitching briefly as she realized that her Career days were over, that the angle didn't have to hold and that here, in the Village, she could safely voice her thoughts.
"I hate them, I really do," Annie said, looking straight at Mags, her lips quivering and her eyes bright.
They had entered a slippery slope. Annie was breaking out of her shell, but she could either heal or destroy herself.
Annie was breathing hard, her eyes fleeing theirs once more. Mags patiently waited, sending Lorelei a warning glance when her daughter started to look uncomfortable.
Annie finally seemed to gather her courage. "Is Finnick or you protecting me right now?"
"No," Mags said.
Annie nodded, relief washing over her features. "I was afraid Finnick had lied," she muttered.
"I'm sorry," Finnick said. "I never thought you'd feel guilty over me."
Annie rolled her eyes at him. "It spiraled out of control. I hope you didn't buy the perfumes."
Finnick shook his head, a hopeful smile gracing his lips. Did this mean they were fine again?
"Finnick, I'm a trained Career. I was made to be evil for the greater good, I –"
"Shut up," Finnick snapped. He couldn't stand that kind of talk, it reminded him too much of the spiral he'd sunk into after his victory.
Annie pursed her lips, looking vaguely hurt.
"It's sick," Finnick said. He couldn't look at Annie. She was so pretty, with her hair done and her flowing white dress and it was hard enough to speak without that irrational urge to protect her.
"This whole… everything, it's sick. There's people Mags can't trust because they're too decent. The system is just too tight to help while keeping your hands clean, your conscience clear and your dignity intact, Annie." Lucky people could hold on to one of the three. "Don't think people are complete idiots. If there was a real way out, we'd have taken it."
"But –"
"The Capitol has the means to destroy every person they suspect of rebellious intent," Finnick continued. "President Zephyr tried to work within the rules to make Panem a fairer place. No one had a better shot at it than him. He was assassinated and his best supporters, good people, educated Capitolites, with money, power and influence, with him."
"Well, damn."
Coming from Annie's delicate mouth, it sounded like a vicious curse.
"I meant what I said, Annie. The Games were made to kill twenty-three but destroy twenty-four and give nightmares to the whole districts. Victors, and Careers even more, can't be truly moral, but –"
"I know that," Annie interrupted. "Careers are the way to beat the Games because the Capitol hasn't figured out a way to make people fight if there are no Careers and they still needs allies in the Districts."
"And victors to hate each other. The Career and untrained victors divide is a bloody chasm, Annie. Mags is the only reason Four can walk the divide, and it's hard when she's not there."
"Why couldn't you talk to me like that a month ago, Finn?" Annie said with a soft sigh. "It's so much more interesting than talking about me."
Finnick stuck his tongue out, a blush creeping up his cheeks. It was nice, to have her call him Finn.
"So how many?" Annie then said with that guileless expression of hers.
"How many what?" Finnick said, his mouth dry. He realized now how much he'd dreaded this moment, the moment the disgust would enter her eyes.
Annie just shrugged, uncertainty all over her face. "I don't know, Finn, what really matters in these things. Those people who buy you, how do you feel about them? I just… Mags doesn't seem too worried."
Finnick took a long, stunned look at her.
This was Annie, and Finnick hadn't expected her to recoil in horror or tell him he secretly had to enjoy it to keep going, but accepting it like another part of his life, being just worried about how he felt… A part of him knew she'd never been really taught right from wrong, with her father just wanting her to be happy and shielded from the world. Barnacle had been her only real friend, but Annie wouldn't have learned from him. It seemed Instructor Rivers had never gotten to the sexual morals talk…
Finnick was so relieved it hurt. He accepted Nori's pity, Gilly's anger, Chelsea's crafted obliviousness, but Annie was different. She was his age. He'd grown up with her around.
"The best thing you can do for me is not being upset over it for my sake," Finnick said after a heavy pause. "I'm… I'm getting stuff out of this. Not that I have feelings for any of them," he hastily added. He couldn't have her thinking that. "Just information. Power." His gaze hardened. "Now that I know I can handle it, that I can make them unwittingly play my game… If I was given a choice, I'd do it again," Finnick said, realizing that he really meant it. He smiled at Annie. "I'm going to try it," he said, "to be paid in secrets. It's a great idea."
Annie mirrored his smile, her hand reaching out to brush his cheek. "I'm happy that you're fine." She jumped to her feet, a tightness entering her eyes. "Let's get Chelsea to teach us how to make ice cream," she said with forced enthusiasm.
Annie was almost skipping as they left the room.
Finnick beamed, and his smile just broadened when she poked her head threw the front door, breathing in the sea air heavily, and clutching his hand as she bravely tried to suppress her fear of going outside. She sang softly, her eyes darting all over the Village as if she saw it for the first time.
Mags had been right, it was so much better to be the friend. He wished he'd seen it earlier.
Finnick quickly realized they might not ever be normal.
Annie, who had been humming and curiously poking around, screamed when Chelsea turned the mixer on. Annie's hands flew to her ears, and she screamed until Finnick dragged her out of the kitchen and got her in the cellar, where no noise filtered through.
But later, when Annie had calmed down, she apologized softly to Chelsea and demanded they have the ice cream. She forced a smile despite the redness to her eyes.
