A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, alerts and favorites. They mean a lot to me. If you have any question about the story or would like to just chat, I'm always open for PMs! (Also let me know if I should reply to your review or not, I never know what is appreciated...)
Hope you guys enjoy the first part of this chapter! (a little note about the second at the end).
There is chaos inside the hovercraft. At least a dozen idiots surround me as I step inside, still carrying Twelve's dead weight in my arms. She's quiet again, practically unmoving and soundless even as I swing from foot to foot trying to push us onward without dropping her or buckling down myself. I only know she hasn't finally slipped off this world yet from the way her chest twitches every so often. It's pretty annoying, though I do put up with it mostly without a word.
I only have myself to blame.
It'd be pointless to argue, or snap at someone who can't understand a word of what I say. Plus, for the strangest reason or lack thereof, I'm doing this - bringing her with me - completely willingly.
I'm nearly done trying to tell myself what to do, since obviously that's not working very well. I make a point to reinforce just how stupid I feel at the moment. The word has probably lost its meaning from how many times I've thought it up, but stupid. I am stupid. No. Beyond that. I'm insane for even thinking of attempting to bring her with me; least actually go through with it.
Still, there's a very angry part of me which wishes nothing more than to take her slashed throat in my hands and squeeze down, until all vestiges of light leave her eyes. I nearly shake, causing us both to topple onto the floor and catch myself just in time of avoiding that particular fate.
"Almost there." I mutter under my breath and push the urge to throttle her away. I keep it there: comfortably distant. The words are not directed at her, specifically. I know soon I will be free of the burden in my arms, free of the scathing pain burning straight through my insides from the weight of her pressed firmly against my wounds, but alarm has settled firmly in my chest; I do not trust the officials ready to take us away. Or whether or not their first action will be to put Firegirl down from her misery.
Somehow, this realization bothers me. I've had the opportunity to do so myself and end it all for her; however, I allowed it to slide by. If there are any reasons for my inaction, I cannot come with words to describe them. Now there's this thick lump trying to roll down my throat and a steadily growing sense of unease.
My eyes sweep across the crowd that has formed around me: the mass of bodies is thick, a touch too warm and stinks of sweat. It would be practically impenetrable if it weren't for how they part before me, the damn victor, just like they should. For that, I am mostly thankful. I cannot think of what it would be to fight my way out of here while still keeping her somewhat close.
Stupid.
The thoughts thrust me back into the games; back when I was fighting for my life in the arena. They remind me of every tribute I have slain and of the mindless bloodlust I had felt. It's mostly gone now, though I nearly bend over and wheeze at the memories, right against the girl's chest, suddenly feeling very out of breath.
There are all sorts of people looking at me—us now. I can imagine what they find amusing about the scene. After all, it's not every day that a battered and bruised victor walks in with a severely injured, nearly dead tribute splayed in his arms. Men, women and… humanoid creatures whom I have never seen before and who cannot possibly be humans, but are probably just Capitol citizens, they all turn to stare. If I hadn't been used to this sort of thing already, I might have shifted uncomfortably. I don't. Hell, I've been trained otherwise and it shows now.
They still remind me of the mutts. Deformed, monstrous creatures. They are a very different pack, but one which I'm suddenly sure, still thirsts for my blood for a whole other slew of reasons.
I'm a still trying to consider exactly what sort of troublesome problem I might have dug my way into, when a hand settles on my shoulder, heavy and with only the tiniest hint of warmth. Its pressure is nearly torturous. I jump at first and whip my neck around so fast that the strain causes a muscle to snap out of place, it's both loud and – despite my wounds and the agony I was already in – excruciatingly painful. My whole shoulder burns furiously for a moment before giving way for the surprise to settle.
A lanky tall, weak looking man is standing a couple feet beside me, fiddling with a piece of equipment on his hands. His frown is notoriously cold. "Cato. District two?" He questions and his tone is as clipped as his face. His eyes dart across my frame before settling on Firegirl, where she is laying snugly wrapped in my arms.
