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If he was honest with himself – which he rarely was – he expected to die.
The important thing had been Annie’s safety, of course, and she was safe in Thirteen, but he hadn’t expected to survive the invasion of the Capitol.
There was one terrifying moment with the mutts, but – no; he’d gotten away just in time. And he hadn’t gotten caught in the blast, either. (The same could not be said for Katniss or Peeta, but at least they’d survived – even if her sister hadn’t).
He was alive to vote against yet another Hunger Games; he’d seen enough kids get carted off to slaughter (to say nothing of the horrors he himself endured) to endorse anything like that again.
(He was surprised, though, that Katniss voted yes. He supposed he shouldn’t have blamed her, given the recent death of her sister, but Finnick was still disappointed in that vote).
He was alive to see Katniss assassinate President Coin, too. He hoped they’d go easy on her, but he wasn’t allowed to see her. They were probably afraid he’d rile her up somehow, never mind that he never would have encouraged assassinating Coin.
But then he had his own distractions to worry about: Annie told him that she was pregnant.
At first, he couldn’t believe it; he’d never pictured himself as a father. He didn’t think the Capitol would have ever allowed it, or if they had, they would have found some way of guaranteeing that any child of Finnick’s would be reaped and would not make it home. (And Finnick had known Victors who’d had to mentor their own family – he wouldn’t have wished that on his worst enemy).
Things were never going to return to normal, but Finnick found he didn’t mind. He and Annie returned to Four, where they officially moved in together. It was strange to think that they hadn’t lived together before – at least not officially. He’d loved her for years, and it was only now that they’d be able to start their new life together.
If it were up to them, they would have spent all their time decorating the nursery for the baby, or sending out the letters telling their friends (what few still remained) the news.
And they did do those things, and they talked to Peeta and Johanna over the phone (not Katniss, because, according to Peeta, she’d torn her phone clean off the wall).
But they also were faced with the impossible task of supporting the rebuilding of District Four.
The war hadn’t brought Four to the ground like it had Twelve; Four was – more or less – still standing. But the war had certainly come to Four. There were buildings to rebuild, infrastructure to repair, people to bury and to mourn. The governor of Four wanted them to give speeches – Annie could barely stand in front of a crowd these days, so Finnick handled as much of that as he could, and refused to be separated from her.
Fortunately, as Annie’s pregnancy progressed, it gave them a convenient excuse to avoid those so-called special duties.
Really, Annie was happiest at home, and Finnick was happiest with Annie. It was that simple.
Neither of them had much in the way of family – Finnick’s mother came up to the city from the village he’d grown up in, to play support to the both of them, and he was grateful for it.
As he began to worry about fatherhood, he realized that he hadn’t had much in the way of positive male role models growing up. He’d been eight when he’d been selected for the Academy, District Four’s unofficial training grounds for the Games (now officially – and unofficially – defunct).
The only role models he’d had there were trained killers.
And, well, he supposed he was a trained killer himself.
Did that mean he’d be a terrible father?
When he brought these concerns up to Annie – because he did bring these concerns up to Annie; he wanted them to have as healthy a relationship as two people as fucked up as them could – she assured him that he’d be a wonderful father. That they’d work it out together.
That she loved him, and he loved her, and if he’d just look at how he loved her, he’d see that he would treat any child of theirs with the utmost love and respect.
Sometimes she even convinced him of that.
(It wasn’t that he didn’t want to believe Annie, of course; it was that Annie always saw the best in him, and sometimes he wasn’t sure if she really knew how dark he could get – which was bullshit, obviously, but knowing that didn’t stop him from thinking it.)
“Finnick,” she said to him in that tone. “I know you.”
And she did.
And he knew her.
He couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to spend the rest of his life with her. Sure, they’d married when he’d thought he would die, but when he asked her (once and only once) if she regretted it, she’d turned to him and asked him how he could possibly think that. She’d reminded him that they’d been together for years, and could just now be open about it.
She told him that he was the only one for her, and he believed her, because she was the only one for him. She always had been.
“I hope our baby has your eyes,” he said to her one night as they lay together in bed.
“I hope our baby has your smile,” she returned, smiling at him. He leaned in to kiss her.
He loved her so much, sometimes he didn’t know what to do with himself.
And the craziest part was that she loved him right back.
Someone once told him that love wasn’t about deserving it, and he and Annie were finite proof that that was the truth. Because if it were about deserving it, Annie never would have wasted a minute on him.
He was glad she did.