Who: Finnick and Annie Odair When: Backdated to Katniss de-aging Where: Finnick and Annie's room What: Finnick is upset about Katniss forgetting them Rating: Moderate (talk of suicidal inclinations)
Katniss was gone. He knew that, short of actually physically incapacitating her, there was no way he could have stopped her. And he didn’t have the heart to actually harm her to achieve that. He hoped that he had made the right decision. While he was certain that Peeta wouldn’t be thrilled to hear that she was gone, he was also certain that Peeta wouldn’t have hurt her to make her stay either. (And he knew, besides, that Peeta would feel the same grief that he was feeling at least twofold. They had lost the Katniss they both, in different ways, had built so much with.)
It hurt.
And so, he retreated, wanting nothing more than to be able to hide with Annie. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder.
…
Annie had been startled awake to a flurry of activity. The sound of the door slamming, especially when it was so dark, had terrified her. But she’d followed Finnick to the doorway, and she’d caught a glimpse of Katniss running past. She wouldn’t have been able to keep up with Finnick as he went after her, so she’d gone to check on Peeta instead. It was easier to focus on his confusion than her own, and by the end, he had managed to come out of it.
She still didn’t know what had happened to Katniss. Finnick returned alone, upset. Worry flickered to life inside of her, but she didn’t ask immediately. If there was real danger, if Katniss was hurt, he wouldn’t be taking the time to hold her, he would be doing something about it. So she wrapped her arms around him in return - as best she could, with her pregnant belly between them - and held him close.
After a few moments, she asked quietly, “What happened, Finnick?”
--
Finnick let himself sink into her hold for a few seconds. It offered a sort of blanket security, a way to pretend that he had shut out the rest of the world its problems. But, of course, that wasn’t entirely true.
He shifted against Annie a little when she wrapped her arms around him. One of his own hands went down to cup the swell of her belly, something that still brought him some amount of comfort, if only because of its novelty.
“Katniss is from her first Reaping Day,” Finnick explained with a sigh. How strange was it that this had become something that apparently ordinary for them? “She doesn’t know us.”
…
Her face was hidden from him, so he couldn’t see her frown of confusion. Annie didn’t understand how it was possible that Katniss suddenly didn’t know them. She believed him, though; Finnick never lied to her. Especially about something so important.
She leaned into him, offering him all the comfort of her closeness, which probably helped him more than words. But eventually she had to ask, because she didn’t understand. “Did she go home and come back?”
--
“I don’t know,” Finnick confessed. He didn’t know what had happened to her. He supposed it was possible -- but he was also fairly certain that she had been in the same clothes (or lack thereof) that she had gone to sleep in. The rules of this place so often alluded him, because they could be so strange.
“She took care of me while you were gone, Annie,” Finnick said, and his voice went rough. He felt the pressing need to cry. “What if she doesn’t come back?” He let the rest of that go unsaid: He didn’t have anymore time with her. He didn’t have anymore with any of them back home. He only had what was here. And here, right now, Katniss didn’t know him, didn’t want to know him, and was liable to kill him if she saw him.
…
“She’s still here, Finnick,” Annie said, quietly. It was a simple statement of fact, but she hoped it was reassuring nonetheless. She pressed a hand to the side of his face, stroking his cheek.
It must be so hard, to be clinging to this time that they had here, and knowing he had none left. It was the same for Annie in some ways, and yet, it was different. Her life would continue. It wouldn’t be the life she wanted, but there would be more time. Time which she could spend with Katniss, in this case, although she didn’t know if that would happen. She liked Katniss, but she had no idea where the Mockingjay would end up after the war, or whether she’d be interested in spending time with Annie. She was really Finnick’s friend, when it came down to it. “You can get her back. She might remember, or she can get to know you again.”
She rested her head against his. “I never thanked her for taking care of you. I’ll do that, when she comes back.”
