WHO: Finnick & Annie WHAT: Annie arrives! WHEN: uh. Thursday? WHERE: medical -> their room WARNINGS: mentions of character death, hunger games stuff, all the feels.
He’d allowed Katniss to put him in medical where Simon could keep an eye on him and where there were plenty of people around. He didn’t like it there. It reminded him of hospital stays after bad clients, and he hated being touched by strangers. But after he what he had put her through in the closet the night before, he’d expected no less.
But this had been an easy way to give Katniss and Peeta time off from babysitting him. So he hadn’t gone on their trip, had them go. He was behaving himself down in medical.
And he knew he was going to have to go on behaving himself, because Katniss would blame herself if anything happened to him while she was away.
He’d been able to procure some extra cloth and was busy tying that into knots now. It was an easy habit to fall back on, one that also helped make sure he was warm, because if he let his hands get too cold, his hands would shake or his fingers would go numb. So, it was a good indicator of when he needed to be touched again, even if he tried to push the limits each and every time. The cloth wasn’t as easy to undo as the rope though, and it was already starting to fray at the edges. He’d need more soon.
…
Annie had gone from a daze of happiness to a stupor of grief more quickly than she could have believed. She hadn’t tried to stop him from going on the mission. She’d been so confident that Finnick would come back. He had made it through the arena twice, he had endured everything the Capitol had thrown at him for years, and the war was so close to being over. They were married. For the first time she’d genuinely felt optimistic that the tide was turning in their favor.
And then he was dead, along with all of the others. They were showing their faces on television. Annie had started to wail, right in the middle of the dining hall, and everyone was looking at her. Then Johanna was at her side, leading her out, back to her room. It was harder to be there, with their things. As soon as Johanna was gone, she had flung open drawers and gone through all of his things, looking for a shirt that smelled like him - the one he’d gotten married in. She sank to her knees and buried her face in it, and cried.
A few people came in and out to check on her. Annie barely took any notice of them, except for Haymitch, who came to drop off the necklace that Finnick had entrusted to him before the Quell. That sent her into a fresh wave of sobs, and by the time she’d cried herself out, he was gone.
Hours and hours-- it might have been even a day-- later, Johanna came back. She had been in before, keeping her distance, probably uncomfortable with the intensity of Annie’s grief, but Annie knew she was trying to take care of her. This time, however, she came right over to Annie and said her name a few times, insistently. It took at least three times before Annie looked at her, trying to make herself understand what Johanna was trying to tell her. “He’s not dead,” she was saying. “They’re still looking for him. He’s not dead.”
Annie closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was somewhere else. The medical facility, she thought, but no one around her was familiar. What had happened? Had she fainted? She didn’t feel injured. She was still clutching Finnick’s shirt and necklace in her hands.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked the doctor, when they appeared at her bedside. “Can I go back to my room now?”
--
His hands messed a step in a knot that he knew by heart, had been doing ever since Mags had shown him when he was six or seven. He frowned. But then, belatedly, he realized it was because he had heard her voice. His heart felt as if it had missed a beat, and he looked up from his work as if he expected to suddenly see her in front of him.
But, no, that was right. Sarah was here. Sarah who looked like Annie, so she probably sounded like Annie too.
So he let go of the hope immediately. He set it out of his mind. He didn’t go looking. He started reworking his knot, aware of the cold that was beginning to twinge in the tips of his fingers.
…
Little oddities about her surroundings came to Annie in little pieces. Not only were the doctors’ faces unfamiliar, but their clothing was different. None of the other people were wearing the usual brown Thirteen garb, either. The walls were different, too, made of stone. She remembered arriving to sterile white walls. It didn’t make sense, but she assumed that she simply didn’t understand, and didn’t ask.
Through the confusion, words reached her. She realized the doctor was asking her something. She looked up at him, catching only the last word: name. “Annie,” she said, unsure why he needed to know it. Maybe he wanted to make sure she knew it. “I’m alright, I think. Did Johanna bring me here? Where is she?”
--
Annie.
That name pierced right through him. (How many times had he heard that name, and had it ever not meant anything? The first time, of course, marked her so clearly: being reaped, coming up to the stage where he was standing with Mags, behind their escort. Annie Cresta. Small and quiet. Unremarkable and unlike to be their next victor, and Finnick had turned his attention away from her too quickly, because he didn’t like getting to know the children they were sending to die.
He’d been very wrong.)
