Finnick Odair (changingtide) wrote in the100, @ 2015-12-02 22:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | annie cresta, finnick odair |
WHO: Finnick & Annie
WHAT: A game of Real or Not Real
WHEN: Mid-November
WHERE: Their room
WARNINGS: Typical Hunger Games content
She was in Thirteen. In her room, alone, but the bed still smelled like Finnick. His shirt was pressed against her face. It felt real, warm, but she was pretty sure she was dreaming. He wasn’t here. He had gone off to war, on a mission.
But the dream was nice, for the moment, and she didn’t want to wake. She opened her eyes and he was there. Or maybe she was wherever he was, because this room didn’t look quite like their room in Thirteen. It was similar, though.
Some part of her mind was trying to tell her that it wasn’t right. He wasn’t in their room in Thirteen, and he wasn’t in this room either. He was somewhere else. Dangerous. In the Capitol. Where there were exploding buildings. No, not in the buildings. Sewers. Mutts in the sewers…
Her eyes closed, but that was where the bad images were, inside of her head, so she opened them again. Finnick was still there. She was still dreaming. That was okay, the dream was better. He would still be here until she woke up. She huddled against his chest, clinging to his shirt. Maybe she didn’t have to wake up at all.
--
Finnick slowly woke up, quietly becoming aware of how tightly Annie was clinging to the shirt that he was wearing. He blinked a few times and ran his hand up and down her back without really thinking about it. It had been good to have her back here. It was a little weird still, because he knew that Tristan was growing inside of her, a son he already knew well. She also was having a little more trouble here, if only because the news of his death was so fresh to her. When she’d be here before, she’d had years to come to terms with losing him.
He leaned in to press a soft kiss to the top of her hair, but for the time being, he was content to remain in bed curled up with her. It was too cold to wander far and, if he was being honest, he never liked being far from her.
…
“Don’t wake up,” Annie murmured into his shirt. The hand on her back was nice. So was the kiss on her head. She wanted to kiss him, but she was worried if she opened her eyes again she might wake up. She murmured it one more time before daring to lift her head and look at him. “Don’t wake up.”
He was still there. She smiled at him. The dream was safe and warm and secure. Nothing was dangerous here. Nothing could harm him.
--
Finnick keyed into the fact that something was maybe a little off when she started to murmur up not waking up. They both had their fair share of unsettling dreams and terrifying nightmares, but he wasn’t entirely sure what was prompting this response now.
Paying attention and being compassionate were probably his only defense, as always.
He smoothed one hand along cheek, his thumb riding along her cheekbone as he openly admired just how pretty she was.
“What are we not waking up from?” he asked, almost as if it was a game.
…
It was a very good dream. Warm. Real. His hands felt solid. Annie’s smile widened a little. Maybe being a little bit mad wasn’t going to be so horrible, if it meant she could keep him in her dreams. If it meant her mind could make him real even when he wasn’t.
She turned her head to kiss his palm.
“It’s a good dream,” she murmured, against his skin. “You’re here.”
--
Oh.
He hadn’t seriously had to work to prove to her that he was real since she’d arrived. He wasn’t even sure how set she was on this being a dream. But he didn’t want her to think this was a dream. Because this was real and that meant they could appreciate it so much more.
“No,” Finnick said lightly, warmly, almost teasingly. He took the hand that she was kissing and slid it along her arm so that he could grasp her hand lightly. He pulled it up to his chest so that he hand was pressed over where his heart was beating.
“This isn’t a dream, see?” he murmured.
…
“Isn’t that what a dream would say,” Annie murmured. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a remembering. Someone had said something like that to her. Not about dreams, though. Hallucinations. A blonde girl. She thought she saw things that weren’t real, too…
She wasn’t sure she wanted to follow that thought. It might lead her out of the dream. Then he was touching her hand, and Annie’s whole attention was on the placement of her hand on his chest, the beat of his heart under his skin. He felt alive. Real. But was it really him, or was her mind making it seem real?
She’d never had to doubt Finnick’s reality before. He was always real. But he was dead. Sewers… mutts…
She shook her head, trying to make that nightmare go away. A nightmare inside a dream. Or was that part just a nightmare? She waited for the nightmare part to take over, prove that it was only in her mind. Show her Finnick, dead, and then she would wake up to him alive. No, it was the other way around. He was alive in the dream. She would wake up and find he was gone.
But he wasn’t fading, dissolving, going away. She pressed her hand into his shirt, feeling his heartbeat, the solidity of his chest. He felt real. She wanted him to be real.
“Don’t want to wake up,” she said again, plaintively.
--
“Even dream me wouldn’t lie to you though,” Finnick said, only a little teasing. He knew that was the problem with any sort of reasoning when it came to tricks the mind played. All he could do was wait until Annie realized where she was.
But it hurt him, in his own way, that she had to worry over whether or not he was real. Once, that was one of the steadiest things between them, And he knew it was his fault that it wasn’t any longer. He had left her alone.
