[fic] and we all fall down
and we all fall down
(the hunger games. finnick/annie. 2174 words.)
This is how they drown the victors of District 4.
a/n: Okay, I give up! I've been working on this for ages. So I decided today was going to be the day I finished it - and here we are! It's really disjointed in sections, because I didn't write it in chronological order. I had to make up a lot of stuff in order to make sense of Finnick and Annie's story. I hope it's passable ;D I had fun writing it! (And I can never get enough of Finnick hahaha.)
-
So beautiful. So strong.
Their Capitol accents roll and grate on his nerves, but he smiles, watches them, allows them to press their body against his. His fingers trace their skin, and he thinks of the moment he speared tributes with his trident.
They never learn. They fall into traps too easily, and then it's too late.
He wets his lips, ever so slightly, and tells them it's time for him to leave. And as usual, they beg, whimper, ask for his return.
But he smiles, never quite answering, and it's the smile that promises them dreams and offers them so much more. Yet they know the truth, should know.
Because that's what they say about Finnick Odair - he never stays.
Not when there's nothing worth staying for.
He never stays.
-
He's been called a lot of things. Some he's proud of, some not so.
He just gives them a stare, filled with a little reminder, and they're instantly reminded he's the Sixty-fifth winner of the Hunger Games. They remember, and he watches the change in their eyes. He sees memory jotting and the moment he killed the last one. He sees a kind of lust, vicarious and simmering.
And then he sees himself, and he sees the moment when Annie won.
He sees Annie and it almost catches him off guard. Or maybe what was Annie, because referring to her in past tense has always been easier than the present.
Sometimes they'll ask about Annie too, in a passing remark. They don't notice any changes in him, but he feels like he's been standing on land far too long, so damn firm beneath his feet. He wants water, needs water, but there are only questions in front of him, and the curious glances.
Annie.
He smiles, and says something that is just so Finnick, and then everyone goes back to their conversations, and everything goes on.
They suppose he should be proud she won - his first year as mentor and all. Something of an achievement.
That's the thing with suppositions.
They get drowned out by expectations.
-
Sometimes, when he's alone, he thinks of honesty and, really, how is Annie?
He thinks she was, and that it kind of hurts him to look at her. More than anything that happened in the Hunger Games.
What can Finnick Odair say about Annie Cresta?
That she was so beautiful in her simplicity.
That she was so beautiful in her faith.
That she was so beautiful in her love.
That she was so beautiful.
-
The first time he sees her, she's floating on water with her eyes closed. He does something that surprises her, and when she gasps and loses her balance and doesn't appear again, and when he's just about to save her, he finds himself losing his own balance. She comes up laughing and when she realises who he is, realises he's naked on top of that, the look on her face makes him laugh and forget.
Even now, he doesn't know why he disturbed her. Maybe it was the look on her face, so calm and so assured that nothing in this world could hurt her.
Or maybe it was just this girl and her ability to make him forget about the Capitol for a split second.
And if she could do that, maybe he wanted to keep a part of her for the rest of his life.
-
Unrequited love is a funny thing. Makes you do stupid things.
And Annie Cresta volunteers for the 70th Hunger Games.
He finds out she's in love, and he doesn't know what to make of it - but he's supposed to, because he's her mentor, and he's supposed to be holding her lifeline.
But it's a never-ending line and no matter how much effort he puts in hauling it in, it stretches even further until he just wants to kill her himself.
She's not a career. She doesn't know how to use a trident, let alone any other weapon.
The only damn thing she can do is swim.
The fastest in the district, she'll tell him proudly, and he raises an eyebrow asking her how she expects to win by swimming.
He expects a quick retort, but she is silent, her eyes brown and serious. He sees resignation at the tip of her lips. They curve slightly, and her answer, soft and steady, slips out.
But, Finnick, I don't expect to win.
He stares at her. She stares at him back.
The silence stretches on.
-
Annie's Boy - that's the only thing he can think of the boy as. As part of Annie, and nothing else.
Mags will shake her head slightly, but Finnick can't seem to help himself.
He doesn't quite know why, and if he's being truthful to himself, it scares him slightly. This sacrificing thing isn't something he understands. He doesn't understand how Annie, from District 4, can even come up with the idea.
