Chapter 13: Face to Face
Part 1
Gale's craft handles surprisingly well on the rough terrain of the woods outside District 12. Even though there is a path here for travellers, high-tech vehicles like this rarely pass through, so I'm glad when the machine doesn't lose its coordination on the uneven ground. I didn't opt to let the maintenance men in District 13 service the machine while I spent the night in their infirmary, since they surely would have found out that the thing was stolen. It wouldn't be the only thing I'd lied about, though; I told them my injuries from my fight with Gale were hunting-related.
Ever since the end of the war, Panem has paid much more attention to District 12. People have come from all over the country to try their luck in a flourishing new district which was once the poorest. The fences that once held all of the citizens in are now much smaller, now only serving the purpose of keeping predatory animals out. There is no electricity running through the metal, and there are gates every quarter mile which can be freely opened by anyone who wants to leave the district for another one or for the woods outside of it.
Speaking of the woods, many people have moved out there. When I was growing up, only people like Katniss and Gale with no other choice would go out to the woods to hunt. Now, people from all over Panem live out in the wilderness. The rich and the poor live side by side, the latter making small homesteads and hunting to get by and the former using their money to take advantage of the easy lifestyle. Many of them may very well be war criminals from the Capitol hiding from the new government. Who knows. I'm only interested in one of them.
Of course, I have no idea where she is. The woods are expansive beyond imagination, and I can barely take a hike through them without killing myself. Since I can't scour the forest looking for her, I need someone to tell me where she is, just as I needed Plutarch to tell me where the rest of my victims were. However, I do not plan on cutting off my next guide's arm.
Like any girl who hated her mother and lost her father would, Katniss collected a number of parental figures. Haymitch was one, but he's gone now thanks to Gale. Beetee was another, but he doesn't know where she is. Her mother is in District 4 and probably hasn't contacted Katniss in years. That leaves only one person who would know Katniss' location. And I really hope she doesn't offer me any of her stew.
After entering the district through one of the gates of the fence, I follow a road to what was once the Seam. I am careful to avoid the Merchant part of the town, as I do not want the painful memories of my family to be brought back to me. As I enter the Seam, I can't help but smile at seeing happy children playing in the street, hopefully with full bellies. After passing through a few neighborhoods, I arrive at the Hob.
The thrifty old market I sort of remember is nothing like it once was. For one, the place is legal now. Everyone here sells their goods without having to worry about Peacekeepers confiscating them and inflicting harsh punishments. I park the hovercraft not far from the entrance to the warehouse where the person I am about to visit once did and hopefully still does feed many Seam residents. I have washed up since my encounter at Prim's; my hair is slicked back and I am wearing sunglasses thick enough to hide my appearance somewhat. My denim pants and leather jacket flow in the light breeze. A few vendors give me suspicious looks, not knowing what a person with such nice clothes is doing in a place like this.
I strut into the warehouse and find that the place is now more of a café. There are tables set up every few yards with mostly old people and day laborers enjoying a beer and some stew before returning to their days. It's midday, possibly lunchtime.
I turn my body to the right to survey the space and pivot my foot counterclockwise until I see my target. I walk past the chatting Seam citizens without noticing them, because I am only interested in the person who possesses the information that I need.
Greasy Sae sits at a table in the back of the room, reading a book very carefully. She is older than she was when I last saw her, wearing reading glasses and holding a cane even though she is sitting. She probably has trouble getting around these days; and knowing her a little, she probably doesn't get around much. But hopefully she knows Katniss' whereabouts.
When I approach, I clear my throat and politely begin speaking.
"Miss Sae?" I ask.
She slowly looks up from her book, uninterested until she lays her eyes on me. Once she looks me up and down, she cracks what I think is a flirtatious smile and replies.
"'Miss'?" she mocks. "I ain't no spry chicken. Too old to deserve that title. Call me Greasy Sae."
"May I sit with you, Greasy Sae?" I reply in a husky voice.
"Please do."
I sit down across from her and settle in calmly.
"I'm the owner of this place," she tells me, as if I don't already know. "We get a lot of regulars in here, but I don't recognize you. What's a pretty boy like you doing in the Seam? Judging by those blonde locks, I'd say you're not from around here."
I smile politely and shake my head. "Does one need a reason to converse with such a beautiful woman as yourself?"
"Cut the shit, boy. Just 'cause you got an ass like two perfect rolls of bread does not mean that you can use flattery to walk all over me." My eyebrows lift in surprise. "That's right, I noticed. You turned to the side when you walked in. You'd have to be wearing a damn cloak to cover up that butt."
