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Finnick’s corpse isn’t buried under rubble.
Finnick didn’t die in a fiery explosion.
It was just pretend. An optical illusion, even, just to throw Snow off their scent. It wasn’t real.
Finnick is alive and well. Nothing the hospital can’t fix.
Does that make you feel better, Annie? Does it make you feel better that we took your husband away from you over and over and over again as long as we have something to show for it?
She’ll believe it when she sees it, Plutarch.
***
The burns flickering across Finnick’s skin are far from optical illusions.
Annie almost refused to come see him. She was angry at him.
And so what if she was? He promised her that the Star Squad wouldn’t have anything to do with combat. He promised her that he’d come back to her. He promised her that he wouldn’t leave her.
She thought he was dead for weeks. Maybe months. The Finnick Odair she knew would have rushed straight home to prove her wrong.
There’s a nagging voice in her head insisting that she’s not being quite fair. It’s the same voice that tried to reason with her that night they had their big fight about him leaving, and it’s a voice she easily swats to the side.
He left her.
No one has any idea how scary that is. Haymitch bugs Mrs. Everdeen for a celebratory drink—don’t nurses have access to booze, even if it’s just rubbing alcohol?—and Johanna damn near jumps for joy.
“That asshole!” she declares, but she can’t fool Annie. She’s already stumbling across the room in her haste to get dressed. To get the full story. To scrounge up details of his return, of what hospital room he’s going to get whisked into. “God, Annie. I can’t believe you let that idiot put a ring on it.”
Annie instinctually holds her hand to her chest. It’s the ring Finnick gave her, decorated with glittering pieces of sea glass and garnished off with his undying love.
She shifts, suddenly uncomfortable. Why would Finnick give her this ring if he was just going to leave her?
It takes an embarrassingly long time—and an even longer shower—for her to answer all of her poison-tipped questions. He didn’t leave her. He was fighting for his freedom. He was making all the choices the Capitol never gave him. He was taking control of something that should have always been his in the first place.
It had nothing to do with her. His freedom never had anything to do with her. It was the one thing that was uniquely his.
She learns the arrival date from Johanna. She tracks down Coin herself to scrounge up information about what hospital room he’s in.
He’s sedated the first, second, third time she’s given permission to visit him. It doesn’t make seeing his injuries any easier.
It’s not the scarring that bothers her. Or the skin peeling off his skeleton. And she couldn’t care less about his singed hair.
She’s worried that the stitches will pop. That his flesh will melt away into bone. That his coppery hair is concealing more severe damage on his scalp.
Eventually, the stitches fade into jagged white lines. The scars stretch over golden skin that is durable, if slightly nutrient-deficient. They assure her time and time again that they only cut Finnick’s hair as short as they medically needed it to be, and that shaving his head would go against some bullshit code of conduct.
Whatever. His chest rises and falls. His eyelids dance in his sleep, a tell-tale sign he’s alive. His eyes open, too, and Annie gets a front row seat to how cloudy they are as he tries to focus on her face. Then, his eyes widen, and the fact he recognizes her at all must alleviate the haze from all the drugs being pumped into his bloodstream. He smiles at her, slow and groggy.
His heartbeat promptly skyrockets. Nurses rush into the room to investigate the loud, beeping machine residing beside his bed, easily identifying Annie as the culprit.
“Sorry.” It’s the first thing Finnick says when Annie is finally allowed back into the room, which she thinks is rather appropriate. “I was just so excited to see you.”
She can feel her face light up in a grin, electricity coursing through her bloodstream. Admittedly, there was still a significant amount of lingering insecurity about Finnick leaving her that poisoned her every thought, but it’s hard to be cross with someone so utterly dorky.
“Careful,” she warns him. “They were just talking about how soon your release was. We don’t need any setbacks, Odair.”
“Oh, trust me, Cresta,” he shoots back, the drugs apparently having no effect on how quickly he fires off his retorts, “their first mistake was putting me in a room with a window. They couldn’t keep us here if they tried.”
Us. Annie reaches for his hand, slow and gentle. He squeezes back.
“I love you so fucking much.”
The machine starts beeping again. Annie tenses up. “Finnick! They’re gonna make me leave again! Stop doing that!”