He heard Johanna’s name, too, and his throat went tight. He dropped his cloth to the bed, even though, some part of him didn’t believe she was here. It was a trick. Terrible things happened here all the time. Maybe something had finally and actually broken inside of his head. He walked, looking lost, from bed to bed, until suddenly -- there she was. Holding his necklace, just sitting in one of the beds, talking to a doctor, as if she had never left at all. …
He appeared so suddenly that Annie didn’t entirely believe he was there, either. Sometimes she saw things that weren’t there, things that had happened, either in reality or in her dreams. But she had been doing well, she’d thought, at least until she’d noticed that there were things wrong around her here. Ever since she’d gotten back to Thirteen and found Finnick, everything had been clear.
He looked just as shocked as she was. She stared at him only for a moment, and then scrambled off the bed, shouting his name. And that gave her a sense of deja vu. Was this a dream? Was she back in some strange memory of arriving in Thirteen, that her imagination had turned into Finnick’s arrival back from the Capitol, which might never happen? Was he dead or alive? She didn’t know, but if it was a hallucination, she was helpless to combat it.
She threw her arms around him, and he felt real. No, he felt cold-- so cold. She pulled back to look at him, pressing her hands to his neck and face. His skin warmed under her touch. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. “Why are you so cold?”
--
He tried to say her name in return when she shouted his, but his throat was still closed up and nothing came out. He was staring at her with obvious shock, even when she collided with him. (Warm, his body said, just as surprised as the rest of him.)
He wanted to sink to the ground right there, wrap his arms around her, and never let her go again. He would have cried if he had been able to believe that this was at all real. But he didn’t manage to move because she pressed her hands to his neck and face as if she would be able to read his face to know everything. (She seemed uncannily good at that sometimes when it came to him, and his eyes darted away from hers, almost guiltily.)
“I,” he started to say before realizing that he didn’t really know. Nobody really knew why he was so cold, but it seemed like such a strange thing to worry about now.
“I’ll be fine,” he reassured her, the best words he could come up with.
He was searching her face now, as if his brain had finally started to shuffle the pieces together, starting to believe that she might actually be real and she might actually be here. He carefully pressed one of his hands to her forearm.
…
His skin warmed under her hands, but not quickly enough. It might not have disturbed Annie so much if she hadn’t been so afraid he was dead. She was afraid he was dead now, that the cold was the reality of his lifeless body seeping through the hallucination of him alive, standing, talking. But everything else seemed real. He couldn’t have been holding her if he was dead.
“You’re alive,” she said, trying to make it real with the words. If she insisted it was true, it had to be. He was holding onto one of her arms, but with her free hand, her fingertips found his cheek. She traced it there, on his skin. Alive. “They were wrong. You’re alive. You’re back.”
--
He felt her tracing a word, a quick touch that he couldn’t make out. Still, he waited until she was done until he reached for her hand, cupping it with his own. He maneuvered it gently so that he could press a soft kiss to the palm of her hand. She was here. She was back. She was real. It took him a moment to soak that in, but he couldn’t revel in it too much because she sounded worried. She didn’t remember being here before. That came as no surprise, of course. But she did sound as if she had come soon after he had died.
He felt an all-too familiar kick of guilt over that. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself for putting her thought that.
“I’m alive,” he reassured her quietly, taking her hand and pressing it against his chest, over where his heart was clearly beating even if his skin was only beginning to reach normal temperature.
“You’re not in Thirteen anymore, though,” he told her quietly.
…
Annie could feel his heartbeat under her hand, and it was reassuring. She could still feel the brush of his lips against her palm, too, and when he said he was alive, she believed him. She pressed her hand firmly against his chest and kept it there.
“I’m not?” she said, surprised. And yet, she wasn’t entirely surprised. “I thought it seemed different, but I wasn’t sure.”
--
“No,” Finnick answered, keeping his hand pressed on top of hers. (He felt suckerpunched just by the sight of her, something that wasn’t entirely new. She had always been so beautiful in a way that wasn’t perhaps noticeable at first, but had come to be all he saw about her. She carried a sort of light in spite of everything that had happened and everything she had endured.)
“We’re in a different world,” Finnick said. He didn’t know how else to share this other than bluntly. “The earth is sick here. And a lot of people are pulled from different worlds to here.”
…
It was the strangest thing Finnick had ever told her. Finnick was normally the one who made sense. Had those words come from anyone else, Annie would not have believed them; she’d have assumed they were lying, or that she’d heard them wrong. But she felt the same kind of clarity that Finnick brought to everything, and she knew she hadn’t misheard him. She also knew he wouldn’t lie to her. That meant it must be the truth, as strange as it sounded.
A different world didn’t sound so terrible. She’d dreamed of a different world, one without the Capitol and its machinations. But the earth was sick. That couldn’t be a good thing.
She had so many questions, but what she asked first was, “Are we safe?”