“We’re in a different world,” Finnick said slowly, gently, keeping one hand on top of hers, the other against her back. “Do you remember?”
…
Annie contemplated that for a moment. It was true that in her dreams, Finnick never lied. He didn’t always tell her the whole truth, for her safety, but he was more truthful with her than anyone else. He wouldn’t lie to her in a dream. He was the part of her mind that was always honest.
She closed her eyes, absorbing what he’d said. She wasn’t dreaming. That meant this was real, he was here with her. So his death… was that the dream? Just a nightmare? No, she hadn’t dreamed about that. She had been in Thirteen. In her room. He was somewhere else. Fighting. Dying. Never coming back.
And then she’d ended up here. Different world; she did remember that. A name came to her, and she said it aloud, tentatively, hesitantly, not sure if she was right. “Mount Weather.”
--
“That’s real,” Finnick murmured, his hand resting on her lower back. “We’re in Mount Weather. Together.” He didn’t tell her anything else for now, because he knew she would remember. It wasn’t imperative for their safety. He just wanted her to know the truth and the reality of the situation.
But there wasn’t any pressing reason for them not to lounge in bed for a little while, so hopefully that would help her stabilize her mind and where they were.
He wanted to kiss her, but that felt wrong as long as she didn’t believe he was actually here.
…
It was coming back to her, slowly. She had been in Thirteen, crying over Finnick. That hadn’t been a dream, or maybe it was this time, but it hadn’t been before. Johanna had been there. Then she’d woken up here, in the hospital. Seen Finnick.
“Cold,” Annie murmured, eyes closed, remembering the touch of his skin, how icy it had been at first. It still got cold sometimes but not like before. She touched him too often for that. She kept him warm. He hadn’t needed that before, not in the same way. This world had made him cold like the snow outside. Everything about this world, this mountain of weather, was cold. But he was still alive, and she was warm. Warm enough for both of them.
For… all three of them.
Pressing her cheek against his chest, she said quietly, “I remember.”
--
“Cold,” Finnick admitted. He wished that hadn’t been the case, because he knew that had probably added another disconcerting layer to all of this for her. She had thought he was dead, and he had been cold all the time.
Well.
Not all the time. Not after she had come back.
“Are you okay?” he asked her quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. He never wanted to overwhelm her, and maybe it would have been nicer to let her believe whatever she needed to day to day, but it still seemed important to stay as ground as possible for some reason.
…
“You’re real,” Annie answered, quietly. To her, that was the answer to his question. She lifted her head to look at him. “You’re okay.”
Her hand was still on his chest. Idly, she traced her fingers over his heart. Warm. Warm meant he was okay. Alive. She didn’t mind if he was cold as long as he warmed up again. She could make sure he always did.
She stopped moving her hand and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the pulse at the hollow of his throat. “I’m okay.”
--
“I’m okay,” Finnick repeated softly, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt for her to hear it again. “I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly as she kissed his throat. “I didn’t mean to put you through that.”
For as long as they were here, he didn’t know if he’d be able to forgive himself for putting her through the experience of his death. She was strong -- so much stronger than most people knew, but he wished, beyond anything else, that she hadn’t had to have gone through that.
He leaned in and kissed her softly on each cheek and then waited to see if she actually wanted to be kissed.
…
“I know,” Annie said, gently. She curled her hand into his shirt. She wanted to tell him it was okay. It wasn’t, though. It wasn’t okay that he’d died, while he was trying to free himself from Snow. What she meant was that she didn’t blame him for it. For leaving, going on the mission. For dying. “I know, Finnick.”
She leaned her head in, brushing her nose against his. He always hesitated to kiss her, when he wasn’t sure. She knew why, but she always wanted his kisses.
“You had to go. I understand.”
--
Finnick brushed his nose against hers, but he couldn’t help the whiplash of guilt that he felt. He wanted to say that he shouldn’t have gone at all, but he didn’t know the circumstances of what had happened. He hadn’t lived through them. He didn’t know why he had decided it was okay to be a part of the squad in the Capitol right after marrying Annie. (He did though; he dismally understood his own sense of responsibility, his dedication to the cause, his friendship with Katniss and Peeta. It was easier to condemn that decision now because he knew how it ended.)
“Still,” Finnick said softly. There wasn’t much reason to persist in this line of thought. None of his apologies were ever going to bring him back to life in their world. They wouldn’t let him live out a long life with her or let him raise their son together.
…
Annie watched him quietly. “Would you do something different, if you could?”
She, obviously, would have preferred to keep him alive. But what if he didn’t go, and Snow won? That was what had gone through her head before he’d left, it was still going through her head now. What if those were the two choices, between his death and the horrors that would await them if Snow got their hands on them again? She didn’t want him dead, but there were worse things for him to be.
She had been in the Capitol. They hadn’t touched her, but it wouldn’t have been the same for Finnick. She didn’t know if they had told her, or if her mind had imagined it, but she knew what they would do to him there.