--
It didn’t help thinking that she was here. Because she wasn’t. Not really. Not the Katniss that he really cared about -- or rather, not the Katniss that cared about him. Maybe that was selfish of him, but that was what he wanted. He wanted the Katniss that had become his friend. His ally. (His sister.) Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much if she had just not known who he was at all. But she had seen him as a threat -- had obviously bought somewhat into the image that Snow had sold of him.
Finnick stiffened a little when Annie mentioned that she needed to thank Katniss. He wanted to be comforted by the faith that Annie had that Katniss would return.
Instead, Finnick was reminded of an event that had happened while Annie was gone. In the closet.
He hadn’t told Annie. It hadn’t been brought up, and he didn’t like to tell her things that burdened her -- and partially because he didn’t like to bring up that she and Tristan had been here before. And yet, he knew if he didn’t tell her know it would be like a lie. Still, he wavered.
“I tried to kill myself while you were gone,” Finnick said, voice barely audible. “Katniss stopped me.”
...
Annie felt him wavering, but she waited patiently for him to tell her what it was about. She’d always had endless patience for him, patience and empathy and affection. At times he worried that he brought her difficulty, but it wasn’t true. She loved him, and he helped her so much; she was more than willing to help her in return. That was how they worked.
They depended on each other, too; she knew that. She also knew how much it hurt to be apart, and how it hurt even more to lose him for good. She tried to swallow down her little sob when his words evoked that pain again (and even a little more, because it was different when he wanted to die), but didn’t quite manage to muffle it.
It couldn’t have been just because she hadn’t been here, could it? Did he think she was never coming back? But people did that here. She had done it. She would have come back to find him dead.
He knew that, of course. She didn’t need to remind him of it, or say anything else that would make him feel worse about it. He was suffering enough already, and probably punishing himself as well. She didn’t know if she wanted to ask about the why, either. She didn’t even know if she could find her voice, even if she wanted to ask.
She leaned her head into the crook of his neck, hiding her face for a moment, and taking in the physical reminder that he was alive: that his skin was warm, his heart was still beating. She was grateful for that every day, every moment, because he was alive here and not at home - now that gratitude had doubled.
--
Her soft little sob of distress broke his heart. How could he not feel guilty? She had already lived through his death once. He did that to her. It was his fault, at least partially. And he knew that it wasn’t fair that he was putting her through that again to a lesser degree here.
But he didn’t have her strength. He couldn’t hope for better things, not in the way that she could. He had only joined the rebellion because it was his only sliver of a chance at ever seeing her again. It hadn’t been out of bravery. He had wanted to save Mag’s life. To save Annie’s. But being here, he still couldn’t hope that Katniss would eventually come back to him in the same way that he couldn’t deal with Annie not being here. Sure, there was the possibility of them coming back, but the hope for it … it had hurt too much. Every day without her had felt like a failure. Every day he could wake up and think that maybe she’d come back, and every night she wouldn’t be there. He wasn’t a strong person without her.
It would have been easier to just let the cold take him. It hadn’t required action of any kind -- not on his part.
“I’m sorry,” Finnick begged. He gathered her face up in his hands, although he didn’t kiss her, because he didn’t know if that’s what she wanted. “I’m so sorry.”
…
Annie didn’t know what to tell him. She didn’t want him to feel guilty, but she couldn’t say that it was okay. It wasn’t. It hurt everywhere. She closed her eyes, to shield him from seeing it - not that there was much point, she had never been able to hide anything. Especially from him.
“I love you,” she told him, leaning into his hands. It was the only thing she could say that was both reassuring and wholeheartedly true. “I love you so much, Finnick.”
--
“I know,” Finnick said, but the words were pulled from him, his voice a little hoarse. He knew her statement of fact was an argument, too: She loved him, and he shouldn’t kill himself because he meant so much to her. And that had meant everything for so long, but it also meant, in turn, that he was useless without her. He fell apart when he didn’t have her around him. He was the best version of himself when he was around her. She made him braver.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, because he knew that his life was more valuable to her than it was to him. He had almost taken something from her -- something that she had already lost once.
“I love you,” he told her in return finally, his voice near a whisper. “I love you too.”