Nineteen

Finnick let the waves rock him as he floated, watching the grayish sky overhead. The weather was starting to get worse, and soon his daily swims at the beach would have to be shorter, or they would be straight over until spring arrived, at least. The outside temperature gave him goosebumps as he got out of the water, although the feeling was so familiar to him that he hardly found it unpleasant anymore. He slowly made his way to the shore, and then quickened his pace across the sand, to where he had left his towel. He put it over his shoulders, glancing sideways at the sky, where some dark clouds were beginning to appear, and he started walking home.

In the distance, a group of fishermen could be seen, almost as if they were queuing, spread out along the breakwater, with another group among the rocks focused on their work. That area of the beach was the quietest, because the houses of the Victors' Village bordered directly on it and it seemed like they had an unspoken agreement by which no one dared to bother them. Still, Finnick preferred either mornings or afternoons like this, before sunset, because then he could cross paths with fewer people. It hadn't always been like this, but in those weeks in particular, it was also preferable.

They were in that period between the end of the Games and the next arrival of the Victory Tour, a few months of respite and, at the same time, full tension, especially for those who had lost everything and would have to be remembered of it again. It wouldn't be pleasant for anyone, not even those who won, he knew that well, since his own life had slowly gone down the drain at the end of the tour too. He wouldn't have a clear conscience now either, it was enough for him to have seen Robin's parents by chance near the port a few days ago, and watch them walk away as soon as they recognized him. At that moment, he wondered how Katniss was handling it, if she was already killing Haymitch or the prep team for the outfits they would pick out for her, if she was nervous or just wanted to get it over with soon. Truth be told, she would never be done, since the end of the tour would automatically make her a mentor. He had also believed once he was safe after winning, but one way or another, such a wish was never fulfilled.

Finnick slowed his pace as he found himself at the back of his house. It was more similar to cottage than a mansion compared to the residence of other victors, but he preferred it that way. He liked the scarce touches of marble combined with the tile and the bluish color of the outside. It had always seemed to him like an extension of the sea and although he had barely been able to share it as he should, it felt like a real home. The first thing he did when he entered was to go straight to the shower, since as much as he loved the smell of salt, it was most uncomfortable to go to bed with that sticky feeling on his skin. When he finished, he put on a simple cotton t-shirt and some comfortable pants and checked if he was on time. If he was counting correctly in less than half an hour they would be knocking on his door, so he went down the stairs to the kitchen, turned on the television and the oven.

Given the mess he was with the kitchen and cooking in general, it was surprising that he liked that corner of the house so much. Maybe it was because of the huge window over the sink, which opened all the space to the sea, as if it were right there. At that moment he didn't have the best of views. Apart from the fishermen, a group could be seen training, running along the beach at a brisk pace. They were just kids led by their coaches and his throat closed a little when he thought of himself walking the same paths years ago. His family had never been crazy about the Games, his parents had simply believed it would be the best for him, that he would be safer if he trained, just in case. Just in case.

Finnick looked back inside. To his left was the living room combined with the dining room and when he looked back there it was impossible for him to jump over the shelf with the collection of shells that had once belonged to Annie, or the immaculate photo frame in which she appeared so joyous, so calm. It was painful for him, but he preferred to remember her that way. Finnick couldn't blame her for her decision, much less hate her, for that he already had himself. He should have done more for her, everything could have ended differently.

After a moment of doubt, he retraced his steps to make sure the oven was really on. He'd never put any effort into learning how to use it, or anything else in that kitchen, for that matter, not if it involved actual cooking. That night he had also bought dessert, of course. When the doorbell rang a few minutes later he was grateful not to be left alone with his thoughts and the background noise of the television any longer, with some corporate song of the Capitol playing now. A face that was more than familiar to him appeared before him, a face that undoubtedly showed the passing of time, but that never stopped having the same warmth in its gaze. Finnick held the door and smiled.

"Mags."

She was like a mother to him, or maybe an aunt or grandmother taking their ages into account, since Mags' grandchildren were already older than him and she had even had his first great-granddaughter recently.

"Finn," she whispered in his ear as Finnick leaned down to hug her.

No one called him that outside of his family. Every time he heard it, no matter how many times that was, he became a child again, someone loved, someone who was safe. Mags caressed his cheek for a moment and crossed the threshold, giving way to another younger woman behind her, but someone who had the same smile and genuineness as her mother.

"Hello, Melia," Finnick greeted, with another short hug.

"So dressed up to be at home. Did you get back from swimming?"

"Always," he smiled. "Yeah, just came back".

The woman handed him a tray wrapped with cooking foil.