“It’s not my fault you’re so hot!” he protests. Thankfully, they’re not swarmed this time. And, even more thankfully, Mrs. Everdeen is the only one that investigates what’s going on. “Seriously, Annie. You are so hot. I love you so fucking much.”
“You are on so many drugs.”
“So? I still remember what it’s like to love.”
Speaking of love, Annie puts her hand over her abdomen. Their baby was starting to shift around in there.
“Finnick?” she ventures, but she doesn’t get further than that. Mrs. Everdeen quickly interrupts her.
“Will you do me a favor, babe?” Mrs. Everdeen asks, but she’s not being creepy about it. In fact, Annie loves when middle aged women call her babe. It’s like whenever Mags called her honey. “Will you get Nurse Mills in here for me? She should have been in here ages ago with Finnick’s food.”
Right. Maybe Annie doesn’t want to reveal her pregnancy just yet. She might send him into another relapse.
She’s never been very good at keeping secrets, so that majorly blows, but she knows Finnick never coming back would have blown even harder. She learns to deal.
“Will you cuddle me?”
Weaning Finnick off morphling had been a process. He doesn’t seem obsessed with it like Johanna, but he’s still in a considerable amount of discomfort, and that’s made him really clingy.
That doesn’t matter to Annie. She’s clingy, too, but everyone insists that she can’t just climb into his hospital bed. They both don’t see why—he’s not even hooked up to an IV anymore.
“Of course, my love.” She very gingerly sets herself beside him. He immediately burrows himself even deeper under the covers, a move she’s learned to recognize as him hiding all his scars. Which reminds her—
“Should we talk about it?”
He burrows his face into her neck. “I really didn’t want my death to drag out for as long as it did. I was thinking of you the entire time.”
“Not that.” They’ll discuss that later, when he’s not in any discomfort. “Your injuries.”
She feels his nose scrunch up. “Ugly, aren’t they?”
“Hardly,” she replies. “I love them. It means you’re alive.”
He sighs, his voice getting impossibly smaller. “I know I should like them because they’re gross, but they’re really starting to bother me. 13 says they don’t have the technology to zap them, and I don’t want to go back to the Capitol, but—”
He pauses. Annie lets him finish.
“Never mind. I sound like such a bootlicker right now. Like I’m still letting them own me.”
“You are not a bootlicker,” she insists. “You wouldn’t be here if you were. You shouldn’t have to feel like you have to like them, because you don’t have to do anything at all. They’re not gross, but if you don’t want them, that’s your decision. And the Capitol never wanted you to make decisions, so you never let them own you. It’s just what they wanted you to think.”
“They wanted me pretty.”
“You always wanted to be pretty,” she points out. “Honestly. Like, you always won our seashell contests because you’d pick the best ones. It’s not your fault you have an eye for beauty, but it’s nothing the Capitol ever had anything to do with.”
He still looks unconvinced. She (slowly, gently) presses a kiss to the top of his head.
“Honestly, Finnick, they would want you to get rid of the scars. But we don’t always have to think the opposite out of principle. Like, they do have really good desserts—like fried candy bars—but agreeing with them doesn’t make me Capitol. It just makes me right.”
She presses a hand to her belly. She really wants a fried candy bar.
“Then we’ll get one,” Finnick says. “First thing we do when we get out of here, I’m taking you on a date. And I’ll figure out how I feel about the scars before then.”
“Remember Celeste? The woman who did all my tattoos? Yeah. She’s started to do this thing where she’s making all sorts of cool designs over stretch marks. Like, stars and constellations and stuff. I think that’d look wicked on you.”
She wonders if she’s overwhelming him. She backtracks.
“But don’t worry. We’ll figure something out, ‘cause that’s what we do.”
“That’s what you do. You’re the smartest person I know.”
Annie rolls her eyes. “It’s like you’re trying to get me pregnant again.”
Oops.
“What?”
Oops.
“Wait, what?”
It just slipped out. Seriously.
“How?” He hoists himself up. He looks more caught off guard than anything. “Wait—do you think the foods in 13 deactivated my shot? Everyone in the Capitol always did talk about the hormones in their food.”
