𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞. ( surprises )

           Finnick knows it can't be good when he's roused in the wee hours of the morning by Plutarch pounding on his door. The first explanation that comes to his mind is that somebody must have died. He runs through the small list of people he cares for the moment he sees the manic face of the former Gamemaker.

"Come with me," he says to Finnick, turning and burning down the hall without waiting for him to follow.

Clad only in his boxers, Finnick wastes a precious second to pull on pants and a shirt before darting down the hall after Plutarch.

"Who's dead?" Finnick asks when he catches up, arms still worming through sleeves and heart tight with apprehension.

"Nobody. That's actually part of the surprise."

Surprise? What a weasel. Only Plutarch Heavensbee would think that it's appropriate to surprise people anymore. He's lucky that Finnick's doing better now. Half a year ago a surprise might have upended Finnick's entire reality. At least no one's dead. It puts him at ease, now feeling only the annoyance of being pulled out of bed at this hour. The trek they take is familiar, Finnick repeats it every Tuesday afternoon.

"We're going to the hospital?" Doubt returns to Finnick about the question of a death. Maybe an injury then.

"Yes." Plutarch chuckles. "Look, they told me to wait until morning to bring you, so you're not really supposed to be here. But I couldn't help it."

This can't be good. Finnick's senses are on high alert despite the high spirits of his escort. They push through the main lobby into the emergency wing. They pass by open doors as they navigate the hall. Soldiers receive first aid for cuts and scrapes, packed two or three per room in the nighttime shortage of nurses. There's been a mission.

"Hey!" The yell comes from behind them.

Boggs has emerged from one of the rooms in their wake. Gale stumbles out after him, clutching a forearm half wrapped in gauze.

"I know, I know. You said to wait, but it just seemed cruel." Plutarch grins.

"What the hell is going on?" Finnick demands, not appreciating being the only one out of the loop.

"She won't be awake yet. They're letting her sleep off the drugs I gave her." Gale shakes his head impatiently at the former Gamemaker.

"And we just got the other two settled, we don't want to send them into a tirade again. We don't know if any of them are like Peeta yet." Boggs looks tired.

"Then you better come with us just in case, colonel." Plutarch sets off again, leaving the trio with no choice but to follow.

"Colonel Boggs, what's happening?" Finnick hisses, heart pounding in his chest.

"This isn't how I wanted this to happen." Boggs eyes him evenly. "Sorry."

Finnick doesn't have the chance to push for more clarity before he's inside of a large room with a single occupant sitting up in a bed.

"Gloss?" Finnick's heart drops down to his stomach.

"Finnick!" Gloss is up and out of bed in an instant, gazing in astonishment at his friend.

He's thin, no longer the bulky bodybuilder Finnick remembers him as. His black hair is long, reaching down past his cheekbones, oily and dirty. His beard is coarse and thick, obscuring enough of his face that it's a miracle for Finnick to have identified him so quickly.