As the autumn set in, Finnick came to realize he didn't need normal. Especially if Annie kept stealing kisses on his cheeks whenever he said something she found cute.
There was a certain frustration in Annie's eyes these days, it grew more intense when they danced around each other, flirting so obviously a six-year- old would pick it up, but Finnick refused to make the first move. He knew everyone was telling Annie that he'd not turn her down, and he needed her to be certain of herself. They had time, and he cherished their flirting almost as much as he knew he'd love the rest.
He'd never thought he'd ever have that. A girl who'd accept who he was and who he'd want to be with. A girl with whom it was possible.
He pretended not to notice the teasing twinkle to Mags' eyes, but Mags' approval meant it was safe and Finnick had to bite his cheeks not to grin all the time.
Year 70, late October. Back to the Capitol.
"Don't feel guilty, not because of me," Annie said. She wouldn't accompany him to the train station. She liked reunions, not goodbyes. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I wonder what they look like naked. They are so odd."
She kissed him on the lips. It was so short he almost wondered if he'd imagined it, cursing himself for blinking. It was a promise and he kissed her back just as fleetingly, fighting the urge to let his lips linger, to bury himself in the scent of her hair.
She was smiling so brightly, Finnick knew he'd feel giddy all the way to the Capitol.
Annie Cresta.
Finnick couldn't shake off his puzzlement and he wondered, how that slip of a girl had managed to creep up on him so stealthily.
"Annie? She's like my little sister. She's a bit… fragile. I have to take care of her."
It had been so easy, to 'leak' a private conversation with one of his Capitol 'friends'.
"I'd do anything for her, but I must take care of myself too. I can't help anyone if I'm emotionally exhausted. I couldn't leave her, but now she's a bit better and I'm glad to be here, away from all the troubles."
Caesar had stopped asking about Annie, the Capitol had stopped caring about Annie, and Finnick found it so much easier than usual to smile.
Paid in secrets. It opened doors Finnick hadn't known existed. He never made an announcement, he just told Glynn, who somehow let it be known.
Capitolites loved to own, to buy, but they craved to be wanted even more.
He let the secrets come to him. A note soaked with perfume, a clever code he would crack, a child bumping into him, leaving an envelope in his pocket, a gift with a hidden message.
He'd been afraid to be mistaken for social services, to hear of abused spouses, desperate parents or people contemplating suicide, but where the Capitol seemed unable to muster true empathy for district-born, they seemed to know what he wanted to hear.
"Seneca Crane is on stimulants and anti-depressants. Three different doctors, don't think they know about each other. Wasn't like that two years ago." An aspiring Gamemaker whose application had been rejected. That note had actually been delivered by owl and the beast had almost clawed Donna's face off when she'd tried to get the note instead of Finnick.
"My niece is a medium, one of the best and she chooses her clients. She works for intelligence, that's how she knows so much about people's lives." A guilty uncle, who knew the true responsible behind an unsolved death case and didn't know how useful it was to Finnick to know there was a leak in the Capitol's surveillance system.
"My son vanished. He was such a good boy. They changed him at that club. They don't like it when poor people become too successful, so they do something. They make them change." A desperate mother, who actually had a point and was remarkably good in bed.
Annie slowly replaced Delfina in Finnick's mind. Cashmere was the first to notice. She would cling to him, ridiculously jealous and dangerously seductive, but she didn't say a word to anyone about Annie, and that loyalty was why Finnick tolerated her sudden abrasiveness.
"She's upset to see you happy," Glynn said. "You have Mags, but that she managed to grand you without jealousy. She has Gloss after all. But Annie, Cashmere is living it like a betrayal. She feels that she's alone again. If you can, be the better man and tolerate her, Finnick."
"I'm not sleeping with your sister because I care enough about Cashmere to feel guilty over it. I don't want to cut myself emotionally from her. Do something," Finnick told Gloss, unable to curb his anger despite Glynn's rational words echoing in his head. He was going to sleep with Cashmere if she kept at it. She knew how he worked, his hormones at least, better than anyone. He'd sleep with her and then he'd refuse to see her ever again because even if Annie probably wouldn't care, he'd feel like shit. And it made him furious.
"I don't want to hurt Cashmere, she's been hurt enough," Finnick said as Gloss just looked at him, that infuriating arrogant expression that those idiot socialites found attractive.
Gloss' expression darkened and Finnick bit back a groan. Gloss wasn't trying to get him naked, but he obviously shared some of his sister's resentment.
"You're a good kid, Finnick," Gloss said tightly. "It's never been about you. Don't sleep with my sister. I'll talk to her."
The next day, Cashmere came to see him, clothed, with a blunt sword. "Can I beat that smile out of you?" She said with a pained grin. "Please?"
Finnick silently apologized for all the times he'd thought Annie had been more badly affected by the Games than the other Careers. He'd just never dug deep enough.
"After you," Finnick said, squaring his shoulders as he let her lead him to the training center.
He needed Cashmere to get that hate under control or he'd not let Annie within a mile of her during the Victory Tour.
Finnick began to meet people so very different from the socialites he saw most, or even the doctors he tried to associate with. People much lower on the social ladder.
"I know Cecelia's children are all Plutarch's," the record had said. "I stole their hair, DNA tests don't lie."
