Annie lay on her side, her body trembling just slightly in the heat. A soft sheen of sweat crossed over Annie’s pale flesh, covered in slight goosebumps along her arm, where a fan was set up before it. Annie wore a plain, light green dress, that covered up her small baby bump well. She almost didn’t like to look at it, really. It sounded quite horrible to say, but it was true. It made her think of Finnick. Her husband. They kept on telling her the same thing, over and over and over again. He’s not coming back, Annie. It’ll never be the same. He won’t be there when you get home. And still, she refused to believe them. Finnick couldn’t die. He wouldn’t. She wouldn’t allow him to. Everywhere Finnick went, he survived. He had survived the Capitol, he had survived the Games, and he had survived the Quarter Quell. Finnick was the strongest person in the world. He would survive. And then he would come back home, find Annie, and they would be happy again. Happy with their new child.
She was still only three months into the pregnancy. Her stomach was showing, but only slightly, due to Annie’s thin frame. The pregnancy was hard on Annie, even so early in the process. Her back hurt, she couldn’t sleep, and she grew tired easily. Annie also often became dizzy, having to grip onto the walls to move around the home. Spots of blackness appeared in her eyes, and sometimes, but only when she was particularly happy, Annie would see him. Finnick. Standing at the door, ushering for Annie to move forwards, to wrap her arms around him, and stay there, in his grip. But always, as soon as Annie came close enough to touch him, Finnick would disappear, and Annie would drop to the floor, screaming his name, sobbing, her small body wracking with each scream. Beetee would always be there to help, though. He was kind, good. And Annie appreciated it more than anything. Finnick had trusted Beetee throughout the Games, and during the length of the time they spent in Thirteen. Beetee had assisted Finnick, and had done his best to keep him alive.
At the sound of his voice, Annie sat up quietly, her hands still trembling slightly as she pushed herself off of the bed. “Coming!" The walk from her room, towards the kitchen wasn’t a long one, and soon enough, Annie had one hand pressed against the wall, steadying herself as she stood in the doorway of the small room. “Beetee.." Annie said quietly, her tired, but still brilliantly green eyes searching the room and landing on stack of newly cleaned dishes. “You didn’t have to….I could have helped…I used to be quite good at dishes…I would clean them with my mother. She washed, and I dried…and it worked well, I think…" Annie’s eyes rose quietly, meeting Beetee in a still sort of quiet. She broke off immediately, as she always did. Leaving things unhinged, uncompleted, was a side-effect of the madness. The madness grew worse after Finnick’s death. She was unstable, often went long periods of time without speaking, only staring forwards in a deathly silence.
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