𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐒 ❦ The Hunger Games Third Book

t w e n t y - t w o

As Finnick finally brought his attention back towards the elegant scribbles he had been writing for months on end, the sudden crackle seemed to become transparent in comparison. The pages he'd brought with him that day was thick enough to stack into two seperate piles on the coffee table in front of him- enough to fit into three seperate books that were separated into chapters of around 1,500 words each on average. He knew he had made some accounts a lot longer than that- up to 3,500 words in a few cases- but he also knew some parts were too hard to bare.

"I know this last entry must've been the hardest to write for you Finnick. But without it, the books would have such a sudden ending"

Dr. Granger had told him how well he could manipulate words on a page. How detailed he remembered the little things- or the things he couldn't have seen but got from his friends, or the memories that people had shared in the past. It was finally a good thing that he couldn't get the trauma he'd suffered out of his mind; in front of him was the entire timeline from the beginning of the seventy-fifth Hunger Games until the very moment when the war ended- at least when the war ended for him.

One month ago when the Doctor first suggested turning his therapy into some kind of tribute to the Hunger Games and the terrible things him and his wife had seen, Finnick never would've imaged himself being able to finish it. Not when he had been asked to write everything through the eyes of his greatest love instead of his own.

All he could think about as he wrote was the war, and how quickly every happy thing had been stripped away from him. Near the end it was less about the time he wasted (a part of him wanted to change the arguments he had been so stubborn about so they were grand romantic gestures instead) and how swiftly the people he once cared for had left him. Katniss had been exiled after her final act of rebellion when she killed President Coin, Peeta had joined her and Johanna was sent back home to District Seven where she could recover. Beetee was in the Capitol- it seemed that the War had been the only thing that brough the Victor's together.

Maybe she was the only one that kept us together- Finnick thought as he rearranged the pages in his hand so the last chapter was in the correct order.

"I couldn't do it all." Finnick admitted. His eyes that had been described throughout his chapters as both blue and green (depending on how he felt) seemed more glassy than they had been in the last couple of sessions to Dr. Granger, but that was understandable. She knew what she asked Finnick Odair to do was enough to open every wound that he had, but she also saw just how much it helped him understand his wife's thought process.

She had seen him shrink and then grow again; the Doctor recognised that growth so much more when she could see how far he'd come.

It was important that Finnick no longer blamed himself for all the things Lorna had done. It was even more important for him to realise just how inevitable it all was.

"I tried so hard. After all this time I thought I'd be able to make it through and come to some kind of peaceful ending, but I can't. I can't even say it out loud."

Or think it- Finnick admitted to himself, and himself alone.

"Would it be too much to ask you to read me what you have so far?" The Doctor asked without a hint of expectancy.

Finnick glanced at his work again. His mouth was dry, he noticed how scratchy the back of his throat was now that he tried to push out words that he'd said in his head with complete clarity: a part of him was afriad that his voice would betray how calm it felt to finally have her side of the story right infront of him.

He took a sip of water before unfurling the first couple of sentences.

"Weightlessness was by far the most harrowing sensation that I'd ever felt.