He's been there once, where the only thing on your mind is self-survival.
But he knows Annie will stay steadfast, and that is something he can't seem to get.
She'll tell him an answer that leaves him bemused, unable to find the black-and-white. That Annie's Boy has always been there, and without him, she won't know who she is anymore. That without him, she won't exist. That, and other dependency crap that makes him raise an eyebrow.
She shrugs and tells him he'll understand one day, maybe.
But Finnick can't seem to see the shades of grey.
-
He and Mags does a reverse that year, some silent agreement. Mags leaves him Annie to teach, but he finds their roles somewhat reversed too. There is no tactic, just Annie sharing her memories with him.
She tells him of a boy who's always been there for her, through the good and the bad.
She tells him of a boy who makes her heart sing every time he smiles.
This is a boy who means the world to her, he begins to understand, through pieces of memory that, strung on a string, would stretch further than the games arena.
He taught me to swim, she tells him, laughing and remembering the day she beat him for the first time.
There's a light in his eyes, a light Finnick's never seen before, even in the Capitol with their aesthetics galore.
And then Annie holds a finger at his lips, making him swear to help her.
That'll be my tactic, she says, with a slightly crooked smile on her lips. She teases Finnick, pokes fun of his looks, and he laughs, and then he finds himself lying to her.
He knows he can never, ever let Annie die.
And that is something he can promise.
-
The day the 70th Hunger Games begin, Finnick feels his blood freeze. This helplessness, watching from the outside, so far yet so close, is not something he's experienced before. Mags is besides him, both pairs of eyes glued to the screen.
Finnick lets out a breath he doesn't know he's holding, when the initial bloodshed at the Cornucopia is over.
Naturally, Districts 1, 2, and 4 form the Careers.
Annie proves herself somewhat resourceful, and he doesn't know whether it's a surprise or not. She's calm, unfazed, and oh-so Career-like. Finnick watches her carefully, and the only time she shows a little emotion is when Annie's Boy shows her complete indifference. It's just a flicker in her eyes, but he can see how much it hurts her.
She loves him, he says unconsciously.
He loves her too, Mags comments, even softer.
Finnick doesn't say anything.
-
Day and night mean nothing - they intertwine and stretch and there is no break. You have to be on your guard constantly. Sleep is weakness.
This is what he knows about the Hunger Games - after all, he is living proof. The only living proof after those days.
And he promises himself this everyday: he won't let the Capitol break him. After all, he is a victor - the youngest victor in history, something of an achievement.
He's the boy with the trident.
Beautiful, dazzling, unbreakable.
And nothing's supposed to get to him.
-
Finnick doesn't think too much of blood. It's something he doesn't allow himself.
But when he sees it, on the screen, it comes back to him. The smell, sight, shockingly red against skin, trickling, spraying, just there. He remembers blood - his and not his - on his skin and clothes, dried and caking. He remembers the scent, slightly metallic and sweet. He remembers hopelessness, of this thing on his skin never washing off, becoming another layer mingled with dirt.
But you don't let these things get to you in the Games. You don't let anything get to you.
Most of all, you don't let somebody else's death get to you. It's almost a rule, unwritten, something you hold on to in order to survive.
It's something Annie should know too - but Annie's tactic is sacrifice, not her survival, and there is no part for the death of Her Boy.
No part for his decapitation - Annie watches, Finnick watches. Panem watches as the Careers turn on each other and the first of them gets killed. Annie's Boy.
And then Finnick watches her. He watches the shock and despair, her eyes glazed and blank and something is breaking but he doesn't know what and he doesn't know what to do.
He watches Annie run - her feet fly across the terrain. She's running and running and running and even when she stops, Finnick realises she hasn't stopped running. She's escaping from the Games and Finnick wants to yell at her to stop and stay but she's running.
She's running, and there is nothing Finnick can do.
-
They say later something went wrong. They say it wasn't what the Gamemakers planned.
But Finnick thinks otherwise.
-
The dam breaks.
For some unfathomable reason to the mentors, sponsors, audience, the dam breaks and arena is flooded. There is no bloodcurdling showdown. There is no fight, only water, and so much of it everywhere. The tributes are in trouble and the Gamemakers seem to do nothing as the water comes crushing down.