--
Finnick faltered. Safe? No, probably not. Not when they were in a place that was frequently attacked, where she had disappeared without warning, and where he could no longer maintain his body temperature on his own.
“Safer,” Finnick said, aware that it was a weak argument. He didn’t want to scare her just yet, and besides, it was true. Was there any world that existed were they weren’t more safe than the one they had been born in?
…
She saw him hesitate, and wondered what it meant. There didn’t appear to be any danger right nearby. She hadn’t sensed it from the doctors or the others around her. But the kind of danger that wasn’t obvious was the worst kind of all. The invisible threats that had hung over their heads, promising awful things if they took a wrong step. A little tremble ran through her at the thought of them. She’d thought they’d gotten free of those dangers, at least.
“Are we safe?” she asked again. To anyone else it might have sounded like she was repeating the question, but the emphasis made it an entirely different one.
--
“No,” Finnick admitted, although it pained him to do so. He always wanted to protect her, but he had learned, a long time ago, that there was a world of difference between actually protecting her and simply omitting things because he didn’t want her to worry. The latter never actually worked out. At this point in their relationship, she was also simply too good at reading him.
“There are a lot of different dangers here,” he admitted.
…
When he said no, she told herself to pull away. She thought that was what she was supposed to do. But it felt impossible, when he hadn’t let her go. Her hand was still pressed against his chest, held there by his hand over it. Maybe she didn’t understand. Or, she realized a moment later, maybe he hadn’t understood what she meant.
There were different dangers. She would worry about figuring out what those were later, although her imagination wanted to take it and run with it. With effort, Annie kept herself focused on the present moment.
“But we can be together,” she said, uncertainly. Her inflection went up at the end, making it sound like a question. He hadn’t tried to stop her from flinging herself at him, but she was still afraid she’d already messed everything up.
--
Oh. Only belatedly did Finnick realize he’d missed the point of her question. It was stupid, really, when they’d spent so many years shrouded in secret, but he’d had weeks here, with her, where they were a normal family. Nothing more, nothing less. He was more concerned with their physical safety now, but, of course, there was one very obvious benefit to being here. One that had once made him adamant about staying.
He smiled quietly and then leaned in and kissed her gently.
“No one’s going to keep us apart here,” he murmured.
…
An answering smile spread across Annie’s face. Unlike his, it wasn’t quiet, but bright and brilliant, vividly happy. They were in another world, but they were safer than before. Finnick wasn’t dead, and she could be with him. There was nothing else that mattered, not right in this present moment.
She pulled her hand out from under his so that she could throw her arms around his neck again, and kissed him passionately enough to make the world start spinning.
--
Her happiness was contagious. Despite that, he still felt a familiar tug of sorrow, that reminded him how hard it was to lose her. He was afraid of that, to go through that again. And yet, there was nothing to be done about it other than to love her the best and the most that he could while they were here together again. Pushing her away wouldn’t make that sting any less if it came again. It would only be a waste of the time they did have together.
He wrapped both of his arms around her, pulled her tight against him, and kissed her in return. (This was the warmest he had felt in weeks.)
But then -- a sudden thought rang through his head, and he broke off the kiss, resting his forehead against hers.
“How long has it been since they told you I died? When you were in Thirteen?” Finnick asked. (She was pregnant with their son already. Tristan was growing inside of her. He wondered if she even knew that yet.)
…
It occurred to Annie, briefly, that it was a strange question for him to ask. How did he know they’d told her? No, wait, she’d told him. They were wrong, she’d said. He knew because she’d told him.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. Underground, in their room, she hadn’t been able to see the sky. She might not have noticed the days passing even if she had. She tried to remember if the lights had changed, if they’d gone on and off, but they had been off almost the whole time. Except when people had stopped by to check on her. She had no solid way in which to put the passage of time together, so she had to guess. “Days?”
--
Days. He didn’t think that was long enough for her to know, not when Tristan had probably been conceived during their short reprieve after being married in Thirteen.
“How are you feeling?” he asked anyway, stroking one hand through his hair, as if he could simply inspect her wellness by her standing in front of him.
In truth, he knew he would have worried no matter where they were. But it was made a little harder by her being here. He didn’t know that resources they had for pregnancies, but he did know the medical resources were limited in general, especially compared to what they would have had available to them in the Capitol, he begrudgingly admitted to himself.
…
The way he said it made it sound like maybe there should be something wrong. Annie rested her head against his chest and tried to determine if she could feel anything out of the ordinary. Maybe being in a different world was something that could make people sick -- maybe that was why he had been so cold -- or maybe he thought that she had made herself sick with grief. The latter had, in fact, been a near thing. Her sobs had wracked her body to the point that it could have made her ill, but nothing had come out of her except tears. And she’d cried herself out, hours ago.