“What?” Annie doesn’t know why that’s the first conclusion he arrived at. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“But—” Finnick’s eyes go wide. “Oh. The Capitol—the last time I went, they gave me a shot, but they didn’t tell me how long it’d last for. Usually it’s at least a couple months, you know, in case I made a surprise visit, but I guess they had no reason to think I was gonna be visiting them again anytime soon.”
“Well, I don’t regret it,” Annie says. She wants to make that clear right now. “I know we said we didn’t want children right away, but—I want this, Finnick. I want to be a family.”
He rubs his nose against hers. She smiles. “So do I. But I’m afraid I don’t know much about how babies work. Do you think your mom will help us, even though I’m the father?”
Annie nods. “She and Johanna already have their bags packed.”
“Johanna? She’s coming to Four?”
There is so much news to catch him up on. She starts at the beginning.
***
Annie attends the execution. Not necessarily because she wants to watch it—she just wants to know that it’s real.
Coin is gone. Snow is dead. Johanna returns with more blood on her hands.
“You know, that didn’t feel as good as I thought it would,” Finnick says to Annie, arms wrapping extra securely around her waist.
She nods. Everything about war is bloody, but she never thought that would have followed them all the way to the aftermath.
“Race you home?” she asks, even though she knows they’re going to be joined at the hip every step of the way.
“You’re on.”
***
The sea isn’t the only thing waiting for Annie back home.
Turns out hope isn’t so useless after all. There were so many things going on at once during the Quell—Mags’ death, the explosion, Capitol cells, District 13’s existence—that it was hard to funnel her grief toward a particular source. The death of her family could not be one of them.
She was being stubborn about it back then, but it all paid off. No one really knows where the victors wound up—Paylor at least granted them that small amount of privacy—but their return home was televised, so Annie’s older sister knows just where to find her.
It’s not hard. It may not feel like it, but Annie is a victor. Searching the Victor’s Village would probably be a good place to start, which is exactly how she finds herself sandwiched between Vicki and her father.
It’s strange, how it all works. It’s a miracle they’re even alive at all, but Annie clings to them like she’s still living in a world where she can lose them.
She’s not going to lose them. If they haven’t died yet, they won’t be dead for a long time, but she and Vicki make sure they have enough sleepovers to last a lifetime.
Her father and sister may not know what it’s like to be a victor, but they do understand this. They may not know why Johanna Mason is in their kitchen, but they do know she likes her pancakes doused in (maple) syrup. They may not know that Finnick Odair did, in fact, outlive the Star Squad, but they do know that they should not acknowledge his scars. They may not know Annie is pregnant, but they do know she holds her hand to her abdomen and cries a lot more.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were…”
Her father trails off. His gaze floats over to Finnick, who chooses this exact moment to hide behind his coffee mug.
“You’re not,” he says, but he sounds delighted. “Are you…?”
”Pregnant,” Annie confirms. That one word sends a shock of excitement all the way down to her toes.
He grins, taking this a lot better than Annie’s mother did. “Congrats, then, Ann. The baby’s lucky to have you both.”
That’s very reassuring in a world with so much uncharted territory. There is still so much to do—so much rebuilding, so many job markets for Annie to explore (because she’s gonna need one of those), so many nightmares to sift through, so many flashbacks to suppress—that it’s starting to sink in how utterly confusing it will be to suddenly have a baby in the mix.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vicki tells her, rolling on a facemask. “No matter how hard you fuck up, just know that Mom and Dad probably fucked up harder.”
“Oh, sure. ‘Cause we turned out so great.”
“You’ll be fine. Babies are fussy, but they just need love, so you and Finnick are already golden. Besides, you have me and Mom and Dad.”
“And Johanna,” Annie reminds her.
“And Johanna,” Vicki adds. “You know what they say—it takes a village. That kid’s not gonna know what hit it.”
Speaking of a village, Annie wants out of hers. Even with so many people filling up in the rooms, it still feels like an absolute ghost town.
It’s wrong. Mags’ handmade blankets should not be draped over silky duvets. Mags’ embroidered dish cloths shouldn’t hang over stainless steel oven handles. Mags’ fiddle leaf figs do not deserve being placed into gentrified Capitol-patented pots.
Finnick agrees with her. They grab a few boxes and fill them all to the brim.
Moving out of the Victor's Village is a process. Especially when it starts to rain.