"Well I'm flattered," I say with a smile so that she'll stop talking about my ass.
"You damn well better be," she says as she sits back in her seat and sets her book down. "What can I do for you, boy?"
I lean forward and cross my arms. I let out a huge sigh before asking her, because I know that she won't answer right away. "Where's Katniss?"
She stares at me, eyes narrowed, for thirty whole seconds before finally grunting and letting her guard down.
"Peeta Mellark," she says, nodding. "How could I not have recognized one of the only boys in District 12 who wasn't a scrawny little thing? I can definitely see what Katniss saw."
While she takes another shameless look at my body, I am slightly confused. When did Katniss ever admit to having physical feelings for me?
When she's done checking me out, we regain eye contact and she seems to read my thoughts.
"Oh, don't act so surprised. She practically flooded her underwear thinking about you. Rarely admitted it, but I knew it was always you."
I haven't even smelled her stew yet, but I'm already nauseous from listening to this woman who could be my grandmother talk so freely about sexual matters.
"I remember when Katniss was only eleven, a few days after her family almost starved, she came in here clutching a dandelion to her chest for dear life. She leaned against the wall over there and just started playing with the little yellow head of the flower. I asked her what her deal was and she nearly jumped out of her shoes, not knowing somebody was watching her."
My mouth must be hanging open in suspense at hearing this, because Greasy Sae is laughing at me.
"She had to explain herself, of course; you know her. Know what she said? 'I just like the color.' It was at that very moment that I knew Katniss was a fool for you damn blonde Merchant boys."
I'm at a loss for words. But I still don't see this anecdote as accurate evidence that Katniss ever had affection for me. "That doesn't mean-"
"Can it for a second," she interrupts. "I ain't finished."
I hold my tongue, curious to hear what else she is going to tell me.
"There was another time she came in here. It was before the Quarter Quell, after your proposal, and before Thread came in and ruined my business. Katniss was a lonely old girl in those days on account of Gale spending most of his time in the mines. She had just traded most of her game and came in for some stew. I had coverage of your engagement up on the old projector behind me. She sat at the bar, quickly spooning the squirrel meat down her gullet and trying to block out the news."
I wonder for a second why she is sharing this information. She must know that reminding me of Katniss' indifference is hurtful.
"You just wait," she read my mind again. "All of the sudden, they cut the gushy shit and Caesar started talking about you only, something about how you'd been baking for our orphanage. Once he changed the subject from the fake romance to just you, the generous Peeta Mellark, she stopped eating and her head shot up to look at the screen. I had never seen her so genuinely interested in something that it made her stop nourishing herself with food that she so rarely could afford.
"Caesar started talking about how you went down to the orphanage to teach them a few wrestling moves. Things started getting suggestive when he mentioned that you donned your old uniform. 'A bit snug in a few places, but I'm sure our female viewers won't mind seeing it,' was what Caesar said. He snickered when some sensual music began playing and a few women in the audience cat-called the photos of you in profile wearing that skin-tight uniform and bending over to teach them a new move. Seriously, your ass was plastered all over the screen behind him."
I blush a great deal, having had no idea that there were cameras there. I only wanted to help the kids to get active to improve their spirits. I didn't even think about how the uniform was too tight for me; District 12 children are used to not having clothes that fit them and I thought seeing an almost-grown young man in that uniform would make the kids laugh.
"Now, I scoffed at this cheesy display. I thought it was wrong they were using you like a sex symbol to entertain the Capitol women. But Katniss thought differently."
No way, I think.
"She licked her lips immediately in an effort to moisten her dry mouth, eyes glued to the screen and hand in between her legs to stifle the growing heat. She gulped loud and couldn't seem to keep that jaw of hers closed. She liked what she saw.
"I noticed and approached her slowly, but she didn't notice me. So, I stuck my hand in front of her face and literally snapped her out of it with my fingers.
"'You okay, girl?' was all I had to say before she practically jumped out of her shoes like she had done when I pointed out the dandelion. I whispered a little remark about her taking a serious liking to the boy she didn't really love and she was fuming. Grabbed her bag and ran out without looking at me or her unfinished stew. Face was redder than ten tomatoes."
I don't believe what Greasy Sae had just relayed to me, but a part of me does. Could it be that Katniss was actually attracted to me? Greasy Sae wouldn't lie to me, and she knew Katniss better than most people. This is incredibly confusing.
"I don't know what to say," I admit.
"I do," she goes on. "I say, that if I was your age, I would have taken you to the Slag Heap for some special attention any day."