Annie, hiding in her cave, simply stares as the water engulfs her. It wraps around her, swallowing her whole.
And maybe it's because of the look in her eyes - or maybe it's because there's nothing in her eyes - that makes Finnick think the water has whispered her promises of oblivion down there.
He taught me to swim, Finnick hears.
The fastest in the district, Finnick remembers.
Her whispers swim in his head as he watches water and only water.
He wants to hit something, stab something, fall in water. He feels numb and dry and wanting to dunk himself into the arena's now smooth surface. He wants to do what he was going to do on the day he met her, be the hero, the saviour. He wants Annie to let him save her, but he just needs Annie to tell him - tell him. Be there and tell him.
Mags' arms are around him and he's staring and staring and then -
And then there is a slight ripple and a head emerges.
And Claudius Templesmith's voice is loud and ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games and Mags is pulling him along.
And for the first time in his life, Finnick is scared at what he might just find.
-
He doesn't know what happens - everything is a blur - but Mags takes him along and then suddenly there is Annie.
And then there is only Annie and she's muttering and crying and whimpering and he's holding her hand stay with me stay with me but she's gone, and even though he's holding her against him, body to body, please don't go he realises her lifeline's been cut and no matter how much he tries to pull it together, it slips out of his hands.
She's shivering and damp and he feels it from his chest to his cheeks. There is so much water and he finds it hard to breathe.
He tries to fight off the despair - her despair - but it wraps around them until they're both enveloped. Annie is shaking and each word out of her mouth is bittersweet and crushing. He covers her mouth with his hand, to stop the hopelessness, but it keeps pouring out, seeping through the gaps. She doesn't stop shaking and he starts shaking and they stay like that, pressed into each other, their sorrows intertwining and overflowing.
-
And Finnick Odair, he'll smile. He'll charm. He'll pretend.
After all, he's Finnick Odair. Winner of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games. Connoisseur of the rich.
And in love with a girl who doesn't quite exist.
That's what they don't say about Finnick Odair.
-
There is Annie, and there is Finnick.
There is Finnick, but there isn't Annie.
And if there isn't an Annie, maybe there isn't a Finnick.
(the hunger games. finnick/annie. 2174 words.)
This is how they drown the victors of District 4.
a/n: Okay, I give up! I've been working on this for ages. So I decided today was going to be the day I finished it - and here we are! It's really disjointed in sections, because I didn't write it in chronological order. I had to make up a lot of stuff in order to make sense of Finnick and Annie's story. I hope it's passable ;D I had fun writing it! (And I can never get enough of Finnick hahaha.)
-
So beautiful. So strong.
Their Capitol accents roll and grate on his nerves, but he smiles, watches them, allows them to press their body against his. His fingers trace their skin, and he thinks of the moment he speared tributes with his trident.
They never learn. They fall into traps too easily, and then it's too late.
He wets his lips, ever so slightly, and tells them it's time for him to leave. And as usual, they beg, whimper, ask for his return.
But he smiles, never quite answering, and it's the smile that promises them dreams and offers them so much more. Yet they know the truth, should know.
Because that's what they say about Finnick Odair - he never stays.
Not when there's nothing worth staying for.
He never stays.
-
He's been called a lot of things. Some he's proud of, some not so.
He just gives them a stare, filled with a little reminder, and they're instantly reminded he's the Sixty-fifth winner of the Hunger Games. They remember, and he watches the change in their eyes. He sees memory jotting and the moment he killed the last one. He sees a kind of lust, vicarious and simmering.
And then he sees himself, and he sees the moment when Annie won.
He sees Annie and it almost catches him off guard. Or maybe what was Annie, because referring to her in past tense has always been easier than the present.
Sometimes they'll ask about Annie too, in a passing remark. They don't notice any changes in him, but he feels like he's been standing on land far too long, so damn firm beneath his feet. He wants water, needs water, but there are only questions in front of him, and the curious glances.
Annie.
He smiles, and says something that is just so Finnick, and then everyone goes back to their conversations, and everything goes on.
They suppose he should be proud she won - his first year as mentor and all. Something of an achievement.
That's the thing with suppositions.
They get drowned out by expectations.
-
Sometimes, when he's alone, he thinks of honesty and, really, how is Annie?
