A/N: I made a small edit to the last chapter, removing the mistake I made about the Seam. Anyway, I'm sorry it's been a while. Luckily, I have more time to write now that I'm on winter vacation. Thanks for reading!
Lillian danced around their foyer in a cold, focused race against time. And blood, she thought, grimacing at the sight of the boy's leaking chest. "Lillian?" her father called, his motions as steady and controlled as hers. "Have you got the bandage?"
"I'm applying it now," Lillian called back.
"Good," he said, exhaling. "I'm getting the pain medication ready."
"Does that - does that mean he'll be waking up soon?" Mrs. Everdeen asked, her dark eyes shiny with tears.
"Yes," Lillian replied. "Hopefully, with the medicine, the pain won't be too much." She hadn't meant to say something of concern - the phrase held hardly more than conversational value in her mind - but her words seemed to release Mrs. Everdeen's tears.
"Shh," her husband said gently, putting an arm around her.
"He'll be fine," Lillian added quickly. "It will just hurt for a little while." She took a deep, silent breath, as she always did before working with an open wound. It was a simple, unobtrusive way of keeping herself at ease. She pulled away the savaged remnants of his shirt, biting her tongue at the sight. Lillian could handle unpleasant smells and images better than most, but this was a stretch even for her. The whip marks were obvious; deep, purple slits had been drawn into the boy's skin.
"Oh," Mrs. Everdeen gave a faint gasp. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Lillian's mother went forward, her gentle fingers reaching for the other woman's. "Here, why don't you come with me into the back. You can get some rest."
"I couldn't," Mrs. Everdeen insisted, shaking her head. "I want to be here when he wakes up."
"Go with her, Grace," her husband said. His voice held a quiet authority to it, and Mrs. Everdeen nodded with reluctance.
"We'll get you if anything happens," Lillian's mother promised.
"Thank you," she replied meekly. They left the room, arm in arm.
"Be straight with me, sir," Mr. Everdeen asked, his powerful voice spreading through the room like wildfire. "Is he going to heal?"
Lillian's eyes flickered to her father, who was concentrating on medicinal herbs with a deaf ear. He had not heard, and it was left to her to answer. "He will," she promised. "It might be painful," she reiterated. "But he should be fine."
The man nodded, his jaw shifting up and down. After a moment, Lillian noticed with embarrassment that tears had welled in his eyes. She blushed, turning the breadth of her attention to the task at hand.
"Thank you for healing him," Mr. Everdeen said hoarsely. "Some... some might not have, for fear of getting caught."
"We aren't some people," Lillian's father replied loudly, his voice just as strong and forceful as Mr. Everdeen's. Lillian felt a rush of pride for her father's stubborn dignity, and realized he had been listening the entire time. "We don't believe in these whippings," he said softly.
According to him, there had been a time before the whippings. Things had been never been good, food had been scarce, but nowhere near the realm of danger they orbited now. Sometimes, with an ounce of selfish desperation, Lillian wished for those days. She wished for the old District 12. She'd told Grant once or twice, and he'd smiled and asked her not to be such a realist. If you're wishing, he'd said, you may as well wish for the whole world. He'd said he'd wish for before then, even, before the Games and the Reaping. Before Panem. A surprising shudder raced down Lillian's spine, and she threw the remainder of her thoughts back to the boy on the table. Right now, if she did her job correctly, the world should hold only the two of them. If she was a true healer, she would be able to push the rest away.
She dipped her fingers into a cool, clear liquid, brushing it across the top of his chest. His tawny skin felt like cloth to the touch: soft but somehow made of smaller pieces. Staring at the black strands of his chest hair, stained with dried blood, she wondered foolishly if they were the threads holding him together. "The bandages are on, Dad," she said quietly, putting the last strand of white linen in place.
He nodded curtly, striding over to the table's side. "Alright. Why don't you check him for other problems. The chest was the one we noticed, but there could be other scrapes. Also, see if you can clean him off."
"Okay," Lillian replied. Without thinking about it, merely following her ordinary steps of practice, she peeled away the remainder of his clothes. Gaping, startled by the mindlessness with which she'd complied, she forced her actions back to productivity. Emmeline and Madge would be laughing their heads off right now, she thought wryly.
Eyes trained with unusual precision on the floor, Lillian obeyed orders. She soaped and scrubbed his other marks, including a few other imposing gashes that had gone untreated. As she wiped a trail of sweat from her brow, she wondered how the patient would feel when he woke up. He'd lost so much blood; it was hopeful to say he'd feel some pain, more logical to say he might not survive the feeling at all.
"I think we ought to wake him," her father whispered, coming to her side.
"Really?" Lillian asked. For one reason or another, she dreaded the idea. Together, their lines of sight travelled magnetically to the doorway. The mothers had never returned, and this hopefully meant that Mrs. Everdeen had calmed down.
"Perhaps we should do it without them?" Lillian's father asked the room at large. "I don't want... I don't want anything making him feel worse."
"No," Mr. Everdeen replied, shaking his head. He stepped between the father and daughter pair, his overwhelming size all the more impressive up close. "My wife will never forgive herself if she isn't here."
"Alright. I'll get her," Lillian's father said, sighing. While it seemed right for Mrs. Everdeen to help her own son, Lillian did understand her father's wishes. If she got hysterical, the boy might feel frightened upon waking up.
They came back, and Lillian was pleased to find that her mother had done an excellent job at sooth Mrs. Everdeen. Lillian smiled, listening with a vague ear as her father explained the idea to them.
