I haven't updated in forever... sorry. Life and school and everything else got in the way. So did fandom. Homestuck and Tumblr became a huge part of my free time. So I decided to do some writing, because I desperately need to stop telling people that I write in my free time; it isn't always true.

Okay so I come back to see that everything freaking CHANGED *gasps in amazement*

Welp, hope you like it. Please review! It's kind of a crappy chapter, though. Sorry.

Better start making a cover for this story...

"Finnick Jr.," Annie says, smiling.

"Finnick Jr.?" I can't imagine naming a kid, my kid after myself. And besides, what if it's a girl? "Don't you think it'd be confusing? I mean, you could say, 'FINNICK ODAIR, YOU COME RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW' and we wouldn't know who'd be screwed."

Annie giggles. "Finn then."

"I'm not too picky about names, but this whole hey-if-our-baby's-a-boy-I'm-going-to-name-him-after-you-Finnick thing is kind of… over the top, I guess?" I say to her. I see the look on her face and I almost regret saying what I did just now. Almost. "I suppose it's because I don't want to look at my kid and see myself. I want to see us. You and me, Annie. Me and you."

She looks at her lap. "I understand."

"I don't want him… or her… to live in our shadow. In my shadow, especially. Or in anyone's shadow. I don't want our kid to go to school and have his teachers and classmates expect him or her to be a mini-me, or a mini-you, or a mini-anyone who died in the war. I want our kid to be his own person."

"Or her," Annie corrects me.

"Or her." I reach for Annie's hand. It's soft, like silk. "If it's a boy, I'm going to name him… Simon."

"But didn't you just say that you wanted our baby to be his or her own person?" Annie looks at me, confused. I resist the urge to sigh. How do I even explain this without contradicting myself?

"Well, Simon is different… in a way…" I struggle for words, not because I'm nervous, but because I have nothing to say. Annie raises her eyebrow and grins at me. She knows I'm bluffing. "It means 'the one who saves,'" I blurt out. Annie giggles.

"No. I know for a fact that it doesn't." She points at the baby name book, which she went out to buy a few days ago. "I've been poring through that book. Simon means 'he who has heard,' or something like that. It's an ancient name; it existed way before the apocalypse."

Annie says that word like it's nothing. I guess it's because she's so used to the idea. I don't know why, but the word 'apocalypse' sends a shiver down my spine.

"Do they know about the baby?" Annie asks me suddenly.

"I don't know. Who's 'they'?"

"You know." Annie brushes away a stray curl. "They. Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Beetee. Gale."

"Oh… no, they don't." I haven't spoken to any of them since the day I supposedly 'died.' Guess I should let them know. "So how do you want to tell them? Send a card? 'We're having our first baby and it's going to be really wonderful, oh and by the way Finnick's alive…'" I wait for Annie to giggle, as she does every time I make a joke, no matter how lame. But she doesn't.

Annie rubs her abdomen. She isn't too far along yet, but she's starting to show signs, if you know what I mean. It's not very noticeable, but you should give me some credit here. I should know, and I do; it's like a seventh sense. My sixth sense, by the way, is most probably cheating death. I've survived the Games twice and I was almost eaten by a lizard of some sort. Go figure.

"I don't think it should be that way," Annie says seriously. She looks up at me, her eyes hued with the shade of solemnity. "It isn't very nice, if you ask me. Would you like to receive a card in the mail that says that?"

"Not really, but well, it'd be nice to receive a card in the mail that says that nobody ever died and this was just some terrible dream that I could wake up from."

"That would be nice, come to think of it." Annie grins. "It'd be nice to just go back to the time before all this happened. But you know, to be honest, I don't think I'd wish for it anyway."

"Why not? It seems great to me."

Annie gets on her knees and crawls over to my side of the bed. I get up, too, to meet her. She smiles at me; her lips are chapped, I notice. I reach out to take her into my arms, but she beats me to it. "Because, Finnick," she says.

I pull away a bit, to kiss her. She tastes of strawberries, of salt and water. Another taste I can't name. I search my mind for the right word, the right phrase.

"If the Games didn't happen, I wouldn't have you."

Hope. Love, joy. Sweet promises, even sweeter dreams. That this time, nothing will go wrong.

When I come into the room, Annie is fast asleep with one hand on our baby and the other curled around a piece of paper.

Carefully, I free the piece of paper. Annie murmurs a bit; she's always been a light sleeper.

I unfold it, trying not to rip it apart in frustration. It's a list, most probably a list of baby names. But instead, different words jump out at me. Annie goes to the hospital quite often, for therapy; for all I know, this could be a part of it.

I'm scared of losing my home, myself. Finnick, this baby.

I'm scared of losing everything.