Victor's Crown: A Hunger Games Story

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 [𝟮𝟳]

When Finnick wakes up, he is somewhere different. Tubes and machines surround him, thread into and around his body, chirping and buzzing and monitoring. They are so numerous and strange Finnick feels more mechanical than human, a boy disassembled and put back together with synthetic parts. Everything feels unreal, the boundaries between dream and reality softened, easily crossed, difficult to comprehend. Finnick gazes placidly up at the gentle yellow light fixed to the ceiling and tries to remember why, exactly, he is here.

Finnick Odair, please remain calm, an automated female voice says from above. You are safe in the care of the Capitol's top medical facility. We are doing our best to make your stay as comfortable and pleasant as possible. Please remain calm. An Avox will be with you shortly.

They might as well have not bothered, because no more than two words compute in his brain, and they are his first and last name. The message ends and repeats itself before an Avox walks into the room with a tray. Finnick struggles to muster a phrase he knows is a greeting, but he can't quite form the words with his mouth and has to settle for staring blankly instead. The Avox sets the tray down within Finnick's reach and offers him the glass of water sitting on it.

When Finnick reaches out to take the glass of water, he realizes three things: His torso is bandaged, he is very thirsty, and he is wholly, blissfully clean. He can only ogle at the state of his hands and arms, already being returned to their pre-Games state by some baffling Capitolite technology. For some reason, this comforts him more than anything the Capitol could ever tell him. He runs his fingers along the bandage covering his stomach, plucking at it until the Avox puts out a cautionary hand and shakes his head. It's easier to comply than argue, so Finnick does as he is asked. Besides, he needs water.

He tips the glass up and takes a huge mouthful of liquid, then promptly coughs it up as his throat constricts in rebellion. The Avox helps pat him dry and points at the straw, previously ignored in favor of drinking straight from the glass. Finnick is vaguely aware he would be highly embarrassed under normal circumstances, but in his dazed, sedated condition, only the slightest prick of self-consciousness is kindled. He sips carefully from the straw and watches the Avox check the machines and fiddle with the tubes.

After I'm done with this water, he tells himself. After I'm done I'll get up and figure out what's going on.

But soon he finds that he is much too tired to keep his eyes open, even though his water is only half gone. He slips back into a doze and, despite the vague misgivings lurking in the back of his mind, cannot find the strength to break free from it.

He doesn't know how long he remains this way—hooked up to machines, sleeping, sipping water and nibbling crackers and soup. The Avox is a near-constant presence, either bringing him more food or checking the equipment. Finnick wants to know his name, but there's no point in asking. So the Avox tends and Finnick is tended in silence.

While he is sleeping, his worries emerge in a new, terrifying way. Finnick struggles against an unseen enemy, yelling himself hoarse, tangling himself in the sheets, tears and sweat and urine soaking his bed. Then, a voice. A soothing familiar voice washes over Finnick, calming him even as he can't hear exactly what it is saying. He clings to it, even half-conscious, and slips into a deep, tranquil unconsciousness.

At the academy, previous victors would try to prepare potential tributes by hosting frequent seminars, explaining not only the reality of the arena, but of what happens after. They will drug you to keep you calm, they warned Finnick and his classmates. The best thing you can do is comply with whatever they want. Then they'll take you off the drugs, and you'll start to feel normal again.

But what is normal after the arena? Finnick isn't sure he wants to find out. He is sure about one thing, though: He is sick of this room, he wants to see Mags, and he wants to go home. He informs the Avox of these facts with varying degrees of politeness whenever he is awake enough to form coherent sentences, but the Avox just shakes his head and leaves the room each time. Eventually, Finnick stops asking, but the questions are still there. The panic builds, exacerbated by the medicine rather than diminished by it. The machines beep. Finnick gets more drugs. He slumbers longer and opens his eyes less, floating in the liminal twilight between awareness and sleep. Dreams do not reach him in this murky space, this cavity dug out by sedatives and analgesics. Were Finnick able, he would have sobbed with gratitude. Here, Finnick does not worry, does not feel, does not exist. It is a state of being in which nothing and no one can bother him. Finnick has never felt so free.