"Now my friends are dead…and gone. Here they talked of revolution. Here it was they lit the flame. Here they sang about tomorrow. And tomorrow never came." My voice drifts through my home softly. "Oh my friends forgive me. That I live and you are gone. There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain that goes on and on." I pour the boiling pot of water into the strainer, the steam coming up and stinging my hands. "Phantom faces at the window. Phantom shadows on the floor. Empty chairs at empty tables where my friends will meet no more."
I almost scare myself as I sing, the only accompaniment being the sounds of my knife cutting vegetables. "Don't ask me. What your sacrifice was for." I continue humming the tune as I toss the vegetables over the pasta.
Naturally, I toss broiled pieces of fish on top as well. I'm still humming when I hear the click of my front door opening and the familiar sound of Mags's cane against the wooden floor.
My motions still when my ears register another pair of heavier footsteps. I turn around slowly to see Mags standing in the doorway, a smile on her face.
Finnick stands beside her, in the doorway of my kitchen holding a loaf of sea bread. I don't acknowledge him, but walk up to Mags, kissing both sides of her face in greeting. "Hello darling." She smiles at me as she babbles to me. "I invited him over as well." She looks up to Finnick, who looks out of place. His tall frame taking up most of the doorway.
"He can put the bread on the table." I say shortly, "It'll be ready in about ten minutes."
I hear Mags make her way over to the table and sit down in her usual seat. "Finn was telling me how they say there's a storm coming in Thursday night." She tells me.
"Sounds fascinating." I deadpan as I mix the pasta with everything else, my mind desperately trying to keep tabs on what Finnick is doing and his location at all times. The thought that my calming medication may die down before dinner is over makes its way to the front of my mind.
"Mayor may order a lockdown." Finnick pitches in. My grip tightens on the bowl as I carry it over, placing it down on the table. It's placed down harder than usual, and I feel their eyes on me as I straighten up.
"Sorry." I whisper and make my way to the fridge, grabbing two glasses from the cabinet next to it. "Do you want water?" I ask Finnick, just to be nice and I know Mags will reprimand me if I don't.
"No thank you." We're being too cautious of each other. I know Mags can feel it too. I fill up the two glasses, sitting in my seat after placing a glass before Mags and my own in my usual seat. Finnick found the plates and my silverware as I was finishing everything else and has placed them on the table.
It reminds me of the times before the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games. The times when this exact scenario would occur. How Finnick and I would practically dance away from one another, only speaking when need be. It was safe, it was secure. It needs to be right now too.
Once we've all sat down we begin passing the bowl of pasta around. I take my usual small helping, Mags slapping my hand when I try to pass her the bowl. I scoop more onto my plate, only then does she take it from me, dishing some out for herself before putting some on Finnick's plate as he cuts the bread.
"This is like old times." Mags smiles at us both from her seat at the head of the table. I just nod as Finnick chuckles slightly. We don't say a word, so Mags tries to change the subject again. "Did you talk to Peeta today Steller?" My gaze slowly lifts up to the old woman when she uses my full name. I swallow my food before answering gingerly.
"Yes, I called him this morning."
"Do you two talk to each other often?" Finnick asks curiously, a hint of hardness in his voice.
"Oh they speak almost every day." Mags pipes up and I can feel everyone's eyes on me. My foot starts tapping on the floor as I just nod.
"We do have a lot in common. He's doing well, as is Katniss." I pause to take another bite of my dinner, "They're rebuilding his family's bakery."
"That's great," Mags smiles and looks to Finnick. "and the hauls been good?"
"Lower than usual, but that's expected since the Capital poisoned some of the waters." I remember Finnick telling me of that while he was still at the hospital with me. How Snow had ordered poison to be dropped on one of the major fishing grounds nearby. It killed almost a fifth of the fish we depend on. "Though not as low as some of the guys expected. Rip says it should only go up unless a storm uncovers more." My head snaps up.
"Riptide?" His name escapes my mouth before I think of it, and then Finnick's eyes are on me.