My eyes roll at him, earning a placid, if mildly curious glance in return. Who exactly were they expecting, if not me? Despite having known this already I still feel evaluated, judged. And I tense instinctively, pushing her further up against me. I ignore the pain and puff my chest forward in an attempt at looking more threatening than I feel at the moment.
"And the girl is?" The man continues. He comes up with a piece of paper from somewhere and notches a couple scribbles down on it.
"No idea of her name," I shrug and wince at how the movement causes new pain to erupt from my shoulder and abdomen. It's not the entire truth, I am pretty sure I can recall it if I put my mind into it. But I don't. Instead, I move to wipe some of the blood from the corners of my lips with a piece of my jacket; it's not the best thing ever, but it'll do. Because either that or my next words are causing a bitter taste to linger inside my mouth, "District twelve." I offer, nonchalantly.
He nods back at me and next time he raises his head, his gaze is focused on her. He watches her every movement – or really, the lack of them – with some sort of intent I cannot discern. I can only hope they aren't going to kill her.
And not because I would want her to live, either.
"Very well. Please continue."
Once again, the guy writes something down just before swinging his arms toward another area of the hovercraft, directing me somewhere that I can not see. There's a long corridor, though what lies beyond is impossible to determine. Especially with how intensely a string of bulbs glare down at me, shining firmly from above from some sort of net on the ceiling. They practically drown every object away from my sight by bathing it in artificial blue light. I blink at it as my eyes sting and water.
It's both enervating and fairly irritating, to walk across the vehicle while being nearly blinded and dragging another unconscious human being with me. Especially now that I walk without mostly direction. Wasn't there supposed to be people fussing over me? As spiteful as I am, I think I would have preferred that, at the moment.
Despite the volume of personnel I'd seen earlier, the silence now enveloping me is pretty damn eerie. Or maybe it's my guilt, from having failed to kill her properly. It's not interest, I don't think so, but I don't know what will happen to the girl and the lack of certainty annoys me. I've always known what is supposed to happen and now I just can't figure it out...
Oh, wake up. I have to remind myself that I am still in the hovercraft and haven't slipped in some strangely realistic dream. It looks and feels larger on the inside than it did when I was standing atop the cornucopia; No, that's just not possible and I dismiss the thought away. Capitol technology or not, these lights and the overwhelming sense of dread must be doing my head in.
And then, Firegirl says something - at least I am pretty sure I can hear her moan and shift in my arms. I bring my fingers down and wipe them across her forehead, only half tentatively. Jesus, she's burning up. I thought I might have a fever, earlier on, but she's at least a good couple degrees warmer than I feel.
I don't know how to respond to her short-winded groans, "Yeah I know it hurts; it's okay. They'll help you... I'm sure you'd hope for that, anyway." I end replying through the tiredness and the fact that I have no idea what she's trying to say. I shock myself with the sound of my own voice: soothing and careful. It doesn't and shouldn't matter; either she'll live, or she won't and I no longer have much of a say on either of those endings.
The thought still manages to make me feel stupid all over again.
I shouldn't panic, not when there's medical help all around me and a number of professionals trained and ready to help me at the drop of a hat, especially now that I am their victor. Or even at all. Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me, now of all times is a terrible time for a conscience check. However, I still do and almost choke on a wheeze. My chest is tight and my breath painfully short as I finally step inside another strangely too large, though not so obnoxiously lit room.
Another crowd waits for me there, the fake stench of perfume, combined with alcohol and chemicals just about causes me to dry-heave. The air around me rings of half whispered conversations, of which I don't understand a word. This time, instead of trying to avoid the people I make my way directly towards them. I stride as confidently as possible, fully intend on just dropping Firegirl and separate myself from my stupid emotions or whatever else is going on; however, something stops me halfway through. I am being thrown these oddly careful glances from the Capitol's doctors. And fuck it. I'm done trying to figure out whatever this means.
I've fucked up, is that it? It's not like I can just drop her on the floor and walk away. Not any longer.