Now, there was nothing wrong. The different world didn’t seem to be affecting her at all. All she could feel was how happy she was that he was back with her again instead of out on the mission, in danger. Where he might or might not have been dead.
So how was she feeling, right in this moment? “Happy,” she said, with a smile in her voice. It wasn’t a state of health, exactly, and she knew he was probably worrying about that, so she added, “I’m okay, Finnick.”
--
It sounded as if she didn’t know if she was pregnant yet, which was an exceedingly strange position to be put in. He would have to explain everything to her, he knew. That she had been here before, that she had brought their four-year-old son with her. That he did die, that he would leave her alone to raise their son.
But that all seemed like too much right now. It was hard enough explaining where she was without all the extra oddities that came with it.
So, later. After they were alone, and after that had some time to be together.
“All right,” he murmured. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of her head. “Let’s go back to my room then, yeah?” He peered down into her face again. She was fine. And with her here, there was no need for him to stay cooped up in medical. …
“Okay,” Annie said easily. If he wasn’t worried about their safety at the moment, there was no reason for her to be. It wasn’t for protection, but she stayed pressed against his side as she followed him trustingly towards the exit.
As they went, she tried to take in her surroundings. All the differences she’d noticed were real, they meant something now. This place was very similar to Thirteen, but it was not the same. It seemed… older? No, that was the wrong word. Primitive, maybe. In terms of their technology and the way the place was built. But that wasn’t quite right either.
The people were very different, too. No uniformly drab clothing; everyone seemed unique. She found herself wishing she had brighter colors to wear. Which reminded her: “Here,” she said, pressing the necklace into Finnick’s hand as they walked. “This is yours. The shirt is, too.”
--
His necklace. The feel of it in his hands again was so shocking that he almost stopped walking. He didn’t think he’d ever see it again. He’d worn it almost constantly after she had given it to him, one of the rare things that he could take into the Capitol with him without attracting too much attention, passing, usually, even the rigor of his stylist team.
It had tore him to give it to Haymitch when he’d gone into the Quell. He’d been convinced that it was just another thing that he was going to lose before dying in the arena. But he’d needed that bangle, and he knew Annie would understand that, so the necklace had gone to Haymitch.
And here it was again. Returned to him. (Although, if she had it now, that meant he did die without it.)
“Thank you,” Finnick said quietly. He fumbled to get it on himself, and managed just before they go to his room. He opened the door and smiled at her, ushering her inside.
…
“This place isn’t very different from Thirteen,” Annie commented, as they entered the room. It was different, but in subtle ways. It still had the same feel of being underground, a similar structure to its hallways and its rooms. It might have been easier to believe they were in a different world if it had looked more different.
She didn’t really care, though. One world was just as good as another as long as Finnick was in it.
Inside, she moved away from him to explore the room. She’d been half expecting it to be their room, so it was strange, to see a room with Finnick’s things in it, and not hers. It made the difference in the worlds feel a little more real. She walked along the side of the bed, tracing her fingertips over the blanket, and then sat down on the edge of it. She folded up the shirt of his that she’d been holding and set it aside. Then she looked up at him, trying for the first time to assess if anything about him was different. His clothes were different; she’d never seen them before. There were smaller, subtler things too, but they were more difficult to put her finger on, even though she knew him so well. After a moment, she gave up on trying to figure it out herself, she patted the bed beside her to invite him to sit down.
And that was when she noticed that he wasn’t wearing his ring. Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her head, looking questioningly at his hands.
--
He didn’t say anything about Thirteen because, well, he didn’t know. He had never been to Thirteen. Really, he was too busy just looking at her, just taking in the sight of her being so near. The way she moved, the way she smelled. He was so in love with her that it was incredible to think there was a time when his feelings for her hadn’t been obvious.
He headed over to the bed when she gestured for him to join her. He took her hand gently in his, just holding onto her. He saw her expression, the confusion that passed over her face -- and then realized it was because he didn’t have a wedding ring on. She did.
“So,” he said calmly. “One of the other weird things about being here is that people can come from different points in time. I’m only from the end of the Quarter Quell.” He looked her as he spoke, trying to see how she would take that news.
…
The end of the Quarter Quell. Those words summoned a memory of being in her house, watching him on television, or rather, watching Katniss, because all the cameras had been showing her as she’d shot the arrow into the forcefield. And then… everything had gone black. Annie remembered pressing buttons on her television, trying to make it show her what was happening, but there was nothing. And then the Peacekeepers had come for her. Her eyelids fluttered a little as she shoved that memory away and tried to make sense of what it meant for him.
