When The Canary Sings

I Pray You Don't Fall From Me.

Third Person Point of View: 

* 

"You can't go in there." A man says gruffly, not hesitating to push him back. She's back in a white room, pacing and screaming.

"Why?!" Will grunts.

"She's having an episode. She'll lash out. You'll get yourself hurt." The guard says, walking away with a strong grip on Will's hand. He leads him into the middle of the lobby.

"You can't just leave me here!" Becca yells, throwing her hands up. Then, she settles on a last resort, "I have to pee!?" She screams, but it's just met with silence, and then her own groan in frustration.

"I'd listen to him, boy." Beetee says, wheeling in towards Will. Ever since he could sit up, they've had him at work, but he's been perfectly happy. He gets to spend all day in a lab, his music being the beeping and whirring of the machines down there. "You've grown since the last time I saw you."

"That was two years ago."

"You were poisoned, if I remember correctly." He says, wiping off smudges on his round glasses. A possibility on how to calm Becca down is swirling in his mind, he chuckles as all the dots connect in his mind.

"Yeah." Will grunts, showing his hands in his pockets. He pushes on past Beetee, but before he could get far, Beetee grabs his wrist. "Yo—"

"You wanna get her out?" He asks, Will's eyes widen immediately as he nods. "If I remember correctly, you play both the mandolin and the guitar, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your way of coping, when she wasn't with us, was to write songs. Were any of them about her?"

"Every single one." He admits, "why?"

"Music can reach parts of the brain that words can't. Especially the way her brain is wired, being raised on songs, no wonder reassuring words aren't reaching her. She needs a melody. Lyrics."

"Genius." Will says, immediately darting out of the hospital. He runs as fast as he can, pushing people into walls because they were in his way. He grabs the guitar he hid in some dark tunnel in a dark corner, slings it over his shoulder, and runs all the way back. The adrenaline not making him pant for a single lost breath.

Beetee gives him a smile as he comes back, and wheels himself over to the brutish guard. With a few simple words, he gets the man to move easily. Beetee motions Will to come forwards. He takes a step forwards to the glass.

Becca is still pacing around the room, occasionally throwing things at the glass in a weak attempt to break the six-inch glass. Will raises his fist, knocking. Her head snaps forward, and he shows her the guitar. Next to him, Beetee presses a red button so the microphone turns on. So she can hear him.

"Go on," Beetee urges, watching with intent, trying to see if the experiment will work.

"Becca," he starts off, all of a sudden finding his mouth very dry. Before he sings, he decides to talk to her. "Uh, while you were gone, I was a wreck. I was so, so scared. Terrified. It seemed like everyone had these fancy easy to cope, Finnick and his rope, and Katniss, well, Katniss just became so closed off. But me? I've never lost anyone as important to me as you." He admits, "even when my parents died. I wasn't a wreck like I was while you were gone. I actually think it's because, well, I knew they were dead and gone." Will explains, moving his hands and avoiding eye contact with Becca who stood watching him on the other side of the glass. "But with you, there was that mystery, that air of...I don't even know. But it was scary. No one knew, were you alive or dead? It was horrifying to think you were dead, but to be honest, it was scarier to think that you were alive. Not that I wanted you to be dead, but I didn't–I couldn't bear to even think of you being tortured... like you were."