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[65th_victor]

They were supposed to be watching the announcement for the Quarter Quell. But they weren't. Instead, they were in the house in Victors' Village that they practically claimed as their own, filling up more and more of the living room over the years went by. There was still little there that marked it as personal, but it was certainly comfortable now, especially compared to when they had first started breaking in, sitting on the ground with only a blanket.

Finnick knew they would get into trouble if anyone found out that they weren't planted in front of the televisions with the rest of the country, listening intently to the president's announcement. He could feel these games cresting upon them both already, threatening to drown them. He didn't know why -- perhaps it was because this was the first Quarter Quell that he was old enough to be involved in, or perhaps it was because it had now been 10 years since his own games (17 dead District Four tributes and Annie), or maybe it was really because of Katniss Everdeen. He'd watched with a cold sense of disbelief from a club as she won her Games. He'd been waiting for the boy from One to kill them both, because it was too much to carry someone that injured through so much of the Games, and Twelve never beat One. It had been such a mathematical certainty in his head, that he was certain he had been more surprised than the rest of the country when they managed to not only outlast One, but then to trick the Capitol.

But it wasn't really a trick, because they all paid for the things they took. You never stole from the Capitol. You took your life from the Games and you spent the rest of it paying in kind. That was the unknowing deal they made. So, yeah, maybe he was dreading seeing this couple show up in the Capitol this year.

And maybe they were only putting off the inevitable of whatever horror this announcement was going to bring. (It brought a cold chill to his insides to think of mentoring four kids versus two), but he would take that small amount of time with Annie, where they were will protected and with each other.

He was balanced in between Annie's legs at the moment, mostly teasing her with his tongue, fingers balanced underneath her knee and on top of one of her hips.

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[themadgirl]

It seemed as if a lifetime had passed since Annie had been the girl capable of imagining they might someday have a real life together, so much changed since that she couldn't even properly recall what it had felt like to be that person. The memory was glossy and surreal, as if it were a beloved story instead of someone she had once been. Another lifetime, another her. She could not now conceive of allowing herself even the slightest fantasy of stability or family–They glittered but were sharp, and they cut into the flimsy, patchwork happiness they'd actually managed.

A happiness which was now, with the passing of a mere moment, lost entirely forever.

If she lived through this, she would not survive it.

All awareness of time had gone, and when Annie's cries finally tapered off and her shaking had eased, she couldn't have said how long she had been that way, pitched forward into Finnick's strong arms, clinging. Another stretch passed as her breathing calmed, and then a long, eerie period of stillness, the only sound the whistle of the wind.

"How long do we have?" she finally asked without moving, the words softly scratched from a throat sore from sobbing.

[65th_victor]

Finnick held her wordlessly. He stared out at the pitching ocean in front of them, nearly invisible in the darkness that had descended.

This all felt so inevitable now, that it seemed hard to believe that there had ever been a time when he hadn't known about the Quarter Quell. It was as if every moment of his life had naturally progressed to this. Of course. Of course he was going back.

"Weeks," Finnick answered. Long enough to start training again.

He lowered his head again, his hand still moving gently through her hair.

"Can you look at me?" he asked softly, mouth near her ear.

[themadgirl]

The face that Annie turned up to Finnick was not one of abject misery, but perhaps more shocking for its bone-weary resignation. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing any of them could do, and as much as it hurt to look at Finnick, to see that perfect face painted in shadows and sorrow, she could not now pass up the opportunity.

Weeks. It sounded like a lot. It wasn't.

Body limp against him, she opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. Some small sliver of selfishness wanted to demand he move in with her, that he spend every moment he could with her before the inevitable, but it was no good. Annie had no one to leave behind but Finnick; Finnick had an entire family who were going to have to go through the hell of watching him in the games yet again. This tragedy was not simply their own. She feared he'd not have agreed anyhow: All those years of him bowing and scraping in the Capitol, carefully hiding her away, only have it be for naught? No, it wasn't fair, and never mind the irony of his popularity now ensuring that he would be chosen.

She felt numb, hollowed out: A thin shell the only part of her left and already spiderwebbed with cracks.

"I can't do it again," she whispered. Not a statement of defiance or denial, but rather a frame for his expectations: Should it be her name drawn, she would die, and quickly. She did not have it within her to support the psychological burden of the arena.

[65th_victor]

He kept his arms wrapped around her, but sank slowly down so that they were seated on the sand. His legs still felt weak beneath him, and he didn't know how long they were going to be out here. Probably awhile longer, because he didn't want to let go of her. Someone would fine them eventually though. Someone would come looking. Someone always did.

"I won't let that happen," Finnick answered, his voice absolutely. He ran his fingers gently through her hair, hoping that it was calming. "You believe me?"

He leaned in, burying his face against her hair, pressing quiet kiss against her neck. He breathed slowly, trying to commit everything about her to memory. Tried to capture everything about her in essence: the tangled-swept feel of her hair, the smell of her skin, and the dip of her waist underneath his fingertips.

"Can you forgive me for what I'll do?" Finnick asked softly enough that he wasn't sure she could hear him. And even then, it wasn't the question he meant to ask: Can you still love me for what I'll do?

They both knew, all too well, that what went into the arena was never what came out. And he knew this time would be no different. This time, if anything, would be worse. He was known as the boy who betrayed his career pack, but this time he knew everyone who was going in. What kind of man was willing to kill his friends, people he had known for years, people who had often played a bigger role in raising him than his own parents had. He knew what he was taking away this time when he killed; last time, they had been all but strangers, blank slates with no backgrounds. This time, he knew who had children, and who had lost their families to Snow. He knew their own struggles after their Games, knew what hey had been forced to do inside and outside of the arena.

[themadgirl]

At first Annie couldn't reply, her throat closed by the sudden weight of her sorrow, eyes filling with hot tears and head tipped back in an effort to contain them. Heart thudding in her thin chest, she stared at the darkening sky but found no answers there.

"Just come back to me," she managed, voice ragged and faint, her hand lifting to push into Finnick's hair where he was nuzzled against her neck. She hated herself a little for asking so much of him, but the words were compulsive, undeniable. It would be cold comfort to know that he had died a martyr; she could not find it in her to be noble, not about this. She could forgive him anything, she thought, except for leaving her in this hell all alone. She would rather go into the arena a hundred more times.

Twisting, she reached suddenly for Finnick's face, fingers pushed up under his chin to force his gaze back up to hers. "Come back to me," she repeated, more forcefully, and leaned in to press a fierce kiss to his mouth as her tears finally overspilled.

[65th_victor]

He didn't move as she answered him, kept his face pressed in against her skin, felt the weight of her fingers in his hair. The words bound him though. As he heard them, he knew he would do absolutely anything to get back to her. It didn't matter who he was going into the arena with. He'd betrayed them all already, even Jo.

"I'll come back to you," he repeated, looking up at her. He kissed her with the same intensity, able to taste the years that were streaming down her face. His hands tightened against her back as if holding her closer would do anything to protect them against what was going to happen, against what they were feeling.

He tried to blank out his mind again -- stopped trying to sort out who was going to go into the arena and what he knew about them. He stopped trying to calculate his odds and who would be likely to sponsor him again. What was waiting for him at home and the ridiculous mask he was going to have to wear to even comfort his mother and sisters a little bit. Instead, he tried to concentrate only on Annie, trying to pretend that they were only two people in all the world.

"We'll be all right," he murmured against her mouth, rubbing a thumb warmly over her damp cheek. Another lie, but there were always the only thing that kept Finnick going, so what was one more?