"I got a glimpse of the wound on his thigh, gaping, charred flesh, burned clear down to the bone, before I ran from the house. I went to the woods and hunted the entire day, haunted by the gruesome leg, memories of my father's death. What's funny was, Prim, who's scared of her own shadow, stayed and helped. My mother says healers are born, not made."

—The Hunger Games, pgs. 178 - 179

Convergence

Chapter 13

Blood. Soot. Flour.

Three unlike substances—(three unlike people).

Life. Labor. Livelihood.

They all have a tendency to coat the skin (sticking, clinging, embedding beneath the layers of flesh, adhering to the marrow of the bones).

It can become impossible to wash off (The blood? The soot? The flour? Or the people they embody?), regardless of how diligently a person scrubs.

::

The coal mine is a dank, dark, and depressing place to work. Men breathe in daily doses of soot with every shallow breath they dare to take. They inhale the diseases sealed at the bottom of the earth, bearing the filth that most of Panem are too good to sully their hands in. There comes a point when the soot soaks into the soul and grimes up whatever might have lived there before. The stains set and then resist removal.

Gale emerges from the hellish pit below, greeting the early evening sky with eager eyes. The need for clean air, the sight of sunshine dotting the ground in patches, and the knowledge of making it through another day is a necessity for most people, but even more so for Gale. The daily commitment of walling himself up with heavy earth is self-masochistic for someone who only feels at home within the forest.

The outdoor air is an addiction and Gale is an addict. His starved lungs scream for him to breathe deep and drink in as much fresh oxygen as he could. He takes in all he can, knowing that no matter how much he inhales, it will never feel like enough.

With tired fingers, Gale pulls the hard hat from his head and drops it into his work box. His hair is plastered to his head and his fingers get caught in the knots as he tries to fluff some life into it again. He doesn't care about his image or his looks, but it's more a loss of self-pride that he exchanges for for his job.

"Hey, Gale? Do you have a minute?"

The voice is unexpected and surprising, and it catches Gale off guard. But he is far too disciplined to let any surprise cross his face.

"What do you want, Mellark?"

Peeta steps away from the side entrance of the mine, hands jammed in his pockets. Even without his apron, streaks of flour still manage to find their way onto his clothing. Gale can sympathize—the soot never truly washes away from him either.

"Can we talk somewhere a bit more—" Peeta casts his gaze around at the other emerging miners, "—private?"

The coal dust itches across his skin and the presence of Peeta is nothing short of an irritation after a long day. "I have errands to run before I can go home. Can this wait until another time?"

"No, unfortunately not. I'm out of time," Peeta says quietly, but Gale doesn't have the patience for his rival's riddles.

"And so am I. My family doesn't have the luxury of fresh baked goods every day and they're waiting on me to bring home dinner. I have to go."

"Gale," he says, stubbornly ignoring the other boy's excuses, "It's about Katniss."

::

Peeta glances around the small shack that stands a half mile away from the main area of the mines. There is a tiny table in the center of the room with several wobbly chairs halfheartedly tucked beneath the worn wood top. There isn't much else of note, at least not something Peeta could find amid the decaying structure.

"What's this building used for?"

"It's supposed to be a place where the miners can go to unwind after the day."

"Supposed to?"

"Yeah. No one really uses it."

"Why?"

"Why be in here when you can be out there?" Gale gestures outside, gritting his teeth as he does so. "Enough with this. I didn't come here to play a game of questions with you, Mellark. What's wrong with Katniss?"

Peeta fidgets with his hands, looking out the window and into the light of the setting sun. The orange light paints his face in an unnatural tone of color. "Right now, as far as I know, I'm guessing she's okay."

The words take a moment to register, and then anger sparks in Gale's eyes. "You used Katniss as a ploy to make me stay and listen to whatever it is you want to chat about? That's low, even for a rich townie like you."

"No, I didn't—"

"Whatever. I'm leaving."

"No, you're not. I'm the one that's leaving," Peeta tells him, but he doesn't move from where he stands. Gale looks on, his annoyance deepening with each passing second.

"Are you sure about that? Because it looks to me like you have no intention of doing so at all."

"Not leaving this place specifically," Peeta says, "But leaving District 12 as a whole. I'm Capitol-bound on the next train out of here tomorrow morning."

Whatever response Gale is expecting from Peeta, it isn't this one. "And Katniss…?"

"She's staying here," Peeta affirms.

The frothing feeling of relief threatens to overwhelm Gale, almost eliciting a smile from his otherwise impassive face. To have Katniss stay here while Peeta—the upstart in her life that moved in to take Gale's place—left for the Capitol, well, it finally felt as if things could return back to normal. To how it used to be—before baker boys and bloody games and kisses Gale never wanted to see.

Gale wishes that Mellark was on the train already. He wonders how much his happiness shows on his face, but it doesn't dawn on him that Peeta is intelligent enough to have already guessed it.

"So why go out of your way to tell me that? Do you expect me to say some sort of a goodbye to you? Or that I care?"

"I know that you don't," Peeta says steadily, "But I couldn't leave without asking a favor of you."

This request takes the taller boy back. He appreciates everything Peeta has done to keep Katniss alive in the Games, but for Gale, the involvement between the two victors should end there. Eyeing the blond suspiciously, Gale ventures, "I don't know why you think I would do anything like that for you."

"Because it's not for me. It's for her. Well, I guess sort of for me, more like for my peace of mind."