"Oh I don't care," Mrs. Everdeen said, her voice warbling again. "I don't mind if he isn't himself. I only want to make sure he can still - can still wake up."
"Well, that is the idea. Lillian, do you want to get the smelling salts? They're in the top cabinet." Again, Lillian followed orders with an habitual amount obedience and care.
"Would you do the honors?" her father asked. He held the numbing medicine in hand, ready to thrust it through the boy's lips.
She nodded, bracing herself for whatever jolt of pain might lie behind his eyelids, and opened the small cap to the bottle. She held it right beneath his nose, her heartbeat quickening as she watched his nostrils twitch. All at once, his eyelids fluttered open. He stared blankly up at them for a moment, and then promptly moaned and reached for his chest.
"Stop," Lillian said instinctively, her voice filled with warm inflections. She reached for his hand, letting him sprain her bones as he squeezed her fingers together. He let out a sharp yelp, then another guttural groan. Lillian's father stepped forward, slipping the medicine down his throat as he opened his mouth to shout. He promptly spit it onto Lillian's wrist, unable to bear the toxic, bitter taste.
"You must drink it," Lillian said softly, stroking his cheek as tenderly as she dared. When she was with patients, she hardly thought about the little moves she made. Everything felt necessary and called for. "It's the only way you'll feel better." The boy pulled his top row of teeth against his bottom lip, and Lillian realized that he was trying to listen to her. This time, she did the job of the spoon. Anxiety swelled in her lungs as he made a gagging sound, and then rushed away with relief as she watched him swallow. She dropped his hand, shifting away from the table as Mrs. Everdeen rushed forward.
"Oh Eric," his mother sobbed. "We were so worried. Why would you go exploring like that?" she blubbered, clutching his scraped hands against her cheeks. Mr. Everdeen shushed her promptly, glancing with apprehension at Lillian's family. Obviously his gratitude did not extend to trust; he worried what they'd do with the knowledge that his son had been... "exploring". Lillian's parents did not react, being well versed with this sort of secrecy, but Lillian's own lips dropped in surprise. That was the kind of thing they heard about in school; that was the kind of thing you could get shot for.
"Lillian, fetch some pillows and blankets from your room alright?" her mother asked. Again, she did as she was told. The night continued in a calmer manner, the boy's - Eric's - parents eventually falling asleep on Lillian's bed. She took a spare blanket and pillow, curling up on the living room couch. They were from the merchant class, perhaps, but they did not live a life of luxury. The two bedrooms were all they had.
A whimpering sound came suddenly from the tabletop, and Lillian rushed over. She stared, unabashed, into the eyes of the injured boy. He was gritting his teeth, obviously suppressing a more alarming noise of pain.
"Would you like more numbing solution?" Lillian asked gently. "It's probably worn off."
"Is that the stuff from before?" Lillian felt her insides grow slimy and clamp together, surprised. He had the same deep, shocking voice as his father.
"Yes."
He grimaced. "No thank you." Then, a small attempt at a smile. "I think I'll bear it."
"You did very well," Lillian replied. "It sometimes takes an hour to get it down the patient's throat."
He nodded empathetically with those before him, then abruptly began to cough. "I can still taste it."
"Shh, I'll get you water," she said quietly, touching a hand over his mouth. "Don't cough, you'll upset the bandages." Again, he did his best to listen, biting his lips to keep from choking on the unpleasant taste.
"Here." When it became clear he was unable to drink himself, she gently poured sip after sip into his mouth. "Do you think you'd like to gargle with it?" she asked.
He shook his head, trying to smile. "No, thanks, this fine." He took a tentative swallow, making an "Ah," sound with his breath. "Much better." He tried to sit up, but Lillian pushed him back against the pillows.
"Don't. You have to stay there until your chest heals."
He made a face. "I can't move at all?"
"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "It will only start hurting more."
"Well what am I supposed to do?" 'Exploring'... it was clear he was the adventurous type, unused to sitting still.
"I can't talk to you if you like," Lillian replied. She promptly flushed, reverted to her ordinary nervous habits. When she wasn't under the ax of death, her demeanor shifted from confident to shy and awkward.
"Alright." He smiled. "You're a few years younger than me, aren't you?"
"Only a year, I think. You're in eleventh?"
"Yeah."
"How does it... feel? Being so close to graduating." She meant, almost without thinking about it, how did it feel to have only two Reapings left. She imagined it would be wonderful.
Eric's expression darkened. "I'll have to work in the mines in a little over a year, is how it feels."
"Oh..."
"How does it feel to you, being so young?" he asked, a grin on his face, clearly desiring to change the subject.
'Dreadful' and 'terrifying' were the first words that came to mind, but Lillian bit them back. She was not one to speak her mind. "It's alright."
"Yeah," he replied, scornfully.
"Shh," she hushed him. "Not so loud." Her eyes went to the door, almost as if she feared getting caught. "We'll talk more in the morning."
"What?" he looked disappointed, and Lillian felt an inexplicable fluctuation of her pulse.
"You need rest." She gave him a little smile. "I'll talk to you in the morning."
A/N: Don't worry, there will be more with more of the characters soon (I hope). :) In case you care about grades, Haymitch is in 11th like Eric and Mayor Undersee is in 12th. Also, I would say Gale's dad is in 12th and Hazelle has already graduated. And all of the rest are sophomores. Reviews are always loved : ).