“So you were in the arena,” she said. “And then you were… here?” She looked at him for confirmation. “You didn’t go to Thirteen. You weren’t there while I was in the Capitol. And then… but you were… you were there after they rescued me. We got married.”
--
“I was in the arena,” Finnick said quietly, because it was hard to ever think of the arena lightly. He traced his fingers slowly against hers. He knew it was hard too, because he came from a difficult time, but he hadn’t experienced many of the difficult things she had gone through. Or many of the good ones. It was hard to know that. That their time in Thirteen was made up of both of the worst and best times of their lives.
“But I know everything that happens,” he reassured her gently. He lifted her hand and pressed a soft kiss to her pulse point and then met her gaze again.
“I know Snow takes you to the Capitol because of me,” Finnick said, his tone still hushed. “I know you come back. We get married. And then I leave on a mission with Katniss.” He didn’t want to tell her now, but he couldn’t risk anybody else telling her. It was going to devastate her, and he needed to be the one to help her through the news. “I don’t come back from that mission, Annie.”
…
Annie was less concerned with whether he knew what happened than whether he had actually been there. But if he knew it, then he must have been there. Somehow. She didn’t quite understand how, but he talked about it like it had really happened, so she felt somewhat reassured. She hadn’t told him about the mission, either, so that was real too. And…
“No,” she said, turning her head away. She tried to lift her hands to cover her ears, to keep the words from registering in her thoughts. She’d almost started to believe it wasn’t true, that Johanna was right after all, that he didn’t die -- how could he die when he was right here in front of her? -- but he was saying it was real. She didn’t want to believe it. “No, no, no.”
--
He let her hands go, because he knew that was she needed to do sometimes. He wouldn’t stop her. He would let her deal with this however she needed to -- because he knew it was likely the worst thing she could hear. Because he would have been the same, for him, if he had lost her.
“Yes,” he said gently, sliding down so that he was kneeling in front of her, looking up at her. He rested his hands gently on her knees. “Yes, Annie.” …
Her hands covered her ears, and she closed her eyes tight, trying to shut it out. But it was too late, the grief was already inside of her. She had seen the picture of him on the screen, his face amongst the other faces of the dead. She almost wanted to ask about the others, but her sadness over Finnick overwhelmed everything, and she couldn’t. She barely knew Katniss and Peeta, only knew that they mattered to the rebellion, and to Finnick. They had been nice to her, too. Katniss had let Annie wear one of her dresses, and Peeta had decorated their wedding cake, even though he had been hijacked and tortured in the Capitol. She remembered him screaming, but he’d made something so beautiful…
She didn’t want to know if they were dead. She didn’t want to have more people to mourn. She didn’t want to mourn anyone at all, but especially not Finnick.
She’d thought she was out of tears, but they were running down her face again. Silent tears this time, not the wracking sobs of before, but they almost hurt even more. He was here, she could feel him, but he was telling her that he was dead. Her mind couldn’t make sense of it. How could he be alive and dead at the same time?
“But you’re here,” she said, anguished. She didn’t want to open her eyes, because she was afraid of seeing him dead. Cold. He’d been so cold... “You’re alive. You can’t be dead.”
--
“I know,” Finnick said quietly. He didn’t know how to help her through this pain. He was the cause of it. He didn’t know if he should try and be near here or give her some same to process. When he saw her start to cry, all he wanted to do was gather her up in his arms.
“I’m fine here, but I don’t make it through the end of the war back home,” he said, knowing that he wasn’t saying anything new. He kept running his hands gently over her legs, trying to make it a comforting touch.
“But you do, Annie,” Finnick said. “And you go on and you have a wonderful life, even without me. And that makes me so happy.” He lifted one hand and gently pressed his fingertips to the side of her face.
…
Annie was doing her best to make sense of it, but the truth was so painful that all her mind wanted to do was shy away from it. It was slowly sinking in anyway, because he kept insisting on it, kept correcting her in his gentle way, and she trusted him. She knew he wouldn’t tell her any of this if it wasn’t true.
Really, both of them had known it was probably too much to hope that the life together they’d started in Thirteen might actually last. Getting married had been impossible enough. Actually being able to stay together the way they wanted was an even bigger thing to ask for. All she’d wanted was for him to live. If they’d both stayed alive, they could have made it work somehow. She could have been happy with anything so long as he was alive, but apparently they weren’t going to be allowed even that.
Not at home, at least. A few more of his words had gotten through to her: I’m fine here. He was safer here, and they could be together. But it just felt like another brief reprieve before she lost him. She didn’t dare hope that it would last.