"Why didn't you tell the papers?" Finnick said with raised eyebrows, once he'd tracked down the woman. "You'd be rich."
"Because it's their business. Would you mind if we simulated very loudly? I want to piss off my neighbors. They've been shoving their sex lives in my face for months. Then you'll cook me dinner, I want a good meal more than I want sex anyway. Can't cook to save my life and I'll never afford an avox…"
Finnick bit back a wry smirk. "Sure."
"You'll owe me." She was thirty and plump, smoking a fat cigar that smelled like acrid pepper and cocoa. "I want you to take me to one of those fancy parties. Organize a tombola and rig it, I don't care what excuse you pull out of your sexy arse."
Sometimes it was downright creepy.
"I'm almost like you." An avox had brought that note. "My father was an avox, District Four. He couldn't say no, could he? And you can't say no. I've been watching avoxes. You should come."
Finnick came. He'd expected some kind of social outcast and found a slender man in his seventies that couldn't have looked more Capitolite."We're looking in all the wrong places for rebellion, you know," the man said. "Ever gone go-karting? I bought my own track years ago, with friends."
They hadn't talked any more. The man had just given him some of his friends' addresses.
Most times, Finnick still would sleep with them, but those nights he would sleep alone at a stranger's house, once an exceptional occurrence, were slowly becoming simply uncommon.
It worked, they told him their secrets. He was their pet, he was outside their world and on some level, they were unsuspecting. He'd always been careful to seem unconcerned by social and political games at parties. It was never something huge, but just like the letters Gilly received, it was enough to put the pieces of a large and complicated puzzle together.
More and more, the secrets amounted to I know the Hunger Games are bad.
When the messages were too blatantly rebellious, Finnick didn't come. He traced them back, and after a week he had his suspicions confirmed. Some were possibly genuine, others were traps, to force him to reveal his true colors. He'd known it would happen the moment he'd announced to the world he was gathering potentially seditious information.
Finnick hesitated, all too aware some of the messages were genuine cries for help of very stupid people.
He couldn't ignore them, he had to report them to Snow, but if he reported only the traps, Snow would grow suspicious, and Finnick couldn't risk compromising Glynn and their Capitol network.
The system is just too tight to help while keeping your hands clean, your conscience clear and your dignity intact.
Feeling wretched but convinced it was necessary, Finnick reported almost all of them.
It was only a matter of time until Snow summoned him.
"Ingenious, your new little system," Snow said, his voice light and almost jovial, but his eyes as cold as ever. "Five years, and even more popular than on your first. They don't seem ready to let you go, Mr. Odair."
"My public appearances and the derived merchandise are bringing in enough money to compensate for the fact I'm not selling myself anymore, Mr. President."
"I'm sure you were very thorough not to go against Capitol interests," Snow said, his icy blue eyes piercing into him.
Finnick knew those eyes couldn't see beyond the shield.
"You created me, Mr. President," Finnick pointed out. Gone was the utter subservience of the first years. Finnick remained docile, but the time for groveling was over. "Your goose that lays the golden eggs. I must reinvent myself to remain popular. Secrets are just another game."
"You even speak like a Capitolite now," Snow said thoughtfully. "And I do not mean the accent you can imitate so flawlessly when you are of a mind."
Finnick bowed his head. "If my popularity displeases you, give me five more years, and I'll disappear in a way that will suit everyone, becoming just one more victor in the background with a three-talent-shows two-photoshoots-a-year schedule. So many promising young talents that get in over their heads and lose their minds… And if my looks were to fade…" Finnick let his voice trail off with a knowing wan smile.
He shrugged when Snow narrowed his eyes. He'd learned to read the President, and he knew the conversation only dragged on because of Snow's ego.
"There will be someone new and exciting by then," Finnick said.
"Very well, Mr. Odair. I don't want to hear your name chanted in the streets after the 76th Hunger Games," Snow said with a threatening smile.
"I serve," Finnick said with a half bow before taking his leave.
There would be ample time to think of a plan before the 76th.
He wondered, a stupid smile creeping on his lips, if he and Annie would have a kid by then.
Year 71, February, Victory Tour.
Annie pulled Finnick into a deep, passionate kiss, stealing the last couple of seconds before the cameras would invade their privacy.
She'd done her hair in pony tails, her dresses were knee high and frilly, nothing like the cultivated elegance she kept for her own home. Annie, the victor without a talent, who now looked like a Capitol schoolgirl.
Finnick's little sister.
Mags bit back a smile at how aggravated Finnick looked at the prospect. She really shouldn't make fun of him, but something in her melted whenever she saw them together.
Annie's nightmares would never leave. She would scream and hide for years to come, and she still started shaking when she saw a child close to twelve-years of age, but when Annie looked at Finnick she saw didn't see anything wrong with him or the life he lead, and in Finnick's deep green eyes Annie was more beautiful than any of the Capitol's riches.
There were adorable, and Mags would not let them forget it.
Finnick put on a patronizing expression as he gazed upon Annie for the cameras. Annie stared at her feet, her sudden pallor unfeigned. They'd given her a portable music player. Mags knew that Annie would be made to go without it once, and that she'd stop been bothered the moment she would break down in front of cameras.
