Chapter twelve:

This is the second time this Force Games I've awoken in unfamiliar surroundings, with someone else having bound my wounds. I would really like not to make a habit of it. Although it was infinitely preferable to dying.

I woke to a drop of water splashing down on my face, just above my eye. The second one catches me right in the eye.

I sit up, rubbing my eyes with my palms, and almost hit my head. It is dark all around, but my eyes adjust, and I find myself in a cave of dark stone. It's perhaps as big as my room back in my family's apartment on Tatooine, but made entirely of smooth or jagged rock. The only light beckons from an opening in a nearby corner, the way to the outside world. I hear rushing water, the river is nearby. There's a hint of some sickly sweet smell in the air.

I don't feel good. But I might feel just a little better than the last time I woke up, back with Rayne. My weapons are gone, and so is my water bottle. Only Galen's pendant remains.

I lay back down. There's no padding this time, but the mossy ground is soft enough under my back.

My boots lie near my head (removed), and I'm still wearing my trousers, but my tank top is no longer intact. It's been torn and divided to bandage my multiple wounds. Most of it is wound around my chest, along with what's left of my bra (the wookie's claws had played hell with that particular garment) so it still covers me, but it feels more like I'm topless with a bandage than anything else.

It's comfortable.

I'm hungry and thirsty and tired. Since I see no food or water, I close my eyes again and wait for Perrin to return.

It doesn't take long. He clambers in from the light. He's got a pack with him, and he's wearing all my weapons.

"Oh, you're awake," he says. "Here," he hands me a water bottle. My water bottle. I'm thirsty enough that I take it and twist it open before I say a word. I take a gulp and spew it all over my lap.

"That is not water," I sputter.
"Part of it is," he shrugs. "It's a soup mix."

"It's cold."

"I worked in a cantina, I didn't run one," he shrugs.

I drink more of the broth. It's salty and thin, but very filling. "Did you find this in a pack?"

"Yeah," he explains. "That's where all my stuff came from. I found this one pack on a dead kid, a little boy who couldn't have been more than twelve. He got impaled by something, the weapon was gone but all his supplies were still there. So I took them."

"Good choice," I try and judge his feelings. I don't feel raw hate steaming off him, like I did before, but he's certainly not genial toward me.

"Thank you," I say again, trying to sound sincere. "Did you…" I gesture at my bound chest.

"Yeah," he says, "I-" he glances at me and flushes. "I mean, I did, you were all bloody and sorry, but I couldn't, um…"

I move my face to show him what looks like an understanding smile. "It's fine," I say. "I don't mind. Thank you. It's good work."

"My mother was always good at medicine," he nods. "She probably could have gone to a school in the core but my grandparents could never afford it. She still practiced medicine, worked as a midwife and whatnot. She taught me a few things."

"She taught you well," I say (a little compliment here and there goes a long way), "I feel much better already."

"I also got lucky," he says, "I got some bacta salve in that pack I took. Rubbed it into your cuts."

"So…I got a breast massage while I was unconscious," I say, just to see him flush again. He delivers.

"For star's sake," he looks at his shoes. "I don't even like you. At all. As a person."

"Relax, it was probably good for both of us," I say.

There is a silence. Perrin probably feels it's an awkward silence. I just don't care.

"So, how many are dead?" I ask. I killed two, so that makes eight potential tributes left.

"Four this morning," he says. "Six left."

"Endgame," I say.

"I wonder if there are any other teams of two?" He muses. "Oh, and I forgot something." He rummages in his pack and pulls out a little bottle. I recognize some little white pills, like I'd carried at the beginning before losing them in the water. "You got some infection," he said, "In the cut on your stomach. The bacta cleared most of it up, but these should finish the job. Take two."

He puts two pills in my hand. I'm done with my broth, so I dry swallow them. They're small enough that it isn't very hard.

"They'll make you drowsy," Perrin says. "Sorry, I could have mentioned that sooner."

It's an understatement (the first part). My fingers and toes go all tingly. I lay back down, close my eyes. "You need to rest anyway," I hear Perrin. Then I'm asleep.

No dreams this time. Just black.

I do feel much better when I awake, I wake to the same water dripping into my eyes. There's still light bleeding into the cave, but it's dimmer, later in the day. Perrin glances at me. He's sitting across the cave, trying to sharpen the knife on a rock. "Looks like the medicine's been working," he says, conversationally. "Your breathing is better than before, much better."

"Have you been here the whole time," I yawn. "Watching me sleep."

"Among other things," he rolls his eyes. "Had to make sure you didn't have a heart attack, that the pills and bacta didn't contradict each other."

"Was that a possibility?" I wrinkled my nose.

"Probably not," he says.

"Do we have anything to eat? Sorry, but my supplies are all back…somewhere." I say. "We can pick those up later."

"Actually," Perrin looks through his pack. "No. Not unless you want to dine on meds. All my rations are gone. And, thanks to you, so is my soup mix."

"You're welcome," I fake an apologetic tone in my voice.

"It's fine, I'll go find something," he says, standing up (or stooping up really, considering the low ceiling. "I'll go find something."

"I can come," I sit up. "I know how to set snares."

"Yeah, I went to the same classes," he says, grabbing the sword, "And you're still healing. I'll be back." He leaves, taking his whole pack with him.

He's decided to use me. I'm a resource, a weapon. But he still doesn't trust me. Not really. I lie back down and try to catch a few more drops of water in my mouth before I roll out of their way.

Rayne, I could trust her. I could feel her desire for help, a friend, her need for me. Perrin was different. I replay the memory, over and over. "This is for my parents," I whisper, and I imagine him decking me in the face. Not a good sign, not what I needed.

