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“Finnick? Excuse me?”
Sea green eyes, partially obscured by bronze curls, have been staring unfixed at the left wall for the last ten minutes. He has shown no interest in his food in the time it has been growing cold in front of him, and it doesn’t seem likely that he’ll do much else for the foreseeable future.
With a short sigh, I lower myself to the floor in front of his chair in the library. I thought that maybe bringing him here, to a more familiar environment rather than that colorless abyss that stretched out past the brightly painted blue doors, might help shake him loose of the fog that had eclipsed his mind in the months since the 75th Hunger Games. The library was one of the only colorful parts of Thirteen. But, I suppose, I should have known it wouldn’t work. It didn’t work when I brought him outside earlier this week. Yes, he watched the way the leaves moved with the wind and sun, listened to the birds sing- but it took no less effort to communicate with him after that.
I hadn’t met Finnick Odair before the Quarter Quell that took his sanity, but I had seen the footage of the man he once was. Even here in 13, the horror of the games was televised throughout its live run for everyone to see. I remember the 66th games, how striking his looks had been even then. More than that, though, I remember the cunning young man that had worked his way into the hearts and minds of the Capitol so thoroughly that they spent millions to get him a trident in the late stages of his games.
It had astounded me then. It astounds me now, to look up at the shell of the person sitting beside me and know how much the Capitol took from him.
What was once beautiful, suntanned skin had a slightly gray pallor to it now, and he had dark rings around his sad eyes even though he appeared to sleep most of the day. You have to say things to him multiple times to get it fully through his head, and even then he might forget it immediately.
My brow furrowed as I rose from the old carpet. The Games. Cruel and unusual as they are, they caught my attention. The games had made him this way. The Capitol. But, even before the shock that did this to him, Finnick got hurt in the Quell to the point he was catatonic- not unlike now, in fact. And Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark fixed him. How did they do that, again?
A soft, tentative touch against the side of my left hand draws my attention back to Finnick, where his pale and too-thin fingers are curling around my own. I take his hand in mine without a word, smoothing my other hand over his as I think.
I could seek out Ms. Everdeen herself and ask her. Maybe Katniss could remember something from that day that could actually make a difference. Coin wants Finnick better anyway, so I could probably get clearance to find her.
A gentle tug on my hand reminds me of the problem with that plan. As Finnick’s full time caretaker, I go where he goes, and leading him around is only easy half the time. Sometimes, he sticks in place wherever he is and refuses to go anywhere at all. And he has surprising strength for someone who has lost so much weight over the last few months. I like to entertain the idea that he does it to get on my nerves. That he’s still capable of acting in such a way.
“Yes, Finnick? What do you need?” I ask gently as I turn to face him.
He isn’t looking at me- his face is still turned in the direction of the left wall, but I am tuned in to his every word when he speaks.
“When will they save her?” His voice is low and gravelly from disuse, nothing like the low purr he always used for the cameras. Though he sounds sick, he also sounds younger. More like the 22 year old he is.
I purse my lips.
Mags Flanagan, his adoptive mother, the one person in the world Finnick really seemed to love, was lost to the Capitol during the rescues. And, elderly as she was, she was unlikely to survive any torture they inflicted. Plutarch Heavensbee’s sources believe she’s already dead.
Finnick lost his grip on reality well before that news came, though, so no one told him.
“They’re doing their best.” I assured him quietly, my thumb running over the back of his hand soothingly.
“That’s not a timeframe.” The edge of annoyance in his voice brings a small smile to my face. That sounds more like him.
“From what I hear, they’re in talks with Katniss Everdeen for her to become the Mockingjay. The sooner that happens, the sooner this is all over.”
I don’t draw any attention to the fact that I’m avoiding his question, and he doesn’t bring it up. He goes back to staring at his wall, and I go back to pacing the floor in front of the bookshelves.
Poison fog, that’s what it was. I remember now how it crept over the hill, the tenseness of all of 13 as we watched with wide eyes to see if Katniss Everdeen would spot it in time.
Katniss and Peeta had been smart enough to figure out that water could draw the poison out from their skin. They had saved Finnick’s life- something that meant nothing to me at the time -but the point was that he came back to life in the water in more ways than one.
And I saw Gale Hawthorne bringing fish to the kitchens just a couple of days ago…
I turn to Finnick so fast that he visibly startles, wide eyes finding me with the look of a frightened deer. I put my hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. But I have an idea. It’s a good one, okay? We’ll go tomorrow.”
His perfect brow furrows, gold lashes squinting together as he looks at me carefully.
His little shrug is agreement enough.
It takes little effort to weasel the location of the lake with the fish out of Gale once he learns why I’m asking. He even offers to accompany us to the armory for nets and spears, another easy feat once he shows off his fancy Communicuff to the guards at the door.
I’m practically bouncing by the time we get above ground. It didn’t take much effort to convince Alma to allow this- I grew up in these woods with her little girl at my side.
I have the net, two spears, and a burlap bag over my shoulder as I lead Finnick along the path into the woods. He’s following without resistance, possibly curious as to what yesterday’s excitement was all about, but mostly staring idly at the flora we pass.
“And here we are,” I say as we step out of the bushes and onto the sandy banks of a large, open lake. There’s enough canopy overhead to block us from sight of any passing hovercraft, though I doubt the Capitol would be brave enough to try us right now, anyway.
I get to work setting up the net as Finnick stands on the shoreline, looking down at the water lapping his ill-fitting shoes.
“You can swim, Finnick,” I call out once the net is in place. He looks at me, eyes uncertain.
I don’t know what comes over me when I splash him, soaking his hair and shirt.
A tense moment passes as he stares at me, eyes wide and dripping wet, and then he laughs.
He laughs.
And I’m laughing with him.
“Well, what are you waiting for? We only have two hours out here, so make the most of it.”
Finnick is my ward. A patient. A kind boy with an incredible history, yes, but that is all.
Still, I just about lose my grip on the tears that spring to my eyes at the smile he gives me.
Watching Finnick come back to life, even just a little bit, is more than I ever could have wished for. It starts slow, but soon he’s wading around in the water, stirring up the pond bed as he runs his hands through the cool surface.
I take a seat on the rocks that line the beach, watching Finnick as I enjoy the sun on my skin. It feels like I can breathe a little bit easier, seeing the tension that usually curls his shoulders inwards finally start to release.
It’s on the walk back, our time now up, that he says my name for the first time.
It takes me a minute to register it, but then I’m looking at him with wide eyes. “Yes, Finnick?”
“Thank you,” he says softly.
And, for the millionth time today, I’m smiling. “Of course.”
I became a nurse for the same reason many do in Panem.
Out of necessity. Out of fear for my loved ones.
But, I have to admit, there’s a certain thrill to seeing someone get better under your care. A sort of joy you can’t shake as you watch a paraplegic rise for the first time, as the poison around a wound recedes, as the blood flow is stifled and the patient stabilizes.
I was chosen as the nurse for Finnick Odair by Alma Coin herself. Given our history, she knew Finnick would get better under my care.
She was right.