He thinks she was, and that it kind of hurts him to look at her. More than anything that happened in the Hunger Games.
What can Finnick Odair say about Annie Cresta?
That she was so beautiful in her simplicity.
That she was so beautiful in her faith.
That she was so beautiful in her love.
That she was so beautiful.
-
The first time he sees her, she's floating on water with her eyes closed. He does something that surprises her, and when she gasps and loses her balance and doesn't appear again, and when he's just about to save her, he finds himself losing his own balance. She comes up laughing and when she realises who he is, realises he's naked on top of that, the look on her face makes him laugh and forget.
Even now, he doesn't know why he disturbed her. Maybe it was the look on her face, so calm and so assured that nothing in this world could hurt her.
Or maybe it was just this girl and her ability to make him forget about the Capitol for a split second.
And if she could do that, maybe he wanted to keep a part of her for the rest of his life.
-
Unrequited love is a funny thing. Makes you do stupid things.
And Annie Cresta volunteers for the 70th Hunger Games.
He finds out she's in love, and he doesn't know what to make of it - but he's supposed to, because he's her mentor, and he's supposed to be holding her lifeline.
But it's a never-ending line and no matter how much effort he puts in hauling it in, it stretches even further until he just wants to kill her himself.
She's not a career. She doesn't know how to use a trident, let alone any other weapon.
The only damn thing she can do is swim.
The fastest in the district, she'll tell him proudly, and he raises an eyebrow asking her how she expects to win by swimming.
He expects a quick retort, but she is silent, her eyes brown and serious. He sees resignation at the tip of her lips. They curve slightly, and her answer, soft and steady, slips out.
But, Finnick, I don't expect to win.
He stares at her. She stares at him back.
The silence stretches on.
-
Annie's Boy - that's the only thing he can think of the boy as. As part of Annie, and nothing else.
Mags will shake her head slightly, but Finnick can't seem to help himself.
He doesn't quite know why, and if he's being truthful to himself, it scares him slightly. This sacrificing thing isn't something he understands. He doesn't understand how Annie, from District 4, can even come up with the idea.
He's been there once, where the only thing on your mind is self-survival.
But he knows Annie will stay steadfast, and that is something he can't seem to get.
She'll tell him an answer that leaves him bemused, unable to find the black-and-white. That Annie's Boy has always been there, and without him, she won't know who she is anymore. That without him, she won't exist. That, and other dependency crap that makes him raise an eyebrow.
She shrugs and tells him he'll understand one day, maybe.
But Finnick can't seem to see the shades of grey.
-
He and Mags does a reverse that year, some silent agreement. Mags leaves him Annie to teach, but he finds their roles somewhat reversed too. There is no tactic, just Annie sharing her memories with him.
She tells him of a boy who's always been there for her, through the good and the bad.
She tells him of a boy who makes her heart sing every time he smiles.
This is a boy who means the world to her, he begins to understand, through pieces of memory that, strung on a string, would stretch further than the games arena.
He taught me to swim, she tells him, laughing and remembering the day she beat him for the first time.
There's a light in his eyes, a light Finnick's never seen before, even in the Capitol with their aesthetics galore.
And then Annie holds a finger at his lips, making him swear to help her.
That'll be my tactic, she says, with a slightly crooked smile on her lips. She teases Finnick, pokes fun of his looks, and he laughs, and then he finds himself lying to her.
He knows he can never, ever let Annie die.
And that is something he can promise.
-
The day the 70th Hunger Games begin, Finnick feels his blood freeze. This helplessness, watching from the outside, so far yet so close, is not something he's experienced before. Mags is besides him, both pairs of eyes glued to the screen.
Finnick lets out a breath he doesn't know he's holding, when the initial bloodshed at the Cornucopia is over.
Naturally, Districts 1, 2, and 4 form the Careers.
Annie proves herself somewhat resourceful, and he doesn't know whether it's a surprise or not. She's calm, unfazed, and oh-so Career-like. Finnick watches her carefully, and the only time she shows a little emotion is when Annie's Boy shows her complete indifference. It's just a flicker in her eyes, but he can see how much it hurts her.
She loves him, he says unconsciously.
He loves her too, Mags comments, even softer.
Finnick doesn't say anything.
