The Sterling Nightingale ⟷ Finnick Odair/OC

I am but a poor sailor

Chapter Sixty Five | I am but a poor sailor

"The physical pain of utter weariness was so great that she hoped confidently her tired body could rest here forever, after all the turmoil, the passion, and the intrigues of the last few days – here, beneath that clear sky, within sound of the sea, and with this balmy autumn breeze whispering to her a last lullaby." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel

The evening falls hard. Sil doesn't really notice. She doesn't notice anything but the flickering images that play out behind her eyes. Felix is ingrained there, haunting her every time she blinks. When she dreams, her nightmares now have an added participant. Felix haunts her wherever she goes.

With little to do to occupy herself, Sil drifts in and out of sleep. She hasn't gotten out of bed since her arrival, except to use the bathroom. That is a humiliation in its own right. Without the use of her hands, she has to rely on nurses to help her do even the simplest of things. She can't even wash herself without their assistance.

She suddenly hates it here. She hates this room and the way the others tiptoe around her. She's the Sterling Nightingale for goodness sake. They needn't be so cautious.

Not that she can blame them for it. She knows more than anyone that she hasn't exactly been herself of late, but she can't blame herself for that, either.

She expects that this evening will pan out in much the same manner as the previous ones have. Despite her callousness towards Finnick, he is adamant about spending the evenings with her. Sometimes he brings books and reads them aloud. Sometimes they just sit in silence. Once, he had even brought her a decadent looking slice of chocolate cake from the kitchen and tried to entice her into eating it – with no luck. She tries to ignore him. He doesn't realize it yet, but it's for the best if he just forgets about her.

When the door opens just as nightfall is arriving, Sil doesn't even look over to see what Finnick's brought with him tonight. She just waits for him to take a seat by the bed and silently stares at the darkening window as she buries her face into the pillow.

To her surprise, though, it is not Finnick who walks through that door.

"Well I never," a very familiar voice tsks. "My daughter, wasting away in bed at all hours of the day! This is not a sight I ever thought to see."

With a jolt, Sil turns to the man who is lingering by the door. Gemma Cornelius just raises an eyebrow at her and steps into the room.

"...Father? What are you doing here?" Sil hoarsely asks, voice rough with disuse.

He studies her closely, eyes trailing from her thickly wrapped hands to the bandages that peek out from beneath her nightgown. His eyes grow darker with every passing second as a heavy wave of protectiveness fills him. And – shame, for not being able to protect his own daughter from the horrors she's endured.

"Can't an old man come see his daughter?" he asks, walking to the bed and taking a seat on the edge of it. He peers down at her and reaches out. She grimaces a little when he slides a hand on her arm, but it still makes his heart hurt at the sight.

He's seen her a few times over the last few days, but Gemma's tried to give her the space that she feels she needs. Unfortunately for her, though, he's quite finished with allowing it to continue. Sil doesn't respond, just purses her lips and remains silent. Pain at seeing his daughter in such a state blossoms within him.

Gemma solemnly muses, "Finnick's been so worried about you, dove. We all are."

Finnick. Of course. He's been floundering around her for days now, hardly knowing what to do. She huffs at the thought.