My stomach is starting to bother me again. What started as a dull ache has spread to a raging wildfire. It curdles my blood and wrenches my guts together, agonizingly so. I try to ignore it and press onward until I'm by the corner of the room and feet away from everyone else. I lean against a metallic indented wall and push my forehead on the cool surface, maneuvering the girl further up against my chest. The comfortable sensation is short lived and I turn just in time to hear as someone calls out for me.
"M'dear," one of the nurses has turned towards me and is carrying a large cup of steaming something in her hands. Her voice is shrilly and even more annoying than Firegirl's. I hadn't realized that was actually possible. "I'm sure you are tired. You should take this and rest a bit." She sounds awfully kind. Thankfully the similarities end there, because there is nothing remotely alike between the androgynous blue haired woman and the unconscious girl wrapped around my body.
She's right, though. I'm beyond worn-out by the arena, especially by everything which has happened ever since the sun has set down. Apparently having a conscience is incredibly tiring, I remark to myself and draw some amusement from my own ideas. Did I not have one, before? I can't tell for sure. It's nice, for a change.
"And you should set your friend down over there," her eyes twinkle. If I didn't know better I would've thought that amusement shone in them. She points towards one of the free gurneys that are neatly ordered beside me and places the mug by some sort of table next to them.
Who the fuck does she thinks she is? My friend? I would've snorted if the movement wasn't so painful. I question whether or not they have watched the games before pushing the thought away. If the fact that I tried and nearly succeeded at murdering her makes us friends, then I'm not sure I'll ever get to understand the Capitol. Not that I want to.
"Sure. Glad to." I end up acquiescing with a small amount of bite to my words.
I'm still glad to take notice of the beds, and quickly make my way towards one of them. I am careful and Twelve drops from my arms without a sound. As soon as that happens, however, a group of a doctors appear from behind me and roll the stretcher containing her body away. I don't have time to protest, though I'm not sure I would've done so if I had the opportunity to, either.
Begrudgingly, I take a moment to watch the scene and realize that no, I don't have to waste another foolish brain cell worrying about this. I settle down by one of the stretchers and bring the mug in my hands. It's very warm. I take a sip of it and cough. Its contents sear down my throat and I urge to hurl it out. The flavor is sickly sweet, faintly fruity and just horrifyingly bad. It definitely doesn't suit my tastes. My abdomen gurgles loudly, muscles twitching, and that's when I take notice of just how damn exhausted I feel already. It seems as if my limbs have gained a ton of weight within a matter of seconds. Maybe it's the drink. Yes, I am pretty damn sure that's the reason for my sudden dopiness.
"How do you feel?" She asks with that... strangely lopsided grin coloring her features. Perhaps I am imagining it, since it looks incredibly out of place. It reminds me of... someone. Someone I cannot recall at the moment.
On the other hand, my outrage is clear. How do I feel? Is this some sort of joke? It sure feels like one at the moment but I'm so woozy it's difficult to come up with an appropriately scornful response.
"Just peachy." I say, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand, entirely taken by the haze already.
That, as well as cold, hard, uncomfortable metal digging against the side of my ribcage and a sense of derealization are the last things I remember before falling unconscious.
There's grass – vivid green grass, not bloody crimson and plain wrong. It flickers in waves all around me, fading in and out of sight. It shouldn't move like this, however, I don't urge to question it. It just does. It's natural and that's the first thing I notice. The second thing is how sun shines harshly from somewhere above, a fleck of blinding white against the vast blue. I feel vaguely impressed by it; at least it has something to do with awe, I think. Though it stands out from everything else around me, the sea of grass still takes most of my attention.
The movement is hypnotizing and for a long moment I stand completely still, watching as the damn vegetation rolls softly back and forth to the gentle breeze which has picked up. I don't question what I am doing here, exactly. I just am.
It takes a long moment for me to snap out of it and come back to my senses, I think. It's difficult to tell for sure, with how reality readjusts itself with every second that goes by. I don't need to blink. Or breathe. It just happens.
There's still grass. It's a touch yellower now. It feels as if a long time has gone by since I last moved. My muscles ache for release. Slowly, I flex my arms and bend my knees, shifting onto a less passive stance on my feet. I exhale slowly, releasing all air from my lungs.