"Yeah." He shrugs, "He's head of the east docks now." he doesn't offer me any information on my old friend, and I don't ask. Mags asks him more about the type of fish they've been catching less of, and as they talk, I turn in my seat to unhinge my leg.
I try to even sleep with it on most nights, though having it on more constantly causes more aches where it attaches, even if the fit is better than before. I let out a sigh as it click off and prop the prosthetic up against the table leg.
"Gloss never liked seafood; he said he could never get used to the taste." I say, remembering suddenly. I look up to see Finnick's confused face. I feel myself start to worry if I've said the wrong thing or not, I look to Mags, who just nods.
"Some people just don't like it." She agrees with me. I nod my head, not noticing the concerned look Finnick gives me. My mind wanders from there, and although I hear Mags and Finnick speaking, I really don't follow what they're saying.
Finnick's POV
She just stares at her dinner in front her, not even having finished it yet.
"She's fine Finn, it happens once in a while." I look to Mags, then back at Stell, stunned that she doesn't retaliate. It's almost as if she can't hear Mags. "She just zones out. One of her medications is probably wearing off."
"One of them?" I ask, "How many is she on?" I know it's not my business, but I'm curious. I was always curious, worried, concerned for how Stell has been doing. Especially since our conversation a week ago on the dock.
I had been wary when Mags invited me, I had politely turned her down even, but she insisted. And I pity the woman in front of me. I can see how she evaluates everything, how she never totally relaxes. And I know I'm most of the reason.
"I believe there're twelve in total." My eyes snap to Mags.
"I'm only on four." I contemplate aloud.
"One to help with the anxiety. Two to help with her outbursts. One anti-depressant. One calming. There's a sleeping medication she takes sometimes. One for her skin, two different ones for pain. One for vitamins and nutrients. The major one for her flashbacks. The last one is for her eyes." Mags smiles sadly, looking longingly at Stell, who continues to not really be present. "She's gotten a lot better since she first came."
"She's not the same."
"Neither are you." My head ducks automatically at Mags's accusing tone. "Nobody is Finnick, she's got all the reason in the world to be a mess." The old woman sighs and I wait for her to continue, knowing she's not done yet. "I just wanted you to see is all. If you think leaving her alone is what's best. This is how that's going so far, I'm not saying it's bad, but it ain't good either boy. She's getting better, slowly, but better. And anyone with eyes in their head can see she's lonely."
I glance over at Stell. No longer the radiant girl who I knew years before, or the strong woman I fell in love with. I remember the night before the Quell, holding her in my arms.
"I'll miss you." She had told me in the darkness.
"You're not losing me. I won't let that happen." Had been my response, my promise. I had stayed awake long after she fell asleep on my chest. I realize, suddenly, that it's a promise that is still in place now.
"Come on, clear the dishes son. I'll make her some tea." I just nod to Mags, gathering the plates from the table and bringing them into Stell's kitchen.
I wasn't surprised that she wouldn't move back into her own home in Victor's Village. But I was when I found out this place existed. I always thought someone lived here before, she never told me she owned the place. Though she didn't tell me a lot. And I guess I never told her much either.
I've figured that part of the relationship we had had a few months ago, and I'm guessing she had it figured out long before then. We didn't, we don't really know each other. We don't have the same type of insightful relationship as her and Peeta do. I don't know how she grew up, not the details at least, or how she did in school. I don't know what her favorite food was, or what her parents did to calm her down at night. I don't know what she did for fun, if anything at all. I don't even know what house she lived in before her Reaping.
I understand now, that our relationship was kind of built backwards. The physical before anything else. I've never slept with her, not that, but what we were forced to put on, the show we were puppets in.
I'd like to get to know her. I'm still in love with her, I'm certain of that. The other girls, ones that I'd even looked at before, given second glances too. It's like I don't notice them now. I just think of her, I worry about her. I want her to get better.
