Finnick Odair (capitoldarling) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-04-10 23:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, finnick odair, katniss everdeen |
Who: Katniss Everdeen & Finnick Odair
What: Fallout over Annie leaving
When: Friday night
Where: Their apartment, Finnick's room
Warnings: Sad/Hunger Games references
For years, he and Annie had quietly marveled over the wonder of having found each other. They might have played games, made up stories where they talked about who they would have been and how they would have met if they hadn't been in the Hunger Games, but they were both aware that without the Games, it was highly unlikely they would have found each other. They lived far away from each other in Four at first. Finnick had always been something of a rambunctious child, Annie the rule follower. Their paths were unlikely to have crossed, and it was unlikely they would have caught the other's in the same way. (And maybe that was a survival technique in and of itself: Terrible things have been done to us, but they led us to each other.)
But he felt brittle now, as if after years of buying into that, he had been robbed: He and Annie felt perpetually cursed, at odds with the alignments of time and the universe. It was hard to know that she had gone back to a time where he was dead. There was nothing left for them. He'd thought they'd here and now, and just like that -- a blink of his eye, and she was gone. Her side of the bed cold, her presence wiped from the apartment as if she had never been there at all. Finnick felt hollowed. The loss of her was too much.
But not all of her was gone, because Tristan had been in his crib all the same. He'd taken his bottle in the morning, sleepy and unaware that anything was different in his little world. But he was used to eating from Annie, and he was refusing the bottle now, wailing as though his cries could bring Annie back. He kept fisting his hands up in front of his face, turning his head away from Finnick and the bottle -- and God help him, Finnick was crying too, because he couldn't do this. He'd never doubted that Annie was the stronger of the two of them, and he had revered her for being able to survive the pregnancy, to give birth when she was by herself.
But he couldn't do that.
He loved Tristan. He loved him without reserve, but Finnick couldn't do this without her. She'd been gone hours only, and he felt wrecked, aware that he would never be enough -- that the sight of Tristan, with so much of Annie in him, pained him more than he could bear. What kind of father thought that? A terrible one, Finnick was certain. But here was the other truth of the matter: He couldn't be a good father, and it seemed like a sick parody of everything before to try and pretend that he was. He could do this when he was certain that Annie was there, as if just having her nearby could balance out every mistake he would surely make. But alone, he wanted his son away from him. He was certain to ruin him, and even though he knew it meant he would never see Tristan again, he wanted him back with Annie. Every time he thought it, his guilt burned him, re-branding him as a poor father.