Victors too obviously traumatized made the Capitol uncomfortable. Unlike Haymitch's alcoholism, they couldn't even blame Annie for making a bad choice.
Mags made a model of the Capitol's Games Center with matches while her great nephew was travelling through the Districts. Mentor only, Snow had said. No matter that Gilly was Annie's official mentor… Mags ignored the voice that told her that she should have stayed home whatever the Capitol allowed.
It was a very nice model. Maybe Mags should make it a talent. Lorelei and Mags' grandchildren all helped her. Mags had rarely felt so humored.
They didn't quite say, oh look Grandma's gone dotty. Ceferino, Sol's first and Mags' eldest grandson, now well into his twenties, thought it very loudly.
Mags breathed again when Finnick and Annie came back in one piece.
Finnick came back angry.
"They were… rude?" Mags asked heavily. She didn't like that Finnick didn't want Annie part of the conversation. She unfortunately wasn't surprised.
"Yes and no. Chaff was drunk, he said he loved how Four's new tactic was taking down the whole Career pack early." Mags winced, not needed to know how badly Annie had taken that. "Seeder punched him. From Chaff's look that really doesn't happen often. The outliers… They didn't help, Mags. They all looked like they were swallowing back nasty words. Even Beetee seemed so awkward. At least that could be because he's a Three and they're a bit bad with people, but Mercury's the one who hugged Annie and gave her a tour of the building until she wasn't shaking anymore."
"Cecelia and Woof did their best, but Cecelia brought the kids, hoping to cheer Annie up." Finnick sucked in a deep breath. "They're too young to look remotely twelve, and Charles wasn't afraid at all, but Annie looked so guilty, Mags. She didn't sleep the night. She hasn't slept much of any night. Donna was with her. Annie didn't want to see me, and considering the angle, it was safer too."
He didn't sound hurt. Mags was glad that he had come to understood that Annie's actions had nothing to do with her affection or trust for him. It was pride, holding onto the illusion that he wouldn't see her weak.
Mags took a deep breath. She was angry, unsurprised, but angry at her colleagues. Seventy years of Hunger Games, would they ever know better? "Seeder, Eight, Three, no other made an effort?"
Finnick shook his head. "They seemed to consider that respect extended to shutting up and eating at the Mayor's table with a stony stare. Which is fine for me, and I can't ask them to be strong for Annie, but then it would be better if they hadn't shown up at all." He took a shaky breath. "Asclepiad in Five was great. We don't get along, but she was really supportive, and I see why Glynn told me to respect her. But then…" Finnick stood up, his fists clenched, and he kicked the chair down, making Mags start. "There was Rapid," Finnick ground out, rage burning in his eyes. "He told Annie it must have been nice to let the arena do all the work." His fist slammed into the living room table, and Mags was relieved not to see either the table or his wrist break. "What is wrong with them, Mags?"
"The Games make us terrible people," Mags said. She couldn't see what else to say.
"No you," Finnick spat. "Cashmere and Gloss were horrible," he whispered, hurt replacing his anger. "It's just… everyone tells me they're nasty, but to me they've been so decent. Even since I've been dating Annie, in never got too bad," he said with a grimace. "And then Annie comes, and Cashmere looks at her and says 'does the princess have a nice little glass tower in Four?' and Gloss is quieter but he has so much envy in her eyes… They hate her, don't they? Because she won't be sold."
Mags' lips thinned, her expression darkening. She had been surprised too, at how quickly Cashmere and Gloss had adopted Finnick. He was one of them, Annie would never be.
"Cashmere told Annie that she'd been sold for months before her Tour. That at Annie's age, I had been going to the Capitol for years. Just like that, with a pointed smile. Annie felt horrible of course." Finnick sighed. "Mags, my Tour was so different. Why do they love you so much?"
"For some… unthinkable not to respect," Mags said slowly, struggling to hastily organize her thoughts. This was why she'd so desperately wanted to come.
"You've been around so long, you're older, so they're more sedated around you?" Finnick guessed.
Mags nodded. "Others… Finn, I try to…"
She explained, in a mix of signs and words, how lost, how abandoned, the first victors had been. They lived isolated in towns that mistrusted them, alone with their nightmares, powerless with the threat of Capitol punishment hovering over their heads. All that anger, all that pain, they didn't know how to make it go away. And when they were forced together, with people like them, with people who reminded them of the monsters they were, they lashed out like cornered animals. There hadn't been any solidarity then, only shattered people who weren't even sure why they pushed themselves through the day.
Victors were lonely, relatives were ill prepared to deal with them and many could not see beyond the murders and the madness of the arena. Making new friends was almost impossible. The one moment of the year they felt needed and wanted was when tributes looked up at them, asking to be saved. And then those teenagers died, killed by the tributes of people with whom they shared the Mentor's room. People right there, whom they could lash out at without consequence.
Mags had told them they weren't monsters. She had brought a smile in that Mentors' room and made sure it never left. She had helped them see beyond the murderer in the other victors, beyond the murderer in themselves. She didn't accuse when her tributes died, when another tribute killed hers or someone else's. She never made comments on how one got sponsors. She squeezed their shoulders, pointed out their strengths, and found them distractions, something to do, a reason to laugh.