She opened her eyes, finally, and looked at him. Her hands lowered, moving from her ears to the sides of his face. Her fingers traced his jaw, his cheeks, his ears, the wisps of hair that framed his face. “How long?” she asked, quietly. She wasn’t exactly crying anymore, but a few last tears were still slipping from her eyes, tracing lines down her face. “How long do we have here?”
--
Finnick stayed in place as she traced his face, only turning his head, briefly, to press a small kiss to her wrist. He could see that she was still upset but that she was also starting to accept what he had told her.
“I don’t know,” Finnick admitted. “People come and go here all the time, without warning.” He needed to tell her that she had been here before too, that he had met their son. He suspected the first part would be overwhelming. (Well, the second too.) But she would probably be excited about their baby, even if it did mean raising him alone -- no, not alone, because she had help. Just without him.
“Annie, I have one more big thing to tell you,” he said quietly. “Do you want to hear it now or later? It’s not bad,” he added quickly. “Just confusing.” …
He didn’t know. Of course he couldn’t know. They never could know how much time they had left. They’d dared to hope that they had a lot of it, that the war would be won, that they would have a future after. Annie saw now that it wasn’t going to be that way. She could have this, this uncertainty. Or she could have the life he told her she would have later, one that he said was happy, but it was inescapably, unavoidably, without him. She’d chosen the uncertainty and the hiding and everything else over and over again, and she would do it again, now. Not that it appeared to be her choice, but still.
“Now,” she said, because there was no waiting anymore, was there? There was no guarantee that he would be able to tell her again later. “You can tell me now.”
--
“You’ve been here before, sweetheart,” he told her gently. “You were from a couple of years after the war -- after I’d died. You brought our son with you.”
He stopped himself then, because he knew he’d just told her two things that were going to be overwhelming and were going to take some getting used to.
The reminded of Tristan didn’t come without its own pain. He’d loved being a father. He hadn’t expected to enjoy it that much. It was something he’d never allowed himself to hope for. When Annie and Tristan had first arrived here, he’d been a little nervous about trying to get too close. Annie had raised him on her own, beautifully, for so long, and he hadn’t wanted to complicate anything -- but, oh, he’d loved their son with an intensity he didn’t know was possible.
And even with her here, right in front of him, he couldn’t help but grieve, because he would never see his son grow up completely. As he’d just told her, people came and left at a whim here. They couldn’t build a full life here together. He was stealing more time with her, but they had something to build on. Tristan was different.
…
The first part was confusing, but not actually more confusing than the fact that she was here, that he was here, that he knew her future at all. It explained that part, in fact. In a manner of speaking. It still didn’t make sense, but at least she knew how he’d found out what her life was like after him.
It was still hard to believe that she was happy in a world without him. He had always been a bright spot in a dark and confusing place. But there was something else tugging at the corner of her mind, that wanted her attention, telling her she hadn’t quite sorted out exactly what it was he was trying to say. Words, two words. Our son.
But that was impossible, she thought at first. He wouldn’t come back from the mission. They would never have the chance to have children. Unless…
Her surprise stopped her tears. Her eyes widened, instead, and her hand flew to her stomach before her mind had even entirely caught up with the meaning of what he was saying. They had a son, who must, even now, be growing inside of her. So strange, to know she would have a child, that it would be a boy, before she’d even begun to feel pregnant. And yet, in some part of her being, she knew it was true.
A whole myriad of emotions flickered over her face. Surprise and grief lingered, mingled with awe, with something close to joy, but it was bittersweet. There would still be a piece of Finnick left in the world for her after he was gone, but he didn’t have the same comfort. The only thing coming for him was the torment of knowing she was in the Capitol because of him, and then a brief period of happiness when she came back -- so brief! -- and then nothing. Fighting. Death. Blood. Fear.
And she couldn’t even tell him that he would get to stay here, and be fine. Or that she would stay with him, for however long he had. She could sense it in him, that he wouldn’t believe it. Because she had been here before, and they had probably made those promises to each other. And then suddenly, she had gone. Without warning. She knew all of that without him having to spell it out. Maybe she’d even known it since the moment she’d first seen him standing there, shocked, staring at her, only she hadn’t wanted to stop and question it then.
“I’m here, Finnick,” she said quietly, both of her hands returning to his face. It was the only thing she could give him with any certainty. That right now in the present moment, she was here. And so was the small, tiny little flicker of life inside of her, that she was almost sure she could feel, even though she was sure any reasonable person would say that was impossible. “He’s here, too. Isn’t he?”
--
“I know you are,” Finnick said, smiling up at her. He knew it would destroy him if she left again. But then, they had always operated under the awareness that their time together might be fleeting. That they might lose each other at any moment. That they couldn’t take each other for granted. So he wouldn’t do anything different this time. He would love her, the best that he could, for however long they had this time.