“I don’t even know why I came here,” Johanna spits out. The unfiltered venom in her tone stings, because Johanna said it herself: she and Annie spent so much of their friendship lamenting about how the Capitol tore them apart, so why wouldn’t they move in together? “We could barely handle seeing each other a few days out of the year without going at each other’s throats. I don’t belong here.”
“You do,” Annie protest, firm. “You belong with people you love, and whether you wanna admit it or not, me and Finnick love you. You’re my friend, and I have all the letters to prove it.”
Another thought occurs to Annie. She shrinks.
“Unless you don’t want to be here?” The water could be a lot. In fact, if Annie wasn’t forced to live in Four after her Games, maybe she would have moved out.
Johanna barely lets her finish. She even scoffs. “As if. I’m just wondering how all this third-wheeling is going to work out.”
“Jo, you could never be a third wheel.”
A clap of thunder shakes the foundation of their new house, sending Johanna barreling into Annie’s skin. She tries to pass it off as an impromptu hug. Annie gives her an affectionate squeeze, because it’s about time somebody did.
“I wasn’t talking about me, Ann.”
“Dude!” Finnick complains, taking a break from constructing the pillow fort. “She’s my wife!”
“She’s your wife, but you can’t even remember that she wanted orange pillows barricading the fort? What are you doing with all those green ones?”
Finnick scrambles to rectify his mistake. Annie laughs.
“It’s okay, stink.” She kneels beside him to kiss him on the cheek, fluffing up the pillows. “I got it. Get in there and make sure it’s durable.”
Finnick obliges. He confirms that all the blankets and pillows muffle the sound of the storm. It’s not long until Johanna’s diving under the flap.
Annie joins them both. Finnick makes sure that she has an extra thick layer of blankets to burrow under, offering his arms for an extra layer of comfort. Annie wastes no time snuggling into him.
They know Jo. Her face may be swathed beneath layers and layers of fabric, but they still talk to her anyway in an attempt to drown out the booming thunder and pounding rain even further. They also position themselves very carefully beside her—close enough to feel, but not close enough to touch. It’s the company that matters.
“It’ll be okay,” Finnick says. Annie isn’t sure who he’s talking to, so maybe he’s directing the comment toward all three of them. “At least we can count on the flowers blooming this year. Maybe even some green grass.”
Annie gasps, something like happiness fizzling along her skin. “Oh, the baby would love green grass.”
“I’ll make them all sorts of flower crowns to commemorate the occasion,” Finnick promises, the warmth of his hand spilling over her abdomen. Annie grins, a blush catching along her cheeks. “It’ll be warm enough outside to swim, too.”
They still need to build a cradle for the nursery. They still need to decorate the nursery. And sift through baby clothes. And buy baby food. And a baby monitor.
Annie glances down at her swelling abdomen. Mrs. Everdeen said that being so overwhelmed all the time wasn’t a good thing, but turns out their baby is really fucking brave, because they’re still here anyway. Annie swears she’ll make it up to them.
“I hope they love us,” she admits to Finnick.
“They will. You’re extremely lovable.”
“So are you,” she reminds him.
He kisses her cheek, but that pretty quickly transforms into a yawn. He melts into her.
“Tired?” she asks.
“Tired,” her confirms. “Goodnight, my love.” His other hand crowns her belly. His voice soars into something infinitely sillier and cartoonish, but he’s not being theatrical about it. It’s just his designated baby voice. “Goodnight, little one. Sleep tight.”
Annie’s eyes slide shut, desperate to see him again in her dreams. It’s the first time in a while she doesn’t jolt awake in a cold sweat.
***
There are so many adults in this damn house, but sometimes it feels like there are none at all.
It has nothing to do with her family. They’re very good at this whole grown up thing. It’s Annie who needs more practice.
It’s been a long time since she’s felt so young. Her parents are trying their best, but they can’t protect any of them from the flashbacks and panic attacks and nightmares. It’s partly because they have their own memories to work through, and partly because they just don’t know how.
To be fair, Annie and Finnick and Johanna don’t know how either. They still have all those mandated therapy sessions with Dr. Aurelius, but the man could only do so much during a fifty minute session over a staticky telephone mounted onto the wall. Besides, he has no idea what it’s like to be a parent right now.