"Put this in the oven, will you? It's probably already cool and you know how mom gets with food."

Finnick turned around, slamming the door with his foot and the tray in his hands. Mags liked things at the temperature meant for them, although it couldn't have gotten much colder from her house at the end of Victor's village anyway.

"You can sit down now if you want," he told them from the kitchen.

Mags muttered something about how she could still walk perfectly, which caused his daughter to laugh. Since she had had the stroke it was difficult to fully understand her when she spoke and she ended up communicating more through gestures than words. It would always amaze Finnick that even that hadn't dampened her spirits. However, he had noticed she was thinner when he hugged her, more fragile, perhaps. She no longer left the house as much as before and if she came to see him once or twice a month like then she already considered it an achievement. He guessed time passed for everyone, but that didn't make it any less difficult to digest, not when she had been with him through so many horrible moments, the Games, the loss of his parents, Annie's. Mags had never left him, never.

"How is Sena doing?", he asked Melia back in the living room.

Both of them had already found a seat in a corner of the largest sofa, next to the terrace window.

"Growing faster and faster every day," she responded, with a slight smile when talking about her first granddaughter. "Next time they come here she'll be able to say your name."

Finnick found it a bit unlikely, but he nodded slightly as he finished setting the table. He didn't know where he would be the next few months, he hoped to stay away from the Capitol with the unique exception of the Games, like he had until then. He looked at them for a second and wondered where he would be when he reached their ages, if he ever got there. If it was difficult for him to picture his life in a year, it was harder to think about the decades to come. It was complicated, in general, to imagine having a life of his own, he had already tried with Annie once and he had ended up again, like he always did: alone. He knew that deep down he wasn't; he had Mags, Johanna, Haymitch, in a way, but reality was there to remind him. He always came back to an empty house, there was no one to tell how his day had gone or what things were keeping him awake at night.

"What's that?" Mags asked, gesturing exasperatedly at the television. "Finn."

He shrugged.

"I wasn't seeing it, it's just…there."

"It's not good for you," his former mentor protested again.

Finnick stopped for a moment to listen to whatever program he had on and discovered they were discussing the Victory Tour, reviewing the best moments from previous years and betting on Katniss's final arrival at the Capitol, what the party or the outfits would be like, as if it were the event of the year. It truly was.

"They're going to end up getting here eventually, anyway," he justified himself. "I have to find out about those things, you know."

"You've always wanted for it to pass as quickly as possible," Melia remembered, giving him a look that seemed a little worried to Finnick.

He sat on the other couch next to them and stared at Melia for a while. Giving them a smile and telling them he was fine would not work, because they really knew him.

"I'm a little worried," he admitted, at the same time he saw Mags frown a little. "I'm worried about her."

He lifted his chin as he saw some footage of Katniss in the last interview at the Capitol, a movement the two of them immediately followed.

"Katniss Everdeen?"

Mags continued to look at the screen after Finnick nodded and imitated him, as if she agreed.

"She shouldn't have said some things she said at the Games. Having so much pity for the girl from 11…She also took Estee's passing badly." At that moment he didn't say it had felt just as bad for him, because it was clear. "Too much empathy, let's say. I talk to her from time to time, she is a good girl and I'm worried about the direction her victory may take."

Melia pulled back her bun a little, in a half-nervous gesture, after giving a sideways glance to her mother and then to him.

"You don't believe that..."

She didn't complete the question, but Finnick did in his mind: you don't believe they'll do the same thing to her as they did to you?

"I don't know, Haymitch is trying to protect her. Sell her as a savior, a family-oriented person and that stuff. Mags, you know he's a little chaotic, but he's smart."

"Yes," she murmured. "He can do it."

Finnick sighed.

"She's seventeen, she's young but not too young to be inappropriate for them, we know that doesn't turn them away either though."

At that moment, Mags rose slightly to squeeze his hand a little. Finnick smiled sadly.

"She's the first female winner in her district," he added. "Being unattainable and desirable is a dangerous combination."

Mags shook her head.

"Not the first one. Lucy," she added. Finnick couldn't remember anyone before Haymitch, but, at the beginning, the Games hadn't been like they were currently, he knew that from Mags, so he figured she would be right. "Before me."

Melia, on the other hand, smiled at him.

" It's very nice of you to try to help her, Finnick."

"I had people who did it for me."

And he would always be grateful, although even that hadn't been enough, it made a difference to feel supported. He stood up with an exhalation and a half smile escaped him as he caught the smell coming from the kitchen.

"We should have dinner before I burn the house down."

Melia shook her head a little and Finnick discovered the same warm glow in Mags' eyes that he recognized. This time the story would end well. It had to.