Okay, honesty time: I hadn't really planned on updating this frequently or regularly as my main focus right now is another project (Twist of Fate, a Dresden Files fanfic, which I'm working on editing and posting over on AO3). Everyone seemed so eager to see more, though, that I whipped this up really quick. Please be patient with updates, however, as this is a side project at the moment - I just wanted to get the idea down before it slipped away from me!
Cato watched Peeta carefully as they set up their camp around the District 12 tribute. He seemed to calm as they worked, seeming to fall asleep. He gave himself away every time Dash, the girl from Four, dropped something.
Cato was beginning to think she was doing it on purpose.
They had cut Peeta off from escape rather simply: by surrounding him with their camp. He was facing the Cornucopia, which they had filled with the food supplies to protect them from any changes in the weather. Behind him was the lake – a good distance off, still, but there was an open plain between the Cornucopia and the lake, so he would be easily visible for quite a distance.
Slightly behind the direction his head pointed was where the tents were to be set up, and the fire would be between the tents and the Cornucopia. Peeta's feet were pointed towards the weapons they'd laid out, surrounded by some very basic traps. Dash knew how to create some practical snares, but it wasn't the type of environment she had prepared for. She was having to modify the traps and Cato wasn't certain how well they would work.
Once Dash and her District partner, Duke, had checked the bodies and the cannon had confirmed the number of deaths, Marvel and Glimmer had helped strip them of anything useful they had picked up, including the jackets and boots they were wearing, and then laid the corpses out for the hovercraft to pick up. Cato and Clove were supposed to be working on setting up the tent and sleeping area, but Clove was doing a good part of the work – and yelling at him about it the entire time.
"Honestly, if I'd known he was going to be this much of a distraction, I'd have stuck the knife in him myself before you could claim him!" Clove snapped.
Cato rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't have dared," he said, picking up a tent pole to slide into place.
"Just because you want him doesn't mean the rest of us do," Clove told him. "He'd better do his part."
"What, you mean stay in camp? He seems to be doing a fine job of that already," Marvel said as he came over, tossing a canteen of water to Clove. "I expected him to have more of a spine."
Cato shrugged. "Something set him off," he said as he set the final pole into place under the canopy. "Finish staking this thing."
Marvel grabbed a hammer and a spike and helped secure the ropes that held the tent stable. Clove was already doing the same on the other side, and Cato did a final check from inside and out to make certain everything was secure and in place.
"Not bad," he said. "Really freaking hot, though."
"Should we open it up?" Clove asked. "Cool it off?"
Cato shrugged. "Do you really think it was the kiss that set him off?" he asked.
A small smile crossed Marvel's face. "Regretting your choice already?" he asked. "Or just afraid he won't put out?"
"Concerned he won't pay attention if someone tries to stick a knife in him," Cato snarled, whirling on Marvel. "And I'll know just who to blame, won't I?"
"I told you it was a bad idea," Marvel countered. "And I still think it is. You can have him if you want him – but don't come crying to us when he ends up dead."
"Oh don't worry," Cato snarled. "I won't be crying to you – I'll be ripping your head off with my bare hands because you failed to protect him."
"That's not my job," Marvel said. "It's yours."
Cato growled, and his fist went flying – hitting Marvel squarely on the eye and knocking him backwards. "Shit!" Marvel yelled as he fell.
But Cato wasn't finished yet. He launched himself after Marvel and landed on top of the other boy, pulling Marvel off the ground by his jacket. "Yes," Cato said. "It is my job to protect him. And we are allies which means – for the time being at least – we are helping each other. Which means it is your job to help me protect him. And if I think for a moment that you're going to fail in that duty, I won't hesitate to kill you. Are we clear on that, Marvel?" Cato asked.
Marvel didn't answer right away, and Cato shook him hard, repeating: "Are we clear?"
"Yes," Marvel answered.
"That's what I thought." Cato pushed the other boy to the ground and stood, his eyes immediately going to where Peeta had been laying.