“I think so,” Finnick said, nodding. “He’s beautiful, Annie. You’re going to love him so much.” His voice broke a little at that, because he couldn’t help himself. But he knew she would. She was a wonderful mother, something he was certain she had probably been scared of. They hadn’t planned Tristan, but Annie had been strong enough to move forward anyway, even without him.
…
“I know,” Annie said, smiling at him. Her vision was blurry, and she realized she was tearing up again. The tears were at least partially happy this time, even if they were more than equally sad, in a crushing, heart wrenching kind of way.
It was impossible not to be happy with the knowledge that she was pregnant, that she would have a son. And yet it was impossible not to be sad at the same time, for both of them, because raising their son without him was so impossibly heartbreaking that she could hardly stand it. Her joy and sadness should have canceled each other out, but each seemed to make the other even greater: happiness felt more keenly because of the painful edge to it, and sadness even more powerful because she was so happy and had so much to lose.
“I love him already,” she whispered, not trusting her voice. “And I love you.” She stroked the side of his face, lovingly. “Tell me what we do now, Finnick.”
--
“I love you too,” Finnick answered back immediately, words he would never be able to not answer. He pressed forward, kissing her gently, just his lips touching hers for a moment. He lingered there, pressing his forehead against hers. The request was so broad, and he wasn’t sure he had a good answer to it.
“Just be together,” Finnick said quietly, stroking his fingers through her hair. “Try to make the best out of the time we have here.” They had jobs here. Katniss and Peeta were here. It wasn’t the same life they had painstakingly cobbled together back in Four, but it was something that they could work with. Their last chance to be together.
…
Annie nodded, a very slight motion, because her head was pressed against his. She brushed another kiss against his lips, lingering, memorizing the feeling of his mouth against hers, his skin under her palms, the texture of his hair where her fingertips touched it. It crossed her mind that there would come a day, sooner or later, when she would never be able to touch him again, and that nearly unbearable pain tugged at her heart. But she didn’t want to make him bear her pain in losing him while he was still alive; he had enough pain and fear of his own. She had to make this as easy and wonderful for him as possible, to try to cancel out the hovering shadow of his future.
“Come here,” she murmured, one hand curling into his shirt. She wanted him in the bed beside her, so that she could wrap her arms around him properly, rest her head against his chest. So that he could do the same, and feel that she was warm and real and here. It didn’t have to be anything more than that, just the two of them holding each other. She just wanted to soak in the reality of him being here with her, alive.
--
Finnick did as she asked without hesitation. He slipped back into the bed with her, laying back and wrapping his arms around her immediately. He smoothed one hand gently up and down her back. It was unbelievable that she was back. He was so afraid that none of this was real, that he was going to wake up and find that this had been another nightmare.
But this felt real. (Quietly, he couldn’t help but think back to his night with Katniss in the closet and had the decency to be ashamed about how he had acted. He knew that he needed to be better, but sometimes he just grew tired of fighting. He didn’t have the same tenacity as many of the others.)
He kissed the top of her head gently.
…
Annie slid backward onto the bed, having to let go of him briefly to find a comfortable position, and then wrapping herself around him again. She tucked herself against him, aligning her body easily with his, her arms going around as much of him as they could. But she drew one hand back after only a moment, to rest on his chest instead, feeling his heartbeat. And then, almost of their own accord, she started to trace letters on him through his shirt, unsure of the words they were forming or if they formed words at all.
“What’s this world like?” she asked, curiously, after a moment. “Are we stuck in here, or is there an outside?”
--
He could feel the letters that she was tracing out on his skin. He tried to follow them at first, but when they didn’t seem to form any words, he gave up.
“There’s a world outside,” Finnick murmured. “But not many people left. This world is sick from radiation, so almost everyone and everything died. A lot of what’s left can be dangerous.” Really, if he had been able to pick where he would have wanted to end up, this wasn’t the place. But he could endure what they had been dealt.
“Katniss and Peeta are here,” he said suddenly, remembering them as an obvious positive.
…
Annie’s fingers stilled as she imagined it. He had said something about the earth being sick before, but she hadn’t completely processed it. Sick from radiation. Did that mean there had been a war here, too? She knew there had been a war once, that there were still nuclear weapons in Panem, that everyone was worried about the repercussions of them being used. But she didn’t want to talk about war, so she didn’t ask. It didn’t really matter, not right now.
“They are?” she asked, surprised. She almost asked if there was anyone else, but figured he would have mentioned it. Especially if it was anyone she’d want to see, like Johanna. “Are they okay? Is Peeta better?”