Mrs. Everdeen had to be the one to lay out their options, which mostly just included a cocktail of antidepressants and capsules to soothe anxiety, but they all understood that it wouldn’t necessarily make them better. Just functioning.
Annie can’t afford to merely function. Not with a baby on the way. She has good days—they all do—but the nine months of her pregnancy fly by in a blink of an eye. They have a place for their baby to sleep, but the nursery is only half-decorated. They have clothing, but Annie hasn’t even finished knitting the baby booties she started on six months prior.
Somehow, it’s okay. Their child hits the ground running (not literally—he’s only a baby), and Johanna is the one who makes the grand reveal:
Annie popped out a boy.
Annie’s father hands Vicki a pouch of coins. Annie would have scolded them for it, but there were more important things to focus on. Like the baby cuddled up to her chest. Her baby cuddled up to her chest.
“Wow,” Finnick breathes, adoration rolling off him in waves. It’s radiating off his skin, gets stuck in his throat. Maybe that’s why the baby gets so smiley all of a sudden. “Wow. How’s everything, bubs? Not too bright in here, right?”
Bubs. Her mother warned her about catching a severe case of baby blues, but no one warned her about the tears flooding her face from pure happiness. She’s already plenty blue all on her own—has always been, ever since her Games—so it’s actually quite refreshing to wallow in a never-ending stream of joy. It’s almost like a form of rebirth.
She pulls herself together eventually, mostly because she couldn’t really see the baby very clearly underneath a film of tears. Like most things, they’re falling a bit behind when it comes to finding a name, but they figure it out right as Benny learns how to sit up by himself.
Some might say it’s not a very big milestone. According to her parents, babies usually learn to do that right around the six month mark, but Annie bursts into tears anyway.
He’s growing up. And the best part is that she’s watching it happen.
Apparently, this is a sign for Annie’s friends that she needs a girls night out. But that’s easy for them to say—most of them don’t have children, and the one that does has a daughter.
“I’m not bringing her to girls' night, though,” her best friend, Eirene, argues. “She’s staying with her dad.”
Annie isn’t completely sold by the idea until she realizes that she’s becoming completely desensitized to the smell of spit up and dirty diapers. Maybe a few hours to herself—even if that means a few hours away from Finnick and their baby—will be good for her. She might even take a shower.
“We’ll hit the beach,” Finnick promises her, already setting a hat onto Benny’s tiny, sensitive baby head. He tries to gnaw at the brim. “Now that he can sit up, I’ll try and teach him how to dig.”
That makes Annie feel better. Finding seashells was a Finnick activity. Flying kites and digging for sand crabs was a Johanna (kites) and Annie (sand crabs) activity, so hopefully the beach trip won’t feel too incomplete. She and Johanna give Finnick permission to do it in her honor.
She peppers Benny’s tiny little face in kisses. She gives Finnick one last smooch. Then she and Johanna join the rest of the girls upstairs.
It’s nice, actually, to laugh about things that usually have Annie and Finnick (jokingly) covering Benny’s ears. (Or maybe it wasn’t very jokingly. Annie wonders when that guy is gonna start talking. He must have a lot to say.)
In any case, it’s still nice. They laugh and bake and gossip about boys (Annie and Eirene’s husbands) until Annie can ignore the baby-sized ache in her heart. And, by the time her friends all go back home, she can’t help but notice she smells like chocolate chips and expensive perfume. They always did love giving each other makeovers.
It’s the longest time she and Finnick have spent apart in a while. No wonder she jumps his bones so soon after they’re reunited.
Actually, she’s been wanting to jump his bones since the hospital bed, but she (mostly) kept that to herself. After all, she had so many hormones rushing through her that day, and Finnick was being so fucking sweet, so maybe she mixed up the endorphins with being horny.
Who cares? She loves Finnick and he loves her and he’s so warm warm warm—
She’s pregnant.
“Annie!” Her mom scolds her, which is so typical. “Was it at least on purpose this time?”
“Well—” That’s not really a fair question. Fucking around (cherishing each other) and finding out (the consequences of not really needing protection, I think, who cares just do it do it do it) don’t really seem to have a very clear overlap right up until they’re staring the aftermath straight in the face.
Yeah. Annie is fighting a losing battle. She crosses her arms.
“We love each other, Mom. Sue us.”