A bitter stench wafts around me and turn my nose away from it. Nasty. And that's not the only change: blood taints my lips, I can taste its heavy metallic pang crystal clear. I glance around me and my breath catches in my throat from the sheer surprise. There's a corpse standing feet from me. One of its limbs reach out toward me, in a silent plea. Whom have I killed? Certainty floods my chest. I'm sure I am the culprit, but I cannot remember why, when, or more importantly, whom.
The form splayed on the ground and slashed open is painfully familiar but I don't recognize it. A short, stubby female form. That much I can easily tell, from how her hips stick out, even though there's a longsword impaling her belly to the ground. I can practically watch as her guts ooze from it. Her face is completely smeared in tones of red and purple. As if that didn't already make it difficult to identify, it's also disfigured, with a shattered jaw and mouth hanging open askew.
In the end, I give it up. It doesn't matter. I don't care who she might have been. As of now, she's absolutely no one. She's dead, and that's not likely to change.
As I walk, my feet slouch in blood that wasn't there moments before. I push the sword off her abdomen and wipe it clean with my sleeve. Pieces of flesh and coagulated blood hang to my clothes, spattering everywhere as I move. I'm sure there are flecks of red painting my face, but I ignore them. My foot comes down on the corpse's chest, there's no motive, nor hesitation. I push the heel of my boot on her ribcage and a faintly satisfied grin stretches in my face, at the crunch of bone and sinew.
Oh, I remember now. I'm hunting. I lick my lips and the metallic taste is overwhelming, it practically envelopes me whole.
My shoulders curl forward, onto a more predatory stance. I speed up into a jog, striding towards the only thing, the only landmark I can discern in the distance: the forest's edge, creeping dark green and which appears to grow in tendrils, spreading towards me. I ignore it, and after a moment I turn to glare up at the sky, annoyed. My skin is burning up and I swear I can see it grow red and blistered under the intense sunlight. It's fucking hot.
But oh, as my eyes dart across the cloudless horizon, I realize there's a force field hanging. I'd never noticed it before. It had been perfectly invisible. Now it feels overwhelmingly close. I can hear it buzz. For a second, that's all there is: the pressure of its dome and a soft blue glow which stretches everywhere I can see.
For a very long time, I'm idle. I find myself staring up at sky; once again, mesmerized, caught in a daze by how it fluctuates, unstable.
"Cato!" Someone calls, breaking the silence and my whole body tenses; my neck whips around towards the sound's location. There's a weapon's handle firm and smooth against my palm and a burning intent on the front of my mind.
Before I can think twice about what I am doing, I have broke into a dash throughout the woods. I run through a meadow, trees, a little rivulet, they all wheeze through me and I forget about them as soon as I've passed them by. I run as fast as I can possible. I am so nervous.
"Cato! Cato!" The voice repeats, sounding more and more familiar with every second gone by. Clove. It's Clove. Of course it's her. How have I been so stupid to not notice it before? I can practically SEE her face before fine, pale and careful and vicious and fucking hell-
It's entirely out of character but the anxiety erupts inside me akin to a raging volcano: red, molten hot and incredibly upsetting. My guts churn, knotting together just as my throat constricts. I can't breathe anymore. Why is this happening now? I don't know. I cannot think of anything but to reach my unknown destination as humanely soon as possible. And despite everything I am capable of, I am definitely very human still.
"Cato! Ca..." One last high-pitched, desperate scream and then the voice fades away. I try to be faster. I push my every muscle past the point of exhaustion. They burn fiercely and stretch forward, lending some more spring to my step.
And I am still too slow, though. Just a couple seconds but still certainly too sluggish. It feels like I am threading through quicksand. Every step takes an eternity and instead of reaching my goal, the scene starts to reel before my eyes as if I were an observer and not actually participating in it. My heart skips a beat. There's only sensation now: something rushes, pumping madly across the back of my neck and I realize that it's actually my pulse.
Before me stands a large opening in the forest's ground. I recognize it vaguely as being the very same one where the cornucopia is located. In the arena, during the Hunger Games. I shake my head and a streak of hair falls, damp, against my forehead. It doesn't matter. My surroundings are not the thing I am paying attention to.
