ψ after the smoke clears when it's down to you and i ... | CLOSED

[fishermansweater]

Who: Finnick and Annie
What: Some long-overdue emotional decompression
When: late November to early December
Where: Double 017
Warnings: Description and depiction of depression, PTSD, anxiety, suicidal ideation, drug use, and discussion of mental health. Also possibly mentions of torture, kidnapping, and sexual assault/abuse/slavery.



Sometimes, Finnick loses track of time. It happens when it's too hard to get out of bed, when food, beauty, even his beloved swimming, fall away in favor of ... nothing. It hasn't been happening much here, not since he'd been reunited with Annie and so many weeks of misery had seemed to disappear into the joy of being reunited and having her safe with him again. But it's been a part of his life for so long that it's not surprising that it happens again. Not that he notices at first. Time just seems to slip away, and he doesn't want to go down to the lake or check to see if the bots at the spa have stopped trying to enforce baths in medication, or go to the agricultural level to work on the fish farm. He skips meals and doesn't notice through his mental haze, and doesn't realize it's been days since he left his and Annie's quarters.

It's like being back in the hospital in District Thirteen, except that nobody's stopping by to bring him medication or to expound theories about the damage electrical shock might have done to his mind when Katniss brought down the arena. There aren't any head doctors trying to get him to talk about his past or his relationship with Annie, either. There's just Annie, Annie who makes food and brings it to him, who goes out to do the things he's not doing. Who doesn't ask him any questions harder than whether or not he's hungry.

He's more grateful for her quiet presence than he can say.

The day does come -- eventually, and he has no idea after how long -- when Finnick goes to the bathroom while Annie's out and catches sight of his reflection to see a face that's haggard, cheekbones too sharp, chin covered with many days' worth of beard growth. It's enough to remind him t shower, to shave, to actually put on the soft robe he'd stolen from the spa and curl up on the couch in their room and wait for her to get back.

It's something.

Comments

[treadswater]

This is familiar. Not welcome, not wanted, but familiar. So much of Finnick is like the tides, his energy and awareness and ability to cope has its high tides and their low. The trick is that they aren't predictable. Which isn't a trick, it's a fucking pain in the ass. They're alone here. There's no other victors here, no one she trusts like she trusted them. Cho is still proving to be reliable in her niceness, and kindness, and lack of stabbing in the back, but this is Finnick. This is her husband.

And Mags isn't here.

Mags is dead.

Which Annie still can't deal with, there hasn't been time, she saw Mags die and then it was what, a couple days before her own arrest? She can't remember. She's terrible at time. And everything about that week bleeds into each other and what happened after. Which she's not thinking about, either, because Finnick metaphorically out at sea.

It makes her tense, though she tries not to show it. And anxious. She has to protect him, and do everything. She can't curl up into a heap, because it's all on her. They aren't outside, no one is trying to actively kill them, but that only makes her feel worse - if the stakes were dire, she's not good enough to keep them both safe.

But she tries.

She tries, and she tries to let him be, and when she walks in to find him dressed in something new, and shaved, she smiles. It's a tentative smile, but brimming with relief.

"Hey. How you doin'?"