“That didn’t answer my question!”
This pregnancy is simultaneously harder and easier than the last one. Unfortunately for Benny, there was a definite learning curve to staying present, but it’s been a year and half, so Annie and Finnick are a lot more familiar with the strategies now. Johanna is also a lot more familiar with the water, so whenever Benny starts asking for the beach (because he’s learning to talk now), she can whisk him away in the event that everything is still too much for Annie and Finnick.
It was reckless, sure, and they’re getting a bit too old to be reckless. But if they can worry about putting together a new nursery, maybe they can scrounge up enough courage to worry about themselves too. Finnick still hates his scars, but his mind hates him more, so the best thing he can do about it is wear a rash guard when he goes swimming and forget they’re even there at all. Annie still refuses to go anywhere without Finnick by her side, and if she wasn’t working at her childhood shop, she would have been out of work ages ago.
District 4 still needs a lot of rebuilding, which is interesting, because people say the same thing about all the victors.
In Annie’s opinion, they’re doing just fine. You know, considering the circumstances. Haymitch still drinks. Peeta’s still somewhat hijacked. And, according to Mrs. Everdeen, Katniss hasn’t left her house in ages.
But Haymitch also fathers a gaggle of mongoose. Peeta still exchanges new recipes with Annie in all their letters. And, according to Mrs. Everdeen, Katniss is starting to garden. Who would have thought?
Not Annie. She’s not sure why she started sending letters to Peeta Mellark—was she being friendly? or did she want to feel better about falling apart?—but she’s glad she did. It made it a lot easier to reach out to the other victors, like Beetee and Enobaria.
Enobaria gets her fangs shaved down. Beetee teaches her son about cameras.
They’re an odd group, especially when their schedules align and they all manage to meet up in one place. That was a learning curve, too—Johanna remained extremely wary of Enobaria until the victor from Two showered Benny with about a million gifts for his first birthday. The same could be said for Katniss, but she was so naturally sweet with the kids that Johanna backed off. Beetee never had much to say, which made Annie wonder if he was just visiting because he felt obligated to, but then Benny asks him a question about magnets and he starts talking a mile a minute and never stops.
It’s wonderful, the kindness that children draw out of borderline strangers. It’s nothing the Capitol wanted her to figure out, and Annie can see why. Enobaria doesn’t even know the children—barely knows Annie, too, even if Finnick is a more complicated story—but she swoops by the window and watches them all like hawks whenever they take trips to the beach.
“Mama!” Benny barrels into Annie’s side, plopping down onto the sand. He’s only five, but when he lunges into her arms like that, Annie has to stop herself from flying backward. It’s her all time favorite game to play. “I got a seashell for you!”
Not only that—he got her a seashell on a string. That was obviously Finnick’s doing, so she glances over at him. He’s helping their daughter dig into the sand in pursuit of the most impressive-looking sand crab.
He catches her eye. And then he promptly winks at her.
She would have winked back, but she has more pressing matters to attend to. She informs Benny that it looks absolutely wicked, slipping it onto her neck.
“I’ll treasure it forever,” she promises him.
He nods back, suddenly very solemn. He’s such a theatrical little guy. “Please guard it with your life, Mama.”
“What?” Annie asks, but she’s already bursting into laughter. “My life?”
He breaks character, laughing back. “Don’t worry. I’m just joshing around.”
“Joshing?” Annie asks, even though she knows exactly who taught him that word. “What’s that mean?”
“Joey says it means ‘just kidding.’”
“Hm. You know what Mags and I used to do?”
Her children know who Mags is. It’d be hard not to, when they snuggle into her blankets each night and eat all her recipes and flip through all her scrapbooks. It used to make Annie sad that they never met her, but maybe that’s for the best. It would have hurt a lot more if they knew her and lost her in the same lifetime.
Annie glances down at Benny, smiley cheeked and happy. It makes the bittersweetness of Mags’ memory fade until it’s just sweet. “We used to get a bunch of seashells and stack them against each other.”
They’re gonna need to return most of them, though, ‘cause if everyone in District 4 snagged so many seashells from the beach then there’d be nothing pretty to look at, so Annie makes this into a game. Whoever puts their seashells back exactly where they found them the fastest wins.
Annie is content with losing. Benny ricochets back into her side, walking back to Finnick and Moira.