Mags remembered Bianca, clutching her tarot cards and drunkenly crying on Mags' bed. Comet from Three, asking if it helped, to be nice. Their names had changed over the years, but the pain, the need for comfort, that they all shared. She remembered them vividly, Vicuña, the Career, such an idealist, who had died for a rebellion she had watched grow from afar, Rowan, the first, whose bed Mags had once shared, Mattock from Ten, the first outlier who had clawed his way out of depression and raised children he was proud of, and Mordred, Vicuña's terrible mirror image, the father of District Two's Annex and pitiless Career system, who had nevertheless been invaluable to establish Mags' authority.
Mags missed them, and she had loved them all in a way, forcibly bound together by the blood of innocents. She loved all the victors, she had to, to stand them, to smile and be strong for them, trying and so often failing to help them do the same.
"So I'd need to spend less time with Capitolites and more time with them if I want the same courtesy," Finnick said. Mags hugged him, he looked so worn. "It's fair, I guess," Finnick whispered in her ear, hugging her back like a child. "They hardly know me, the non-Careers. I'm just the Capitol's toy."
"You are my nephew," Mags said. "And Annie will never go."
"You think we can keep her here, forever?" Finnick said with undisguised hope.
"Forever," Mags promised with a small smile.
Year 71, August, 71st Hunger Games.
It had been impulsive. Unwise. Circe, Mags felt good.
And she stank of fish.
Mags stepped out of the supplies train Annie and Lorelei had helped smuggle her in, pushing away the sack of shells that had been her pillow. Her body screamed from abuse a woman half her age shouldn't have tolerated, but Mags couldn't care less. She hailed a taxi, smiling merrily at the Six workers and Capitolites gaping at her.
Triumph and a mischievous giddiness filled her veins with adrenaline. She would mentor until her body surrendered.
Her doctors would have a fit.
She found Lawrence. The prep team squealed, but her stylist didn't bat an eyelid.
"You're late, Mags," he said, a small smile creasing his face.
Mags Abalone of Four vanished. Her white-hair pulled back in an elaborate chignon, a black and silver dress caressing her ankles, Mags was ready to reclaim her mentor's seat.
Mags strolled into the locale currently hosting all the socialites of the fortress city, stimulants coursing through her veins. She was late for a party.
Blue, yellow and red lights danced on the large windows, to the rhythm of the low music that accompanied the excited chatter of the last night before the tributes' interviews.
When silence descended over the socialite crowd, Mags straightened, energized by the palpable power sizzling through her veins.
Her face crafted into the imperious mask she now wore like a second skin, she sought the victors out. Worry, shock and custom Career impassivity warred on their faces, with Finnick beaming like a child.
Plutarch was the first to reach her side.
Mags gestured to her mouth and throat with an apologetic smile before opening her arms. He grinned and pulled her into a hug.
"You're crazy, Woman, but there's a lot to see this year," he whispered in her ear.
Someone, maybe Finnick, started clapping, and it sparked a forest fire, cheers and encouraging calls reaching up to the ceiling. Mags' eyes crinkled, but her face remained serious. They all had an angle, and she was old school. The victors never owned or bought.
"You show stealer," Lyme muttered, eyeing her as if she had lost her mind. "How could you think coming was a good idea?"
Mags' small smile turned sly. "The attention," she said.
"I leave her in your hands, don't damage her," Plutarch announced, leading Mags towards the betting boards.
"So, Mags, who would you bet on?"
Mags spoke very little. Capitolites were very good at filling the silences, and Mags struggled to keep the frown off her face. Plutarch was right. There was something, something different.
Mags looked at the sponsoring count of the various tributes. The odds are what she'd expected them to be, but the sponsor money…
An apology, could it be?
The boy from Three with a four in training, the thirteen-year old from Five, the girl from Seven with a two. None of them were attractive in terms of looks or personalities, or had unusual histories, and yet they had sponsors, remarkable amounts. The Careers had more, but only half of what Mags would have expected.
The Capitol is sponsoring outliers. They smiled as they always had, gossiped, cheered and planed more parties, but they were sponsoring outliers.
Mags managed to find Plutarch again. "Careers are not popular," she said.
Plutarch's smile was crooked and uncertain. "And yet they're as good as any other year. I hadn't expected it to be so extreme. I told Snow the twelve-year old Games were a bad idea. Caesar lost his brother-in-law in the crash, and it clouded his judgment. I can tell you that Caesar regrets it dearly now."
Mags nodded slowly. She needed to make sure. Maybe last year's Games had been too violent. Maybe telling the harsh truth had been a bad idea. Maybe socialites were feeling uncomfortable now that their thirst for vengeance had been quenched. The Capitol remembered its glee at the suffering, that sweet vengeance, but now that the Capitol had acknowledged that the suffering existed, that parents, friends and sibling would mourn in the Districts as the Capitol had mourned, they couldn't go back to pretending the Hunger Games were just good fun.
Would it last? What would it mean for them?
"Next Games will be rigged," Plutarch said gravely. "People the Districts won't miss and the Capitol won't take for innocents."
"Square one," Mags said, foreboding clenching her insides.
The first Hunger Games had been full of criminals. Evadne Achlys had wanted rebels and Capitol supporters alike to accept the Games. She'd wanted the certainty to linger: those who enter the Games deserve it.
