It takes him six weeks to get her not to shy away from his presence. After that, it all gets a little bit easier, but sometimes if he doesn't approach her loud enough, she still jumps when he sinks next to her. It takes him three after that to get her to say hello to him when he greets her, and two more to get her to look at him. It's a daily routine. He will deal with whatever the Capitol has for him that day (a Gamemaker here, a politician there, secrets traded under sheets), and then he will find Annie near the beach, just in time for the sunset. Usually, they'll sit in silence, her thoughts captured by whatever nightmare is still dancing behind her eyelids and his by their proximity. But, two weeks after her second, quiet, gentle, soft, beautiful hello, she smiles at him, and he swears it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, outshining the falling sun by a thousand watts.
It takes ten seconds for him to fall in love. It takes her a little longer to fall back, but he doesn't blame her. He is patient. He's willing to wait for her. He always has been, always will be. When he finally coaxes her hand into his, he considers it a victory. When she leans over and kisses his cheek, he considers the war won.
It takes one week for Annie to recover from the news of her new husband's death. It takes eight more to hold onto their child. It takes one night for him to be born, and ten seconds for her to decide to name him Finnick, in hopes that this one will survive.