Lifting a hand, she pressed it against his cheek. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like, knowing that he would die, knowing that she would grieve for him, that she had already grieved him. “You left me safe,” she tried, after a moment, wanting to reassure him that he hadn’t done something horrible to her. “You told me that. That we were safe.”
--
“You mean would I rather have come back to you alive?” Finnick asked lightly, almost teasingly, pressing both his hands to Annie’s face. “So that I could watch our son grow up? I think I would have definitely preferred that.”
It was hard to even joke about it, because it was really all he could have ever wished for in life. But at the same time, they now knew it would never happen. Joking was the only way to deal with it.
“But if that meant you and our baby wouldn’t be safe,” Finnick murmured softly. “Well, I’d die again to keep you safe.” He brushed the back of his hand against her face. “But I am sorry to make you sad.”
…
Annie’s eyes stung, but she was smiling. “I would have preferred that, too.”
She hadn’t known he needed to talk about this. He’d been living with it for longer than she had. She put both her hands to his cheeks, sliding them around to cradle his head, lovingly. She leaned in and kissed him, gently. “I meant,” she said quietly, “Would you stay in Thirteen, with me? Not knowing what would happen in the war? It could have turned out worse. Worse than me being sad.”
--
Finnick hesitated. He didn’t know what the right answer to that question -- and for that matter, there wasn’t a good one. His answer didn’t change much; he wanted to keep her safe, and would die for that, but he also wanted them to have their long, married life together.
“I would go as long as I thought it might help keep you safe,” Finnick confessed, because he knew that was probably why he had gone in the first place. He needed to see this through. He needed to also help protect Katniss and Peeta. They were young. They had all gone through so much together, and he owed something to them still.
He kissed her slowly in return, letting the touch linger.
…
Annie already knew that. It was why he’d went. It was why he’d always go. It meant that it was really her, putting him through all of this for her sake. But she didn’t say that, because he wouldn’t want her to take that on. He didn’t know it was already hers. It wasn’t guilt, or a burden, it was just… love. It made them both do things for each other; his ways were just larger and more dramatic than hers.
“I know,” she told him, before she kissed him back, warmly. She pressed herself close to him, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “I know, Finnick.” And then, “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from everything you had to do to keep me safe.”
--
Finnick pressed back into the kiss, running his hands gently down her back, pulling her as close as he could.
“You know you couldn’t protect me from me,” Finnick teased gently, because there was no way to handle this that didn’t hurt. They couldn’t change it. He knew that they both tried to protect each other, but he had never wanted her to feel responsible for him -- because he couldn’t be protected. The Capitol had always been free to take what it wanted from him. That wasn’t her fault, and there was never anything she could have done to stop it.
...
“I can keep you warm,” Annie said, smiling against his mouth. She wasn’t going to press that subject. There were ways that she could protect him, and ways that she couldn’t. There were ways that he could protect her, and ways that he couldn’t, too. He’d kept her safe, but he’d also made her sad. Neither of them could do everything for each other, no matter how much they might want to do it. It was the sentiment that counted the most.
(Then again, sentiment wasn’t everything. She wanted to think that if she ever happened to be present when his life was in danger - which had never actually happened - maybe she would be able to do something to defend him. It was one of the few times when she might actually want to hurt another person, if they were harming Finnick. But she’d never been in that situation, and she was glad of that, because she was afraid to find out that she’d still be too paralyzed with fear and horror to do anything but stare, or even run away.)
Her thumb brushed over his lips. “It’s okay. We’re here now.”
--
“Yes,” Finnick answered with a warm smile. After all, there was nothing to be done by picking at these old scabs. They couldn’t change how things played out back in their world. So, most days, it was easier just to focus on what they had here in the present. (It was the only thing, really. Because he knew that she could be taken from him any day. Any moment. And he was terrified of it, because he knew he couldn’t handle it. He knew how bad things got when she wasn’t with him. He still hadn’t told her, and never intended to tell her, that he had asked Katniss to let him kill himself, and Katniss was the only reason he was still alive.)
He banished such dark thoughts from his mind for the time being. He smiled a little more wryly at her, flicked his tongue out to taste her thumb, and then leaned up so that he could kiss her properly. He teased his tongue at her lower lip for a moment, letting himself memorize the taste of her -- and how much he had missed it.
…
Reassured that he was real, that the world around them was real and everything else was just a dream of the past, Annie was willing to let the rest of it go. She hoped she’d managed to reassure him, too, though she wasn’t likely to stop him from feeling bad about having died and made her sad. That was one of the things she couldn’t protect him from.
It didn’t matter. They were both here, and however much time they had here was as much time as they had left. For her, at least. He still had a little bit left to come, including their wedding, if he ever went home.
She kissed him back, her tongue moving almost playfully with his - for some reason, kissing with tongue had always reminded her of dolphins playing in the sea - and let herself forget about everything besides having him here in this moment. It was easy enough, after years of practice. And it was better than only having him in dreams.
--