As I roll to a different position, something jabs me in the leg. I take Galen's charm from my pocket. I toss it to myself as I lie on my back, it goes up higher and higher, till it touches the ceiling. I never miss.

Galen. That was who I needed. He'd always been interested, always liked me, not like Perrin. But there always had been a turning point. After that he was mine. I knew what to do.

I heard the little plinks and plops, combining in a cacophony. It's started to rain. Perfect. I wait.

It's gotten much darker by the time Perrin returns. I can still see, in the dim moonlight that trickles in. He's wet. He throws his jacket into the corner, first thing, dropping his pack and weapons on a ledge. He sits and pulls of his boots and socks. Then, after a moment's hesitation, his shirt. He has strong shoulders, no visible abs to speak of but a good flat stomach.

"Over here," I beckon him to bring his findings. I sit crossed-legged, my back against the wall. "It's dryer."

He comes at sits beside me, "Well," he brandishes some fruit, two large red fruits and a handful of berries, "I found this fruit."

"It's all poisonous," I say.

"Really," he's surprised.

"Yeah," I nod, "I remember it from the classes. But it's okay I'm not that hungry."

"Sorry," says Perrin. He says that a lot. "I caught this too." A long thing rodent, he'd killed it with a blow to the head. "Poisonous too?"

"Nah," I say, "Just nutritious."

Perrin tosses the fruit in a corner. I try to keep a straight face. It's not actually poisonous, not that I know of. I've never seen the fruit before in my life. But, he believed me. One last test. I think this will work.

I help him clean and gut the animal. It's slow going, and neither of us speak, we work in concert. We get blood all over ourselves, but there's enough water pouring in to wash it all away. Finally we eat, and it's good, cold but filling. The meat has a pleasant texture to it.

"We're like primitives, eating like this," says Perrin.

"Maybe Sand People," I say.

"I think even they cook their food," he laughs.

"I did have a question," I mention.

"Go on."

"When I was climbing up that tree," I said, "You dropped that bottle, the one that exploded. What was that?"

"Oh," he almost laughs. "Another thing from my pack. I thought it was booze at first, but turns out it was more like lighter fluid. Saved my life that time."

"I helped," I said.

"You climbed up the tree to come and kill me," he scoffs.

"I climbed that tree so nobody else would," I said. "I had my knife, I could have done it, but you saw where I aimed. Not at you."

"Yeah, why was that?" he asked. "Easy kill, right?"

"Truth is," I choose my words carefully, "I didn't want to kill you. Not then. Not now. Same reason I came and talked to you on that balcony, stood by you through all our costumes and waiting rooms and discussions with stuffy admirals. I like you."

"You…wait; what?"

I shrug, "I…you know, I like you. You're nice. I want to see you survive."

Or for star's sake. I really hope his mind really is in his pants, because otherwise…I am no writer.

"I've hated you for so long," he says, "It's kind of surprising to find out you have actual emotions, beyond the evil ones."

"Hated," I say, "Past-tense is good."

"Yeah," he shrugs, "I guess…I don't know. It's not worth it any more. I just want to live. So do you, just like anyone else. I mean…I was thrown about by fate and stuff, not always in the place I wanted to be, not always my fault. Now I'm here. I figure…maybe you're not that different."

"Oh, I'm not," I say. "I did what I had to do. There's not a day I don't regret all the people who…all the lives I could of have saved."

Oh for star's kriffing sake. This is so corny. I hope he's buying it, because I wouldn't take it for free.

"You told me you forgot about that raid," he pointed out.

"I put it out of my mind," I said, "It hurts too much, things like that. I didn't want you to know how I felt, I wanted to be strong, you know. I couldn't allow myself to connect, not when you might die the next day, and break my heart before some other tribute broke my neck."

"I know…" he trails off so I don't learn what he knows, which is just as well.

"When I heard the announcement, I came looking for you," I smile, trying to make this a sweet one, naive, maybe a little girly. "Together we could both win. I could save you. And you saved me. With your medicine and shelter and such, you protected me. Thank you. I'm glad I'm alive, and I'm glad it was you."

I sigh, a happy sigh, and lean against him, rest my head on his shoulder, my ear against his bare skin. Were both still shirtless, me with my bandages. It's a good start.

"I…" Perrin sounds incredibly bewildered. But he doesn't move away, doesn't reject the contact. "It's late."

"And it's cold," I send a little shiver up my spine. "This cave is beautiful though, I'm glad you found, I'm glad you helped me. I'm grateful. I think I even have a few ideas about how I can help."

"Well I…" Perrin takes a deep breath. "I don't have any parents watching the games so…"

I might, but I don't care about that now. I feel like a hunter about to pounce on her prey and slaughter it. I turn more to the side as I press myself against him, just so he can feel my breast on his chest, my fingers trail down his stomach. I cock my head to look up at him, judge his eyes.

But his eyes are already closed, and our lips meet. I part his with the tip of my tongue.

His hands are on the pack of my head, and the top of my hip, respectively, caressing. He's avoiding my bandages, even though they cover my breasts. That'll change. His hands are softer than Galen's, not as much strength. I can make up for that. I slide my left arm around his neck; let the tips of my fingers play through his hair. My right goes lower; my fingers snag the belt loops of his trousers.

He shifts, rolls back against the mossy floor, pulling me atop him. I can feel it now, against my thigh.

I've got him.

As his kisses leave the corner of my mouth and trace a line down my neck, I consider calling his name, or saying something, something sweet, something kinky. I resist, and focus on making my breathing sound more ragged and excited.

Enough is enough. It's not like I'm an amateur.