Mags slept for two days straight as the chemicals left her body, and Donna's and Gilly's raised eyebrows and pinched expressions were worth a thousand I told you so, Mags.
Mags wasn't dead. She didn't really see the problem. Since she wasn't sleeping in a seafood shipment and had given her triumphant return interview, she didn't need the stimulants anymore.
She let the doctors prod at her for a whole afternoon without hitting them to get Donna off her back.
Cecelia was pregnant again, one month along, and took advantage of it to visit Mags.
"How many do you want?" Mags said with a grin. She couldn't believe baby Victoria was already walking.
"Three will be quite enough," Cecelia said. An impish grin drew itself on her face. "Besides, Plutarch is getting old, it's not as fun as it was to make them."
Mags chuckled. "Thanks, for Annie," she said. "You were one of the few."
Cecelia smiled, compassion lighting her warm gray eyes. "I'll keep them from nagging. Woof was going bonkers. Truth is, they're all jealous."
Mags gave her a guilty smile. Many of them were genuinely worried. It was the first time she'd seen Brutus and Seeder have a serious, civil conversation.
She'd do it again just to have Brutus and Seeder find common ground.
The arena was magnificent. A forest, but nothing like they knew, they called it Prehistory, a time where the the trees and insects and beasts, dinosaurs, were immense and defied comprehension.
It was something new, to see the Careers allying with the pair from Ten to snare and take down a three-horned mutt larger than Mags' house for food. Huge insects, berry-like plants the size of heads that glowed in the parts of the rainforest where the canopy was too thick for the sunlight to pierce through. Visually, it was one of the most striking arenas in the Games' history.
The audience ratings were higher than ever. And yet Capitolites complained about the costs. There had always been whispers, but this year, there was an article on the second page of the Capitol's most serious newspaper. Where does the money come from? Can we sustain such lavish expenses just for the Hunger Games?
Just for the Hunger Games? Mags could barely believe her eyes. Between the lines she read the same growing unease she had glimpsed at the Interview party.
"Seneca Crane is going to need even more doctors," Finnick muttered. Mags shot him a questioning glance.
"It's a secret," Finnick said smugly. "Does Plutarch want to become Head Gamemaker eventually?"
Mags furrowed her brow. Yes, they had to start planning that.
When the cannon sounded, the boy from Six was still wracked by spasms, a large stick driven through his eye and skull.
His killer rushed through the forest, wiping blood frantically on the large '3' on his uniform, his eyes wide and bloodshot, paying little attention to his surroundings. An ear-splitting scream left his frothing mouth when he accidentally stumbled upon the lonesome girl from Seven, who was still gingerly eating the human-sized centipede she had messily hacked to pieces two days before.
Johanna Mason, who had fled from her alliance with a stolen bag of supplies on day two and fled contact ever since, the very definition of the underdog with no blood on her hands, gave the boy from Three the same look she had given the centipede. He rushed towards her, a rock in his hand. Johanna threw up after her ax buried itself in the boy's chest, so deep she struggled to get it out.
The girl from Ten left the boy from Nine with his intestines spilling out. He clawed his way to the stream, screaming as the monstrous dragonfly mutts started hovering over him.
Sponsors finally remember why they preferred Careers, their trained, sane, clean, Careers, but only Rosabel from One remained. The deal had been broken: Careers would take more risks to deliver a brilliant show, but they got medicine for the wounds thus obtained. One by one they had died when the parachutes that came after they spectacularly defeated the giant mutts failed to make up for their heroics.
Johanna from Seven finished the dying boy from Nine off, snarling at him to shut up. It took her three tries to get it right. The next day, Johanna hid her ax and begged her way into an alliance, dirty, torn and deceptively weak, promising information on the last Career.
Eight, Ten and Five lost their last tributes before the sun had set. The scent of blood attracted the roaming T-Rex. Mags knew the mutt was there for show, that it wouldn't attack the tributes, but Johanna only heard a terrifying beast with teeth the size of her torso crashing through the forest, and she left her three victims cut and torn, their life ebbing out with agonizing slowness as she rushed away to relative safety.
The girl with a two in training. They'd thought she was useless. Now they said she'd gone mad. They were wrong twice over. Seldom in recent history had Hunger Games been so dirty.
Rosabel found Johanna, filthy and unawares, seemingly half-fainted against a trunk. Rosabel was hardly the first to underestimate the girl from Seven. This time, Johanna, with a bellow of pure rage, managed a clean, killing strike.
It looked like a quarter of the Capitol had bet on Johanna Mason from Seven out of silent protest, before she had decimated the last outlier alliance, when her odds had still been ten to one. Mags could almost hear their cheers, but she didn't dare imagine Snow's expression. The Capitol bank had just lost enough money to finance an arena.
Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane was living on borrowed time.
Year 72, February, Johanna Mason's Victory Tour.
Johanna stood stiff on the stage in Lycorias' main square, her face pale, and Finnick doubted that she was having an easier Victory Tour than Annie'd had. Johanna wasn't a Career, but she'd killed tributes of five outlying Districts, three of them in cold blood. Annie had done nothing. Johanna had pulled the angle of the century. She had cried at the interviews and that two in training would have been a six had she not hidden her ferocity and her skill with an ax.