-
Day and night mean nothing - they intertwine and stretch and there is no break. You have to be on your guard constantly. Sleep is weakness.
This is what he knows about the Hunger Games - after all, he is living proof. The only living proof after those days.
And he promises himself this everyday: he won't let the Capitol break him. After all, he is a victor - the youngest victor in history, something of an achievement.
He's the boy with the trident.
Beautiful, dazzling, unbreakable.
And nothing's supposed to get to him.
-
Finnick doesn't think too much of blood. It's something he doesn't allow himself.
But when he sees it, on the screen, it comes back to him. The smell, sight, shockingly red against skin, trickling, spraying, just there. He remembers blood - his and not his - on his skin and clothes, dried and caking. He remembers the scent, slightly metallic and sweet. He remembers hopelessness, of this thing on his skin never washing off, becoming another layer mingled with dirt.
But you don't let these things get to you in the Games. You don't let anything get to you.
Most of all, you don't let somebody else's death get to you. It's almost a rule, unwritten, something you hold on to in order to survive.
It's something Annie should know too - but Annie's tactic is sacrifice, not her survival, and there is no part for the death of Her Boy.
No part for his decapitation - Annie watches, Finnick watches. Panem watches as the Careers turn on each other and the first of them gets killed. Annie's Boy.
And then Finnick watches her. He watches the shock and despair, her eyes glazed and blank and something is breaking but he doesn't know what and he doesn't know what to do.
He watches Annie run - her feet fly across the terrain. She's running and running and running and even when she stops, Finnick realises she hasn't stopped running. She's escaping from the Games and Finnick wants to yell at her to stop and stay but she's running.
She's running, and there is nothing Finnick can do.
-
They say later something went wrong. They say it wasn't what the Gamemakers planned.
But Finnick thinks otherwise.
-
The dam breaks.
For some unfathomable reason to the mentors, sponsors, audience, the dam breaks and arena is flooded. There is no bloodcurdling showdown. There is no fight, only water, and so much of it everywhere. The tributes are in trouble and the Gamemakers seem to do nothing as the water comes crushing down.
Annie, hiding in her cave, simply stares as the water engulfs her. It wraps around her, swallowing her whole.
And maybe it's because of the look in her eyes - or maybe it's because there's nothing in her eyes - that makes Finnick think the water has whispered her promises of oblivion down there.
He taught me to swim, Finnick hears.
The fastest in the district, Finnick remembers.
Her whispers swim in his head as he watches water and only water.
He wants to hit something, stab something, fall in water. He feels numb and dry and wanting to dunk himself into the arena's now smooth surface. He wants to do what he was going to do on the day he met her, be the hero, the saviour. He wants Annie to let him save her, but he just needs Annie to tell him - tell him. Be there and tell him.
Mags' arms are around him and he's staring and staring and then -
And then there is a slight ripple and a head emerges.
And Claudius Templesmith's voice is loud and ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games and Mags is pulling him along.
And for the first time in his life, Finnick is scared at what he might just find.
-
He doesn't know what happens - everything is a blur - but Mags takes him along and then suddenly there is Annie.
And then there is only Annie and she's muttering and crying and whimpering and he's holding her hand stay with me stay with me but she's gone, and even though he's holding her against him, body to body, please don't go he realises her lifeline's been cut and no matter how much he tries to pull it together, it slips out of his hands.
She's shivering and damp and he feels it from his chest to his cheeks. There is so much water and he finds it hard to breathe.
He tries to fight off the despair - her despair - but it wraps around them until they're both enveloped. Annie is shaking and each word out of her mouth is bittersweet and crushing. He covers her mouth with his hand, to stop the hopelessness, but it keeps pouring out, seeping through the gaps. She doesn't stop shaking and he starts shaking and they stay like that, pressed into each other, their sorrows intertwining and overflowing.
-
And Finnick Odair, he'll smile. He'll charm. He'll pretend.
After all, he's Finnick Odair. Winner of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games. Connoisseur of the rich.
And in love with a girl who doesn't quite exist.
That's what they don't say about Finnick Odair.
-
There is Annie, and there is Finnick.
There is Finnick, but there isn't Annie.
And if there isn't an Annie, maybe there isn't a Finnick.