--
“They are,” Finnick answered with a smile. It was nice to be able to give some good news with no strings attached. “And he is. He’s doing really well here. In fact,” Finnick dropped his voice to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “They just got engaged here, so you need to make sure to give them a lot of grief about it so that I’m not the only one doing that.”
He assumed that her being here was going to be a pretty big gift to them in a different way. They weren’t going to have worry all that much over whether or not someone was touching him anymore, so they would be able to be alone far more often.
…
“Oh,” Annie said, smiling in turn. “Good.”
It was nice to have good news that wasn’t bittersweet, at all. At least, it didn’t seem to be. The announcer on television had said that Katniss and Peeta were dead too, but maybe what Johanna had said was actually true for them. That they weren’t dead, and they had a happy future. Their lives had been no easier than hers and Finnick’s, and they deserved it.
She laughed, and turned her face into his neck. “You’re so mean. Yes, of course, I’ll be mean with you.”
--
“Being mean,” Finnick scoffed, feeling himself turn into the person he could only be with her. “Who said anything about being mean? I simply want to tease two of our very good friends over how fortunate they are to legally binding themselves for life. Is that so wrong?”
He only did it because he loved the two of them and because he knew their road together hadn’t been easy. (But he’d experienced first hand how much they cared for each other. Arguably, besides the two of them, there was no one here who was happier than he was that Katniss and Peeta were getting married.)
He slipped his fingers underneath her chin so that he could raise her head up. He looked at her and smiled.
“You’re so beautiful,” he told her and leaned in to kiss her gently again.
…
Annie laughed again. She knew he wouldn’t really be mean. She had seen, on television, not just how much Katniss and Peeta mattered to each other but that they mattered to Finnick, too. Even in the arena, he had genuinely cared about keeping them alive. Some of that had been for the rebellion, but she knew him too well. They were his friends, really, because she’d only spent a little bit of time with Katniss and none at all with Peeta, who’d been hijacked-- but she liked them. Katniss had treated her better than most other victors even in the short time they’d spent together, and both of them had contributed to the wedding.
She liked, too, that teasing them about being married and having a life together meant that he didn’t resent them for it. Annie couldn’t have begrudged them for it, either. Their lives had been just as difficult and she was glad that at least someone had managed to get the kind of life they wanted. That was the whole point of what they were fighting for, wasn’t it?
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she said, smiling at him. The expression softened even more when he refocused on her, and she leaned in too, for the kiss. Her eyelids fluttered, savoring it.
Carefully, she shifted over until she was lying on top of him, her feet tucking around his legs. She used one hand to prop herself up a little so as not to to crush him completely, and so that she could look down at him, her eyes warm. Flattery was always a little bit complicated with Finnick; she thought he was beautiful, too, but she knew it was a word that had been used for just his looks so many times, and she meant it in terms of his heart and soul too. She didn’t know precisely where his mind was, how good his self esteem was, right in this moment. He was putting on a good show of making light of things, but he had a talent for that.
She pressed a hand to the side of his face and kissed him, more deeply and slowly and lingeringly than she’d done since she had arrived. Then she pulled back just the slightest bit, her lips still barely brushing his, her gaze fixing on him. “Is this okay?” she asked him, quietly.
--
Finnick remained still when she rolled on top of him. He ran one hand gently down her back and smiled quietly up at her when she looked down at him. (Obviously studying, but he was okay with that. He didn’t have anything to hide from her. All of his problems and difficulties here had come from her not being here. So he was okay now.)
He hummed quietly up into the kiss, pressing his hand in between her shoulder blades.
“Yes,” he answered, his mouth still flush with hers. He knew they had their difficulties, but he’d been here for a little while now and had had more time to heal with her. With the addition of the Quarter Quell, this was probably the longest he’d gone without sleeping with multiple people since he’d turned 15.
…
He answered her with his body before he answered her in words, and that was fine. Annie trusted him to tell her the truth, or at least the truth so far as he knew it. It had been years, but just because the trust between them had increased didn’t mean he was always okay. His role as the Capitol’s darling was ongoing, or at least it had been at home. Until Thirteen, or, she supposed, until he’d gotten here. She was relieved to know that this place had not seemed to hurt him anymore in that way, at least. If they could be together here, and he didn’t have to let anyone else touch him, maybe he would finally be able to heal.
Of course, there was that other kind of uncertainty at the back of her mind, the unknown amount of time they had left and the possibility that either of them might disappear. But she wasn’t going to think about that just now. She had missed him painfully, and she wanted him, and only his comfort and safety would have stopped her.
“Okay,” she murmured, and returned to the kiss, letting him draw her closer. Her hands threaded into his hair, cradling his head. She didn't try to write anything on his skin, but with her hands, her lips, her tongue, she tries to tell him: I love you. I’m here.