Blight stood back as Johanna read her speech, her tone clipped. Finnick bit back the urge to shout at the man. Stand by her at least, damn it!
Gone were the days Mags had been strong enough to help. She couldn't walk up to Johanna and say words of comfort and Johanna didn't look like she needed a hug. She looked like she needed a target she could tear apart with her bare hands.
That's when Finnick finally recognized her. Her brown hair was shorter, and despite her wiry toughness, it was a woman on stage and not a girl, but Finnick had seen those blazing wide-set eyes, that jaw set in anger six years before, when he'd been the one spouting propaganda in Seven, on his own Victory Tour.
"Want to go throw rocks near the sea?" Finnick said as people fussed about to set the dinner at the Mayor's up. Lycorias was stormy and steeped in fog, it would grant them some privacy at least.
"Don't patronize me, boytoy."
Finnick started at her hostility. Everything in her screamed I want to escape. Why was she being difficult?
Johanna suddenly grabbed him by the shirt, her lips inches from his face. "I see you've been actively keeping your family safe," she hissed. "Developed a taste for Capitolite along the way?" Her dark eyes lingered on his shirt. It was open in the middle, heating Capitol material that allowed them to mostly ignore winter temperatures. It was who Finnick had to be around cameras.
Finnick firmly grabbed her hand and pulled it away from his neck. The tension and disgust radiating from Johanna were too intense to be real. Unless there was another part to the story.
"What happened?" He said, his eyes briefly meeting Chelsea's. Distract them.
Johanna's face darkened. "Don't."
"This is Four, all peacekeepers are Fours, all journalists are bored with you and entertained with the others. You are not leaving until you tell me."
A sneer twisted Johanna's lips. "I'm tired."
"Deal with it," Finnick snapped.
Johanna spat at him. Finnick didn't even bother to wipe his face. That's enough. Stronger, he threw her over his shoulder, and winked at the cameras. "She's never seen the sea," he said with a genial smile. He bit back a cry when Johanna's sharp nails cut deeply into his arms and shoulder. She snarled but didn't scream.
People stared but didn't stop them. Finnick put Johanna down on the reefs.
She punched him as soon as she could move, stepping back with a snarl and eyeing him warily as if he'd retaliate.
Finnick just took a rock and threw it hard at the water. It bounced once before crashing in with a satisfying splash. "I'm not your enemy here," he said.
Johanna finally seemed to believe him. "I can't be you," she said, every word a curse. "I was born in Seven, I'll die of Seven. I'd make that choice again. You're disgusting."
"I thought they'd stopped selling outliers," Finnick muttered. Johanna wasn't even attractive. Striking maybe, and he wondered what a smile would do to that angular face, but nothing the Capitol would be eager for.
Johanna snorted. "I'm special?"
Finnick frowned, his fists clenching and unclenching absently in rising anger. Hadn't the Capitol ruined enough lives already? "Lots of money involved in the sponsoring business," he said somberly. "You had low odds until almost the end. There was a huge amount of money lost."
"Fuck sponsors."
"Not lost by sponsors," Finnick said, although he didn't mind the sentiment. "When you first killed, the Gamemakers figured it was a fluke, self-defense, adrenaline... so your odds were still low, but Capitolites bet on you, massively. The Capitol, which means President Snow, lost a lot of money when you won. He hates losing."
"It's your fault, Odair."
What?
"During your Tour," Johanna said with an aggravated scowl. "You said the Careers targeted us because we were strong. You said that's why Seven didn't get victors. You could've said, that gassed family came with the victory package."
Finnick swallowed back bile. Yes, he vividly remembered the angry little girl, in that District which listened. Sudden guilt left a bitter taste in his mouth. Her whole family?
Johanna grabbed a stone and threw it with all her might, breathing heavily as it shattered against the faraway reefs. Her anger sizzled through the air, and he struggled to keep his own fury under control. He saw this girl, this strong, willful girl and they'd taken everything from her. She thought she had nothing left.
It usually was under control, the hate, because Finnick had a purpose. The rebellion, everything the Capitol was blind to. Johanna had none of that.
For a second, he saw it through Johanna's eyes. Being left to break, given a big house and useless money as a mockery of a reward. No mentor, no family. No Mags, no Annie. The hate burned him, worse, there was despair, and Finnick couldn't stand it.
"You're right, I'm not of Four anymore. I've given them my body." The words escaped through clenched teeth as Finnick clenched his muscles, willing not to snap. "I've learned to be what they want, to lie, but they've been giving me their secrets. We'll bring them down."
Johanna was staring at him now, her eyes huge.
"Excuse me?" She whispered.
"You never wondered how a fourteen-year-old won?" Finnick said with an angry smile. "I saw you, during the Victory Tour. In the first row. You make me realize even more acutely how the Capitol-approved speech sucked."
Jo barked a chuckle. She immediately swallowed it back but the damage was done. In that instant, they were both victors, and they'd understood each other.
Johanna bit her lip, as if searching his face for clues. "With that pretty face and that dramafest with Mags, I thought they'd just rigged it. You killing the Careers was cool," she added with a thin sharp smile. She shrugged when Finnick remained stone-faced. "I figured your partner decided to hold the sisterly angle when she got screwed over by sponsors, instead of strangling you, because of some District Four pride thing."