“Mama!” Moira exclaims, her curls crowning her head like a halo. “Papi helped me find a sand crab! It has babies in it!”
“Ooh,” Annie gasps. Finnick is cradling Moira’s hands to ensure that she’s being gentle with their new friend, so Annie tries to make her tone extra calming. Benny could get overexcited, but Moira could get a bit reckless if she’s not careful. She has Annie to blame for that. “What’s his name?”
“Oh!” In her excitement, Moira must have forgotten to give him one. “Um…”
She glances over at Benny, imploring him for help. He gets up and throws his arm around his sister’s shoulders, their limbs forming a constellation of freckles. Annie makes a note to herself to slather their faces up in more sunscreen after this.
“Rosie!” he announces, triumphant. Moira ignores him.
“Marie!” she amends, and even though Annie knows it wasn’t on purpose, she figures she should ask Moira what she thinks about Benny’s name. Moira tilts her head. “What?”
“Benny said you should name her Rosie. What do you think about that?”
Moira nods. It’s always so funny when she gets lost in her thoughts. Like a teeny tiny philosopher.
“We’ll do both,” she decides. “Rosie-Marie.” She leans close to the pile of damp sand in her hand. “What do you think about that, Miss Rosie-Marie?”
Miss Rosie Marie wants to go home, so they send her on her way. It’s a long day of swimming and kite flying and sand crab hunting, so they eventually roll out the towels and lie down.
Well, Benny and Finnick lie down. Moira and Annie make more jewelry.
When it came to Moira, Annie’s temper reigned victorious over Finnick’s in that particular genetic beatdown. Moira and Benny are Annie’s spitting images (“seriously, dude,” Johanna always says, “were you even in the room?”), but Benny’s temper is softer and entirely Finnick’s.
He does inherit a lot of things from Annie, though. Her curls. Her freckles. Her love for colored pencils.
His favorite thing to do is draw on Finnick’s scars with markers. Turns out they didn’t need a professional to tattoo them—Benny does it for him, again and again and again, each design more intricate than the last.
Finnick had wanted to get his scars removed so badly, but every single second they didn’t spend wallowing in bad memories was spent getting ready for Benny’s due date, and every second after that was dedicated to adjusting to their rapidly expanding family. Nowadays, he can look in the mirror without flinching.
Benny asks about them, sometimes. Annie doesn’t want him to know anything about the war until he’s older, but Finnick is more lenient in that regard (so much for being a mother hen), so they have to compromise.
“They’re kind of like Mama’s tattoos,” Finnick explains. “Mags loved birds, so Mama painted a bird on her leg to remember that.
Benny nods, scribbling over Finnick’s arm. He takes a moment to scrutinize his handiwork, carefully reaching over for an orange marker. “Oh. What are you remembering?”
This is where things get tricky. Annie takes over from there.
“You know how people call Katniss the Girl on Fire?” Annie may not want the kids to know about the war until they’re older, but she has no control over what the people in the market or the teachers at school say. “It’s sort of like he’s remembering her.”
“But she’s alive,” Benny says, his dark eyebrows knitting together. “What’s he remembering her for?”
“It’s good to remember people who are alive,” Annie assures him. “Because then we remember she likes being in the woods, and that her favorite cheeses come from goats, and that she’s an expert gardener.”
“And that she has a cat named Buttercup,” Benny adds. Annie nods.
“Exactly like that.”
“I’ll remember you, then, Mama.”
“What about me?” Finnick asks, still on his stomach. His voice is muffled by the towel, which Moira finds extremely amusing. She gets up and starts poking at him.
“You too, papi,” Benny replies. He picks up a purple marker. “I’ll draw boats for you. Pearls for Mama.”
Moira picks up a pink marker. “What do you think about butterflies, papi?”
“I think butterflies are lovely, bubs,” Finnick says. “Why? You wanna draw some?”
“No. There’s one in your hair.”
Annie investigates, her heart nearly jumping into her throat. Now seems like a wonderful opportunity to teach Moira that not all winged creatures are butterflies.
They may be at a beach full of victors, but it still takes a long time for any of them to get within a ten mile radius of the bumblebee residing in Finnick’s hair. And there’s just something about it that Annie finds quite beautiful.