He meant everything to her. Three years later and she'd still do anything to keep him safe, sacrifice everything to protect him- even if that meant keeping him at an arm's length.
She was the one person who truly knew him. The one person he'd choos...
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Eight Years Post-Victory
Maggie Winterton was a miniature version of her mother. With olive skin, dark hair, and ebony eyes, she was the spitting image of Peia. Her personality, on the other hand, was more mellow than her mom's. She was a perfect mix of her parents, though, with a big heart and protective nature. She was also a mommy's girl, unlike her little sister.
Aurelia Winterton—Ellie for short—was a miniature version of her father. True to her mother's word, their second daughter was, in fact, his little carbon copy. She had his same sun kissed skin and light eyes, despite them being more gray-blue than green. With light brown hair to match the rest of her soft features, her smile was almost as big as her heart.
To say that their girls had truly gotten the best of their character traits would be an understatement. Both of them hadn't had to develop the others and they would never need to. They would grow up in a world without fear. They would always, always know love first.
And they had.
"Okay. Okay. Time for bed." Finnick insisted, finally catching his little runaway three year old.
Ellie only giggled as he held her upside down and started towards his bedroom. As he reached the doorway, his brow was raising at the sight of his eldest daughter in his bed.
"Maggie," Finnick voiced, flipping Ellie up onto his hip.
"Mom said we could all have a sleepover until she gets back." She folded her arms over her chest, determination seeping into her gaze.
"Mom said that? Like, your mom?" Finnick questioned, brow remaining raised at the defiant seven year old in front of him.
"Yep. And mom is always right." Maggie pointed out.
And with that logic? Finnick couldn't argue. "Alright. Only tonight though. Mommy will be back from Aunt Lily's tomorrow."
Maggie moved over as he climbed into bed, placing Ellie in between them. When they were finally situated, she turned to her dad, dark eyes lighting up. "You have to tell us a story."
Finnick let out a breath. He wasn't getting out of this. "Okay then, Mags. What story does mom usually—"
"Tell us how you and mom met." She interjected, excitedly rolling onto her stomach and propping her chin up in her palms.
"How me and mom met?" Finnick glanced down at her, brow raising. "Okay. Where do I start? Right." He paused, either side of his mouth instinctively lifting at the memory. "I was seventeen. Mommy was sixteen. This was before we got all old and wrinkly though."
Maggie grinned, barely able to hold her laugh in.
"Your mom got called to go do something for the President at the time." He began, slowly picking out what he wanted them to know. "Thing is, I won a few years earlier. And I was the youngest winner ever— just putting that out there. Your mom, though, she was a little fireball. She was kind of mad 'cause I couldn't get her name right, but I knew that first time that she was not just another girl."
