Okay, so since I seem to write rather a lot of Odesta one-shots and drabbles (even more now, courtesy of tumblr), I figured it might be an idea to put them all together. Hence this.

I'm going to mark this as complete, because as a collection of short stories you should be able to read it and it make sense etc. etc. Technically, it is complete at any given moment (no idea how much sense I'm making here...) However, I will be updating it often with new drabbles/one-shots.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, or odesta, for I am not Suzanne Collins. Sorry.

Prompt: Finnick and Annie's final conversation before he leaves for the quarter quell.

He knew where he'd find her.

Pulling on a shirt as he walked out the door, he headed down to the little patch of beach that had been their haunt since they were children. She'd be tying knots in the worn piece of rope she always kept tied around her wrist. That's what Annie always did when she needed to keep herself grounded.

Only that evening, she wasn't.

Finding her lilac dress lying in a heap halfway down the beach, Finnick immediately expected the worst.

"Finnick!"

Looking up, out to sea, it took him a moment to catch her. Annie was a strong swimmer, and already she was quite far from the shore.

He kicked off his shoes and tugged his shirt over his head (really, he wondered, was there even much point in putting it on?) before wading out.

She met him halfway, wrapping her dripping wet arms around his shoulders, burying her face in the crook of his neck, making sure that every inch of him that had remained dry was now just as wet as she was.

"It's going to be us." She said, finally releasing Finnick from her hold.

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, tried to articulate some sort of comforting response. But there was none, and they both knew it. She was right. President Snow loved a good romance; he liked to rip it apart, turn lover against lover.

Finnick could never kill Annie if it came down to it. He liked to think that she'd never kill him, either, but doubt clouded his mind. It'll do that; make even the surest fact murky and unclear. The sensible part of him trusted her more than anyone, but the survivor in him remained suspicious and alert at all times.

"Mags will volunteer for you." Finnick said as the thought came to mind. "She'd never let you go back, not after what they did to you."

But Annie was shaking her head frantically. "No, no. Not Mags. I won't let her."

"You won't have much choice." Finnick pointed out grimly. "If she volunteers, you can't do anything about it."

"But what about you?" She reached up a hand, cold and damp against his cheek. "Who will volunteer for you?"

Finnick grinned his signature grin, equal amounts cocky and charming- the grin that had women and men in the Capitol alike falling over each-other to reach him, to have him, to own him.

"Finnick," Annie drew out, her tone reminiscent of the one his mother always used to use on him. Back when she was alive, of course. "That's not a proper answer."

"I'll be fine." He said, taking her hand off of his cheek, cradling it in both of his own.

"Promise?" She inquired.

"Promise," He agreed. "Look, I'll even pinky swear!"

Dropping her hand, he held out his little finger. Laughing, she hooked her own around it, giving it one firm shake before they let go.

"That settles it." Annie told him, and he wasn't sure whether or not she was joking. "You have to come back now."

"Another Hunger Games." He said. He wasn't sure whether or not he was teasing, either. It was so hard to tell sometimes. "How on earth will I manage?"

"You'll find a way." Annie smiled. Her lips began to quiver slightly. "Please find a way, Finn."

He caught her as she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him yet again. This hug was much more forceful than the last, though. Her fingernails dug into his bare back, her now tear-streaked face crushed against his shoulder.

Finnick rubbed circles into her skin and whispered stories and secrets into her hair, just until she was collected enough to head back to shore.

He helped her put her dress back on, walked her to her door. All in silence. They didn't need to talk. There wasn't much more left to be said.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," Annie said, pausing with her hand hovering just above the doorknob. "I'll be able to come see you one last time. Even if Mags volunteers, they'll let friends and family come and say goodbye, won't they?"

"They have for the last seventy-four years." Finnick said with a shrug, hopping up onto her doorstep beside her. "I don't see why they'd change that now."

Standing on tiptoe, Annie pressed a quick kiss to his lips before opening the door to her house.

"Get some sleep." She instructed with a giggle as Finnick tried to move in, to kiss her again.

"You're so cruel, Annie Cresta." He pouted like a child, folding his arms and stomping his foot for emphasis.

"I'll save up all my kisses for tomorrow." She insisted, already stepping into her house and starting to close the door. "That way the memory will be newer; it'll last longer."

"I could never forget a single moment with you." Finnick assured her loudly.

Though Annie rolled her eyes as she finished shutting her door, he could hear her giggle on the other side.

Whistling a happy little tune, he headed back to his house. She was right; he needed some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a big day, of that he was certain.

Finnick and Mags were escorted straight from the reaping to the station the next day.

No goodbyes.

No saved up kisses.

No Annie.

He never forgave President Snow for that.