The Sterling Nightingale ⟷ Finnick Odair/OC

Another

Chapter Forty | Another

"What connection could there be between her exquisite dandy of a husband, with his fine clothes and refined, lazy ways, and the daring plotter who rescued French victims from beneath the very eyes of the leaders of a bloodthirsty revolution?" Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel

Finnick's first coherent thought is that the wine he'd had with Sil was a hell of a lot stronger than he'd thought. His head is aching terribly when he comes to, and he feels dehydrated. His throat is dry and his eyes are crusted over with sleep. It takes him a good few minutes to gather up the motivation to lift his hand to his head and open his eyes. When he does, he sits up so quickly that his head pounds horrifically, but his surprise doesn't allow him peace.

He's not in the hotel room.

With a jerk, Finnick looks around and realizes with growing dread that he's in a hospital, and that never bodes well. He's still wearing his clothes from before, and he's clearly only been put here momentarily. He's not hooked up to anything. It's strange in and of itself.

What's stranger, he supposes as he catches sight of a sign above a nearby door, are the words, 'District 13 Medical Center' written in bold lettering over the threshold. Yes, that's definitely a little weird. Is this some kind of joke? Did the Capitol set this up to test him?

It's not a test, though, which he realizes before long.

"I see you're awake," Haymitch's bored voice suddenly says, and Finnick turns to face the man with wide eyes. He stares.

"Haymitch?" Finnick asks slowly, wondering if this is a hallucination brought on by Capitol medics. Haymitch can't be here. Haymitch is in District 13. His eyes trail back to the sign on the opposite wall and he swallows.

"Where am I?" he quietly asks, not looking away from that sign for even a moment.

Haymitch snorts and stuffs his hands into his pockets. "I'm pretty sure you already know. And before you ask, no this isn't a hallucination, yes this is real, and no I'm not going to let you cry on my shoulder. I haven't had a drink in weeks and I'm cranky."

Finnick turns to glance at him, eyebrow raised. Then he catches sight of the deep shadows beneath Haymitch's eyes and the slight twitch of his body. Has he really not had a drink in weeks? Unheard of. Though he certainly does look more sober than Finnick's ever seen him.

"I'm pretty sure my hallucinations wouldn't be able to come up with that," Finnick mutters, rubbing his face with both hands as he leans over. "Whoever heard of a sober version of you?"

Haymitch grunts in agreement and grumbles, "Well you seem chipper despite being drugged and stuffed onto a hovercraft. Good on you."

His words make Finnick still. With a frown, he looks over at Haymitch and asks, "What are you – " Then suddenly images invade his mind, and he freezes, his words dying abruptly on his tongue.

Drinking with Sil. Yes, that's what he'd been doing. And then – the kiss. It had been a good kiss. She'd reciprocated, and he remembers pushing her down into the mattress before his memories go blank. He vaguely remembers seeing her again, her face rising up out of the darkness and her fingers lingering on his face – but, the only other memories he has of last night are indistinct sounds and images that he can't make out in his blurry, hazy state.

"Drugged?" he questions suddenly, and thinks back on the wine.

Did Sil drug him? No. Of course she wouldn't do something like that. The mere thought is ridiculous...right? He raises a hand to his chin and, in doing so, his fingers brush against hard metal. He pauses only a moment before grasping blindly at a ring that is hanging around his neck – a pearl ring that looks dizzyingly familiar. It belongs to Sil, so why does he have it?