"Delfina wasn't pretending," Finnick said, his anger flaring anew. Was that what everyone thought? That she was a hypocrite who'd failed to play the right cards?
Johanna arched her eyebrows, looking unimpressed. "Then she was more screwed up than I thought."
Finnick glowered, his temper dampening when he saw Johanna clutching a rock and half a mind to brain him with it. Finnick raised his hands where they were visible. "Relax," he said. "I'm not angry at you."
She couldn't be more different from Annie. He wondered what it would have been like, to mentor a Johanna. His arm still stung and he knew Johanna's nails had drawn blood. Physically much more painful.
Johanna finally let the rock drop. She crouched on the reefs and swallowed. "So what's your secret then, boytoy?"
Finnick decided to shrug off the nickname for now. "Mags said I'd save a hundred lives for every one I took. She told me they were rebels, and that the victors are the lifeblood of the rebellion, because we are from different districts and come together, because Capitolites listen to us if we play our cards well. This is war. I've been infiltrating the enemies' lines. Many Districts are burning, we have… support." Finnick caught himself in time, he couldn't mention Thirteen. "Mags started it after she won. It's moving fast now. It'll be less than a decade."
Johanna stared. "If you're bluffing, I'm tearing you apart," she said slowly, her jaw hanging slightly.
"I'm telling you, Johanna, because there is a purpose to be had. It's not a child's dream, it's real, other victors are in on it." He looked down, a little uncomfortable. "Unfortunately not in Seven."
Johanna snorted. "Can't blame you for that."
"This isn't over. The battle's begun," Finnick said, and he was fiercely glad, to see something change in Johanna's eyes. "Is Blight there for you?"
"He's full of bullshit and strict rules. I'll rule my own house, thank you very much. He's making it up as he goes, thinking I can't see through him. We fight." She shrugged, her lips curling. "He's not a bad sort."
And you're kind of a bitch.
Johanna was staring at Finnick like she'd never seen him before. "You seriously told me enough to blow your rebellion because I looked like crap?"
Finnick paled as the full import of his actions registered. Johanna's honest question washed away his anger and now wondered what the hell he was doing. Mags would kill him. But he couldn't leave her like that. He couldn't let Snow break them one by one.
"You don't look the type to talk under torture," Finnick said with a wan smile. "Besides, I'm not giving you any task. I'm counting on your hate of them to shut up."
Johanna barked another laugh. There was something mischievous in those eyes when they softened.
Finnick's eyes narrowed. "So, why does Snow hate your family more than he wants to sell you?"
"What?" Johanna said, her scowl back firmly in place.
"Kill them all, he's got nothing on you. He should have just killed a few. I think he intended to kill them all along and knew you'd say no."
Johanna's face fell, and as grief warred with shock it was obvious she'd never considered it. "I had a cousin," she then said, her expression far away, –in your Games- and a great-aunt reaped, and my mother. I was just one year old… I think she knew she'd be, and she wanted to leave Dad something. Rumor was our family was cursed. I think we're just good at creating trouble and bad at keeping our feelings to ourselves." She chuckled dryly, and Finnick figured that's as close to a giggle as Johanna Mason ever got.
"I'd never told anyone that," Johanna said with a grimace. "I see why you're good at being paid in secrets." It was a true smile then, small and hard, but definitely a smile. "An invitation to join a rebellion is my kind of compliment."
Finnick winked. "I'm good with ladies."
Johanna didn't look impressed. "I don't see your lady around."
Finnick swallowed, sudden panic stirring in his chest. "My lady?"
Johanna's eyes narrowed keenly. "Girl you mentored. Something fishy going on there?"
"Shut up. Some in the Capitol would kill her if they even suspected I looked at her. I've been telling them all she's like my little sister."
He was in way too deep to not be honest. What was he doing? There was something about Johanna, something uncomplicated, something that fought.
You cannot trust someone just because they share an enemy with you, Finnick. I'll tell you a story. There was this boy, Kyle -
Mags was really going to kill him.
"Definitely fishy," Johanna said with a smirk. She spat on the reefs. "Does she know?"
"Yes," Finnick said, his lips twitching as he thought of Annie. She was incredible.
Finnick's jaw tightened at Johanna's disgusted expression but she then shrugged. "Takes a weirdo to love a boytoy."
She suddenly looked at him as if he'd done something to offend her. Finnick didn't see the strong shove coming.
He scrambled for balance but it was too late, the world went dark and terribly cold, ice seeped through his skin, searing his insides, his clothes dragged him down and he kicked for his life.
Finnick broke out of the gelid water spluttering and shuddering.
Johanna smirked. "Much better without that filthy sparkling stuff in your hair, boytoy. You almost look a Four now."
"Johanna, you're a bitch," Finnick said, shivering violently as he pulled himself back on the rocks.
He had to smile as Johanna's smirk broadened. "It's Jo, boytoy. Take my coat."
Just like Mags and Cereus, this story isn't about Annie and Finnick's romance. I just write enough to show how it was possible, the rest is up to your imagination and there are many fanfics out there giving their own versions.
So Johanna made her entry, what do you think?
Please review.