I decide that this is her way of trying to change a subject that is clearly making me uncomfortable. However, this subject isn't helping me much.
She looks outside at my parked hovercraft. "The hell's that? I heard you were driving the Cock Wagon or something like that."
I smile. "My Penismobile died on me."
She seems disappointed. "That's what it was! Shame." Then she gets serious. "Katniss shot you in the heart, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I would've been much nicer. I would've just cut the rest of your bum leg off. Below your ass cheek, of course; wouldn't wanna touch that butt." She winks at me.
I can't help but shake my head at the table top as I fake a smile.
"You'll have to excuse me," she says, showing remorse for her bluntness for the first time. "Have a drink with me! LaRie!"
When she yells over to the counter, a young girl comes over with two cold beers. I look up at her through my sunglasses and notice that she is Greasy Sae's mentally impaired granddaughter who used to wander the Hob. She still has a vacant look in her eye, but doesn't look unhappy.
"Thanks, hun," Greasy Sae tells her before her granddaughter returns to her place behind the counter.
Then she regains her bearings. "What were we talking about?"
I pause for a moment, losing my patience. "Katniss. Where's Katniss?"
"Oh, right!" she says, contemplative. "Katniss is deep in the meadow. Under the willow. I'll draw you a map." Then she grows conniving. "You know why I'm helping you?"
"No," I answer honestly.
"Because Katniss would want me to."
I shake my head. "Now that I don't believe."
"Oh c'mon," she says, leaning back and taking a swig of beer. "How the hell else would Katniss get a piece of that ass again?"
OoO
It's a very short ride to Katniss' home. I didn't require a map from Greasy Sae; I know where the meadow is.
Before leaving the district gate, I park the hovercraft and give the guards a tip to look after it. I walk through the gate and outside to the meadow. Looking out into the meadow, I can just barely see the cottage where Katniss lurks. That is where I am headed.
I take my time walking there. It's been a day and a few hours since my conversation with Greasy Sae; I figured I needed all the rest I could get to face Katniss and Greasy Sae was more than happy to provide lodging.
I'm wearing denim pants that are slightly tight around my thighs but a bit looser around my calves. On my torso I wear a light blue button-down t-shirt with a collar and a leather jacket over it. My belt buckle is shining thanks to the little bit of light coming from the sunset, and my sandals are not helping to conceal the sound of my footsteps, so I know Katniss will not be surprised when I arrive.
I feel my back to make sure that my knife is still in its sheath safely and grab the handgun in the holster at my belt. I'm only a hundred yards from the house now, so I need to be ready.
The place is relatively new and, according to Greasy Sae, was built by Katniss' own two hands. The stones and wood are stacked nicely to create sturdy walls with few windows. The porch is empty and there are no lights on in the house, so she may not even be home. But I know she's there; I can sense it.
When I walk up the steps, I am disappointed to find that they are nicely built. Once I find a flaw in Katniss' carpentry, I will be satisfied, but that has not happened yet.
I tap on the door, and it opens up slowly. She was definitely expecting me. As soon as I see the inside of the home, I raise the gun before me and stand alert.
My elbows locked, I walk slowly through the place and point my gun in every corner that Katniss could be in. The place is dark, so I can't see much to begin with. I notice her bow hanging on the wall with a quiver and a few arrows before the couch, so she must be home because she would never leave it.
As I search the place, I finally find a source of light where she could be. A glow is coming from the back door that leads to the outside, and I know she must be there. I walk towards the exit, ready to face her.
I stop at the doorway and lean against it. I can hear movement just outside the open door. I keep my back to the wall and hold the gun to my chest. The cold metal presses against my bare skin because I neglected to zip up the jacket and only buttoned a few of the shirt's buttons. But I don't care; once I whip around and make my move, my objective over the past few months will be met.
Do it, Peeta, I tell myself. Do it.
I whip around and stop in my tracks, flabbergasted.
There stands not Katniss, but a little girl who looks much like her. She is about three or four years of age, with Katniss' dark hair, sharp nose and olive skin-tone. She is wearing a little nightgown and the signature Everdeen smirk. I would have just dismissed her as the child of Katniss and Gale that was only a fetus the day I was gunned down. But I am slightly wrong, because her most striking feature is the first thing I see.
Her eyes are not Katniss' eyes. They are not Gale's eyes. They don't come from the Seam. The two big, blue eyes staring at me as the little girl attached to them points a toy bow and suction-cup arrow at me are unmistakably mine.
"Freeze, Daddy!"
That's what my daughter says.
She is my daughter.
OoO
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