Author's Note: This is a oneshot about Annie Cresta and her Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It doesn't really have a complex plot, it's just Fannie fluff :)

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. All credit goes to Suzanne Collins.

I drag my fingers through the warm, dry sand beneath me. I smell the salty air that surrounds me and listen to the birds squaking overhead and the sound of the gentle waves of the sea in front of me. I watch the sun get smaller and smaller as it sets over the horizon. I can still taste the salmon and hot chocolate fudge cake that Mags prepared for Finnick and I only an hour ago.

All of my senses are engaged. I'm so present, so focused in the here and now. Although that's usually when things start to go wrong. Just as I feel so alive and real and human, I find that's when I'm most likely to slip away.

I came down to the beach for some quiet after dinner, leaving Finnick and Mags chatting happily in her garden over a bottle of wine while the terrific meal settled in their stomachs. Now that it's August and it will start getting dark earlier soon, we're trying to make the most of the limited light nights that we have left this year by eating outside. I excused myself after dessert, telling Mags that it was a lovely meal but that I was very tired and fancied a little lie down. She understood, of course, being as kind as she is. Mad girls need their rest after all.

Finnick wasn't so eager to let me go. He said he'd come with me, to make sure that I was okay.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he said quietly, cupping my cheek and tucking my hair behind my ear.

"Oh, let her go, you worryguts, she'll only be next door," Mags gave me a friendly smile, recognizing my desire to be alone. "If she feels better later on she's more than welcome to pop back round."

Finnick sighed in surrender but then smiled and gave me a kiss goodbye. "Okay. I'll be over in an hour to check on you if you're not already back."

I can't deny that Finnick's overprotectiveness feels a little suffocating at times. But I can't complain, because where would I be without him? Probably in a mental institution miles away from here. Mad girls need taking care of after all.

I didn't actually go for a lie down. I climbed the grand winding staircase of Finnick's mansion in the Victors' Village of District 4 to the bedroom that Finnick and I share and closed the curtains so that if he or Mags looked up from Mags' garden they'd think I was asleep. My mansion remains empty and unopened across the road. I remember coming home after my Games and bursting into tears at the sight of the Capitol's gift.

"I don't want it! I DON'T WANT IT!" I shrieked as my knees gave way. Finnick caught me before I crashed to the ground and he held me stable while I cried and gasped into his shirt. He moved all of my suitcases into the front porch of his house immediately and without a word, as Mags' arm encircled me and we watched in awe.

After I closed the curtains, I went back downstairs, slipped out of the house and made my way down to the beach directly opposite, where I'm sitting now. It's not that I'm sick of Finnick and Mags' company. I could never be sick of their company - they're my family, and the only reason why I have lasted this long. I just need some time to gather my thoughts. Take a breather, as they say.

The sun is now so low that it looks like the sea has chopped it in half. Chopped. Just like Luca's head was chopped off by that vile, monstrous boy from District 1.

And suddenly I am no longer sitting on the quiet, peaceful beach, but I'm falling, falling ever so fast through a blur of colours and shapes and sounds, all meaningless as my stomach tightens and my breathing quickens.

I'm back in the Capitol, and Caesar Flickerman in his midnight blue suit with his emerald green hair is grinning menacingly and showing me off to a crowd full of Capitol spectators, with their neon coloured wigs and flamboyant outfits and stencilled skin. They're all clapping and cheering and whistling, but I want them to stop, I want them to stop stop stop because I'm not supposed to be there anymore, I'm supposed to be at home in District 4 with Finnick and Mags and I'm supposed to be safe, we're all supposed to be safe...

I'm transported through another blur of colours and shapes and sounds, and now I'm in a hovercraft, strapped tightly to a chair by constricting belts, and the other Tributes are here too, and there's Luca strapped to a chair across from me, poor little Luca who's only twelve and looks so innocent and scared... I let out a yelp of pain as a stern looking woman grabs my arm and pierces a needle through my skin without any warning... get it out, get it out, get it out! I feel myself scratching at the spot where my tracker has just been injected, desperate to claw it out of my body so they can't know where I am, they can't chase me, they can't hurt me, but it's not working, it's not working, it's not working...

My heart skips a beat and I freeze in panic as I'm catapulted into another blur of nothingness. I know what's coming next... no, not there, anywhere but there...

But I am there. I'm in the arena, surrounded by trees and mountains, and even the lake is there, the glistening lake that I bathed in, but everything is sideways, everything is sideways because I'm on the cold, hard ground with my hands over my ears, rocking back and forth as tears fall freely down my face and screams escape my mouth... and there is Luca, lying lifeless in a pool of blood a few feet away, his beautiful blue eyes still open as that beast butchers his tidy body with a sharp, silver axe that's now splattered with the deepest red...

"Annie!"

Finnick. Where is Finnick? Why is he in the arena? He should be in the Capitol, trying to win me sponsors, so why can I hear his voice calling my name?

I feel a hand being placed on my shoulder and I shriek because I think it's the boy from One, he's finally finished with Luca and now he's going to do the same to me... but, no... he's still hacking away at poor Luca's bludgeoned neck, I can see him, he's right in front of me, so whose hand is on my shoulder?

"ANNIE!"

With an abrupt jolt I am pulled out of my flashback. I am lying on the sand of the beach, but the sun is gone now, and it's completely dark, apart from the lights of the town behind me. My hands are covering my ears and I'm panting as I struggle to breathe. My cheeks are stained with tears and there are more still in my eyes that alter my vision, but I can make out Finnick kneeling beside me. His hand rests on my shoulder and he looks extremely concerned. I try to speak but all that comes out are horrific animalistic noises as there is hardly any air in my lungs.

"It's alright, Annie, everything's okay now."

Finnick slowly pulls me into a sitting position and I manage to inhale fully. He slowly draws circles on my upper back with his palm, encouraging me to breathe again. After a minute or so, he kisses the side of my head and buries his face into my hair.

"I was so worried about you," I hear him whisper. His voice is wobbly, as though he himself is trying not to cry. "When I went upstairs and saw that you weren't in bed, I thought something terrible had happened. Then I looked out onto the beach and saw you lying all curled up on the sand. I could hear you screaming through the window."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me in close to his chest. He sniffs loudly.

"I'm sorry." I say in a small voice. And I truly am sorry. Because it's my fault this happened in the first place. What if Finnick hadn't found me? I'd have probably been lying here all night. I might have froze to death. Or suffocated face-down in the sand. Or got washed away by the tide. The list is endless.

"You don't ever have to apologise to me for anything, sweetheart," Finnick assures me. He cups my cheek with his warm hand and gives me a small, comforting kiss on my lips. "I love you."

"I love you too." I whisper in reply.

"Let's get you inside, my darling," he says in a gentle tone.

Then Finnick scoops me up and carries me back across the beach towards our house. I rest my head in the crook of his neck and let out a sigh that is a mixture of relief and exhaustion. I might be 'the mad girl from District 4' to everyone else, but not to Finnick. It's about time I realised that.