He wasn't there anymore.
"Shit," Cato cursed, eyes searching frantically for the other tribute. "Where is he?"
Clove and Marvel hadn't been watching Peeta – they'd been focused on Cato, who'd been focused on Marvel. Dash had been watching them as well, a spear in her hand and a frown on her face. Both Glimmer and Duke had their eyes outward, ignoring the fight and watching the forest.
When no one answered, Cato gave a solid kick to Marvel's side and yelled: "Find him!"
Peeta held himself still as he heard the Careers gathering weapons, his heart pounding as Cato shouted orders. He hadn't planned on sneaking out of the camp until nightfall – as much as he had managed to plan, anyways – and he guessed that he still technically hadn't left the camp, but the opportunity had been too good to throw away.
He'd snuck into the cornucopia, behind the food supplies, while everyone else was focused on Cato and Marvel arguing over whether or not Marvel should keep Peeta alive.
It wasn't long before Peeta heard them all leave, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned back against a crate of apples. "I am so screwed," he whispered, hardly daring to breathe the words.
He brought his hands up to his mouth and began to tug at the ties with his teeth, slowly loosening the ropes. With one ear constantly listening for other tributes, he worked at his bonds until he could slip his hands free. He felt around his neck for where the collar was clasped shut, but it felt like one continuous piece of cloth with a bit of stitching on the sides.
Unwilling to waste too much time on the collar, Peeta grabbed a sack and opened it to find loaves of bread. He ripped off a piece, shoved it in his mouth, and started filling the sack with other foods – some apples, bits of jerky, purifying drops for water and a canteen. Only when the sack was full did he make his way back to the opening of the cornucopia – slowly – and look around for the other tributes.
He waited a full two minutes, as long as he could stand, before stepping out of the shelter of the Cornucopia. The weapons were still laying out, the traps only partially set, and Peeta grabbed a sword from the pile, carefully stepping around the sharp teeth of the set animal trap that had yet to be hidden. Sword and food secured, he took off towards the woods and hoped Cato and the others had started their search in the other direction.
Peeta shivered in the cold night air. He hadn't expected the temperature to drop, or he might have considered other supplies.
He shook the thought away. He hadn't had time to pull all the supplies he needed; he was lucky to have what he did.
Fires were too dangerous, since the smoke could lead Cato straight towards him, so Peeta took shelter in a tree where the trunk had split a few feet off the ground, creating a dip that acted something like a chair. It would protect him from the wind a bit, and help conceal him, but it wasn't high enough to offer much in the way of protection from other tributes.
He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered as the darkness grew deeper, listening to the crickets chirp and wondering just what he was going to do next. His best bet had been to stay with the careers, and that had been the original plan before Cato's announcement. Even after he'd learned of the privilege, he'd planned on coming back and bartering his way into the group if he could.
That was before he'd found out Cato planned to claim him. Before Cato had followed through on his words.
If anything, the night seemed to grow colder. Peeta could see his breath when he breathed out, and he wondered if he'd freeze to death because he'd dared to defy Cato and run off.
This time the shiver wasn't from the cold; it was from remembering that brief, kind, gentle touch.
Gritting his teeth, Peeta forced the memories down. Cato's actions didn't matter now, nor did the other memories that had bubbled to the surface with that touch – they were all the past, and if he couldn't stay in the present long enough to remember that, then he wasn't going to have a future.
A twig snapped, and he drew a sharp breath as he saw a dark shape stumbling through the woods. It was too short to be Katniss, and had too much bulk to it. None of the tributes had any significant weight, but a few were bigger around than others. Peeta himself was one of the larger males, not from an abundance of food but of an abundance of work.
The girl stumbled on, out of sight, and Peeta let out a sigh of relief, settling further into the space formed between the two trunks.
A half hour later he cursed his ill luck: the tribute had made a fire not far from where he'd hid himself, and it was sure to draw the Careers closer.