And it kills knowing she doesn't need me to get better, even worse that, for the most part, she doesn't want my help getting better. But she will, get better that is, with time. Not completely, none of us will ever get completely better.
Maybe she could find some of her old self though, the snarky, sarcastic, bitchy girl who would just give me hell all hours of the day. It's only the best I could hope for.
"Come on Stell, just a little bit." I look up to see Mags holding a cup of tea before Stell, a hand resting on her shoulder. Mags shakes her slightly, and I can see her blink a few times before her hands open slowly and grasp the mug. "That's a girl."
I have to swallow the lump in my throat at the sight of Mags helping Stell. It's such a scene that I thought I'd never see, much less between these two. An old eighty seven year old woman, who has suffered a stroke, comforting and helping a twenty four year old, who is still said to be the most beautiful woman in Panem, even with her scars.
Slowly, very slowly, Mags coaxes Stell to drink some of the tea she's made for her, before she looks to me. "I usually put her on the couch, but would you take her to her room?" I'm stunned for a moment and look to Stell, who still isn't responding much. Mags dips her head down closer to Stell's ear and whispers in it. She gets a hum in response and just a slight shake of her head. "She doesn't mind, upstairs, second door on the left."
I watch as Mags guides Stell to her feet. Her muscles are tense, rigid really and her eyes dart around the room. "She's going to be fine, usually she snaps out of it quickly, hasn't been like this in a couple weeks." I nod my head and carefully walk towards the two. Stell's eyes lock onto me and I try to give him a small smile.
"Its fine, I'm not gunna hurt you." I reach a hand out slowly and she flinches slightly. I can see it in her eyes, how some part of her does know what's happening, she's seeing what's happening to her. I can tell she hates it. Gently, I place a hand on her arm.
I can see her pupils dilate and neither of us move until I see her relax a bit more. "See, I'm not going to hurt you. você está seguro." I take her arm lightly, and that's when I realize she still doesn't have on her leg. She balances surprisingly well on one foot, and that makes me sad too. That even in this state she knows how to cope with the loss of her limb. "I'll have to pick you up, I won't hurt you, I'll never hurt you." I whisper meaning every word.
She's surprisingly not as light as I thought she'd be, and I can tell, just by holding her, the muscle she's gained back. Not as much as when she went into the Quell, but I can guess she's trying to get there. Victors always try to stay fit, as a precaution. Even Haymitch, in a drunken state no less, can throw a knife.
I make my way up the stairs of her home, going and lightly kicking her bedroom door open. I have to stop for a moment to take it in. I doubt anyone else but Stell has ever been in here, since Mags cannot get up a full flight of stairs without getting winded.
Stell has written all over the walls. Names of the tributes we mentored, names of our fellow Victors who died in the rebellion. What scares me the most is what's carved in the wall, scratched in harshly so it's almost illegible.
'There's a room where the light won't find you. Holding hands while the world comes tumbling down, when they do I'll be right behind you. I'm so glad we almost made it. So sad we had to face it.'
It takes up almost the area above her bed, and slowly, I walk in and place her down. My hand lingers on the sheets as I back away. They're smoother than any I've ever felt. That's when I remember her skin. "Shit," I curse under my breath, "did I hurt you?" I whisper, not expecting her to hear.
But she shakes her head barely, her knees coming up to her chest. Her hair falls over her face, covering it from the world.
I look around her room more. The names that are written everywhere. Annie. Johanna. Wiress. Gloss. Cashmere. Enobaria. Brutus. Sya. Reed. Cephas. Each one isn't written just once.
I look back at her just once more, letting out a breath knowing there isn't anything else I can really do to help. I look back above her bed, reading the words over and over again. They stand out, along with the names, against the dark wall.
The dark walls. Like a cell. It all makes sense then, something as simple as dark walls reminding her of her cell, which is why she tries to cover it. I'm guessing she thought she'd do something more productive than painting the walls-or she didn't think of that.
"Stell." Her name comes out in a breath, and I turn my back to her, going over and turning off the light before closing the door halfway.