She is. The parallel between her and the corpse from before is plain obvious to see. Maybe it was her after all, before. No. What am I thinking? I push the lump in my throat further down and damnit- I force my eyes to stay clearly open. Tears try to push past their corners but I fight them fiercely. I will not tear up and cry. Not when there are cameras watching my every movement. Not ever. And it has nothing to do with District pride, or honour, or whichever other word might be stamped on me.
I feel aimless. She's laying on the floor, seemingly asleep. But I know better than to believe that.
I take a couple steps closer. The motherfucking grass is red, again. Her hair falls in a halo around her head. It's much darker than the pool of blood which has started to seep off her broken skull and contrasts deeply with her eyes. They stand out starkly green, half open and completely blind to the world. I am fuming now. Although rage is far from the only emotion coursing through me and wrenching my insides, it's the one I consider the most.
She dies. She dies and there's absolutely nothing I can do to stop it from happening. I was already too slow. Feeling awful about it will only slow me down in turn and cause my own death. She wouldn't want that, I believe.
"No," I still call, though there's no hope left in my voice. Of that I'm sure. My knees give up after a moment and I fall flat on the ground with a loud thud. I catch the back of her head, cradling it with my palms and ignoring how they are instantly soaked in the freshest shade of crimson I've ever seen. It's bright and surreal. It feels like I have dipped my forearms in paint. Thick, slimy, fake, paint. Now that's easier to withstand. Yes. Paint.
"Please don't leave me." I plead even though I know this is inevitable. She's already gone. The cannon will sound within seconds and then I will collect myself and go back to the brutal, mindless predator I am known to be. "Damnit Clove. This wasn't supposed to happen." My bloody fingertips run across the bridge of her nose, moving to force her eyelids down and streaking a path of blood behind. I lean forward to ghost a kiss on her cold cheek, surprising myself with the gentleness of it. Damn- she was good. She was really good.
I liked her.
For some reason, this realization flickers in my chest even as I push myself up and away. She might've been scathing, vicious and just as mindlessly brutal as I am, but I really did enjoy her company. Longing burns in my chest as I step away.
Only after what feel like minutes does my head turn back to take one last, longing glance at her.
And that's when I realize what, or rather, who I'm looking at. And what I see is not Clove. It's not her. It's not the girl I've known for years. Not the girl I've trained, fought and won with. There are two eyes staring at me, and they are a lighter shade of green than what I remember. Her hair is black, but has been tied in a long braid which hangs for her shoulders, slightly askew. This is not my district partner.
Twelve.
Images reel in the front of my mind: of death, blatant gore and a lingering sense of hopelessness. Some sort of icy horror overwhelms me and my body shoots into awareness. There is, however, no point in screaming out, not when I'm perfectly conscious and uncertain of whether someone is listening, or even recording my every move. It has taken many years of training but instead of jolting up, I stand relatively calm and collected as I wake up.
The longer I remain immobile, the thicker the daze enveloping my body grows. It ties my muscles together in a useless heap of flesh. I feel powerless now and moving feels like an impossible task. Even opening my eyes is an uphill battle. They end falling half lidded and bleary from the lack of sleep and my tumultuous dreams, though nothing to see but an inky blackness. I try to prop myself on one elbow before giving it up and simply shifting onto a more pleasant position, lying flat on my back.
I'm not sure of my current location but soft fabric covers most of my body and the mattress is tender behind my back. I know for sure that haven't slept in such a comfortable bed in what feels like an entire lifetime but are probably just one too many years. It's probably just another amenity from being a victor and one I shouldn't be, but am glad for.
Who knew even killing machines needed their beauty sleep?
The vague sense of amusement is not lost on me. Though, I'm tired to think it through. And just far too tired - probably still under the effects of whatever drugs were shot into my system – to actually consider getting up; after a moment, my eyes slide back shut, and I relax back against the mattress.
It takes only another moment before I drift away, again.
A/N: The second part of this chapter contains some... spicy material. If you all behave well, I might post it soon. That's to say, review!