He knows that going into the Games, there is a minute, just a minute, to see everything he can about his surroundings. He'd trained in it back in District 4 before his Games, and he's stayed in practice because it's a useful skill when the Games don't end and your life and the lives of those dear to you belong to the Capitol.
Sea-green eyes are scanning the room, behind the defensive wall of Finnick's arms, looking for movement, for weapons, for tension, for threats.
For hiding spots.
Annie.
Annie.
She's there, in the corner, on a couch, why is she there? She stayed behind in District 4, like she always does, because the Capitol is too much for her, because what Finnick has to do in the Capitol is too much for her, so why is she here?
He's staring at her, across the room, his face suddenly frozen into something that looks more like fear than the moment he'd thought he was going into the arena. Is this some sort of game, some trick to bring her here, to bring him here, some punishment for them?
He hadn't even been able to say goodbye to her. The last time he'd seen her had been at the Reaping, watching her go into hysterics as her name came out, unable to go to her because this was televised all over Panem, because their relationship can never become public while Snow exacts the services he demands from Finnick.
Hearing those tears continuing as Mags volunteered for her, as his name was read, and knowing her tears were for the two people she loves most, not for herself.
Every muscle in him is suddenly straining, not to fight, but to run, to run to her and hold her and whisper those last things he couldn't say when they took away the last goodbyes. But they're still in public, still under the watchful eyes of everyone in this room, so he forces himself to move slowly, to smile at her, like he's just seen someone he knows and is sauntering over to say hi.
But when he sits down beside her, he reaches for her hand and holds it so tight the knuckles on his sun-tanned hand goes white.
OH MY GOD. I LOVE YOU.
Sea-green eyes are scanning the room, behind the defensive wall of Finnick's arms, looking for movement, for weapons, for tension, for threats.
For hiding spots.
Annie.
Annie.
She's there, in the corner, on a couch, why is she there? She stayed behind in District 4, like she always does, because the Capitol is too much for her, because what Finnick has to do in the Capitol is too much for her, so why is she here?
He's staring at her, across the room, his face suddenly frozen into something that looks more like fear than the moment he'd thought he was going into the arena. Is this some sort of game, some trick to bring her here, to bring him here, some punishment for them?
He hadn't even been able to say goodbye to her. The last time he'd seen her had been at the Reaping, watching her go into hysterics as her name came out, unable to go to her because this was televised all over Panem, because their relationship can never become public while Snow exacts the services he demands from Finnick.
Hearing those tears continuing as Mags volunteered for her, as his name was read, and knowing her tears were for the two people she loves most, not for herself.
Every muscle in him is suddenly straining, not to fight, but to run, to run to her and hold her and whisper those last things he couldn't say when they took away the last goodbyes. But they're still in public, still under the watchful eyes of everyone in this room, so he forces himself to move slowly, to smile at her, like he's just seen someone he knows and is sauntering over to say hi.
But when he sits down beside her, he reaches for her hand and holds it so tight the knuckles on his sun-tanned hand goes white.
"Annie."