Gale doesn't understand where Peeta is going with this, but his words rile his pride and goad the possessive streak he only shows towards the select few he cares about. "If you're going to ask me to stay away from Katniss then you have another thing coming, Mellark. I've watched the Games, I know how you feel about her, whether I want to or not. But she and I—"

The District 12 victor shakes his head as Gale speaks, disagreeing with the other boy. He cuts in, impatient, "No, it's not that. I would never ask you to do that. I know how close you two are." Peeta wears a look on his face that is distant and somewhat pained, though Gale is again left at a loss as to why.

Peeta debates with himself for a moment before coming to a decision. Meeting Gale's unabashed stare, he admits, "Though I am jealous of it."

The naked honesty makes Gale feel momentary superior over his rival, but the feeling quickly deflates when the memory of Katniss kissing the baker's boy flashes across his mind. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly thrilled about you either."

Peeta's lips quip up slightly, but it's the only sign he shows over the admission. "I'm going to get to the point," Peeta says, monotone and flat, "I've been called back to the Capitol, and I don't know why. Whether I want to go or not is out of my control, and it's impossible to know when I'll be back— if I get to come back at all."

There is a momentary pause of silence as Gale takes in the implications of what Peeta has said, weighting it in his mind before speaking. "I may not be a victor or a tribute," he says, "but it's public knowledge that the results of the Games this year pissed off a lot of people in the Capitol. But it's not like they can kill you outright."

"No, they can't get rid of me openly. Katniss created too much of a stir among the Districts for that, as I'm sure you've heard the rumors going around."

"I have," Gale answers guardedly, "People have always whispered about the problems with Capitol, but only now are they actually talking about doing something about it."

"I wonder what it is about having three victors that changed that?"

"Well, they got a love story out of it," Gale says, souring over the words, but continues, "Two victors from a District that never wins can be inspiring."

"Yes, but to cause the public unease that's going on now? I'm not so sure it's only because of that," Peeta muses, "In fact, I think it's more than just a love story that has caused such a change."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, consider the fact that it's not just me and Katniss. There's also Cato. Having a District 2 victor alive, but who didn't really win on his own? A killer saved by the one he tried so hard to kill? It serves as a symbol that completely turns the system upside down—the two underdogs win, the tyrant falls, but keeps his life. And all three manage to get past the Capitol and be declared as victors. It's a statement."

"A statement?"

"Yes. It shows the Districts that they can do the same and outwit the Capitol."

"But wouldn't a love story between just the two of you show the same thing?"

"Not to the degree having three victors does, especially when two of them are such strong contenders, fan favorites, and yet, so different. That you can have two extremes, two completely different people, and have one show compassion for the other and change the outcome of a story that's been told the same way for decades. People see the two of them, brought together on Caesar's stage, changing the scope of how the tale usually goes. Katniss typically should have been the one who dies, and Cato the one who wins, but it got reversed. And it's not only that to consider, but also the fact that they both survived, both made it out somehow past Snow—it's change and hope and everything Snow fears."

Peeta lowers his voice slightly when Gale doesn't answer. "Don't you see? It can be far more powerful than any love story."

"So where does that leave you, as part of the love story?"

"It takes me out of the equation."

Gale's expression doesn't change, but he suddenly understands the point of this entire conversation. "So that's why you think Snow is pulling you out of District 12? To get you away from Katniss and that bastard from District 2?"

"It's the only thing I can think of," Peeta takes a heavy breath of air, sucking it up into his lungs in effort to remain calm. "Take me out—the less important, the less inspiring part—and then get rid of the problem that remains."

"Katniss."

"And Cato," Peeta adds. "You can't forget about him, Gale. He's the problem in all of this, at least more so than I can ever be for Snow. And it doesn't help that he's a wild card in his own right."

"The bastard is lucky he keeps mostly to the Victor's Village. If he came into the main part of town, well, I know a lot of angry people who aren't happy to have a killer like that living so closely to them."

"My reasoning exactly. I don't trust him, nobody does. I don't know what Snow is planning to do, with me or with him or with Katniss, but it isn't difficult to guess that it's not going to be in our favor. He can't do anything directly since it'll only fuel the whispers of rebellion. But that doesn't mean he won't do anything at all. And Snow's not our only problem. Cato's unstable and comes with a temper. We have to watch out not only for Snow, but for him as well."

"For once, Mellark, you and I agree."

"Excellent," Peeta says, looking Gale steadily in the eyes, "I was hoping that was what you'd say, after all, it's the reason why I wanted to talk with you to begin with. It's a simple request really—just keep an eye on what goes on in the Victor's Village for me, will you?"

"All this, only to ask that? I do that anyway," Gale huffs.

"I know you do," Peeta amends smoothly, "But keep an even closer eye on things? I don't trust Cato, and now that he lives right next to Haymitch and the Everdeen family…"

"I will keep her safe," Gale says, and means every word.

The two men do not voice it out loud, but both promise themselves to do everything they can to protect the girl they care so much for. Peeta is protective and Gale is territorial, but in the end, even though there's no way for them to know it now, neither will be the ultimate contender for Katniss's affections.

It will be the boy they seek to protect her from.

::

"You're going to get caught if you keep making it so obvious when you're sneaking out."

The young girl freezes, her body caught in mid-motion of slipping past the wires of the outlying District fence. It takes a moment, but then she recognizes the voice and relaxes slightly. Sliding through the rest of the fence, Prim reenters District 12 ground safely. Meeting the emotionless stare of the Career standing a bit away from her, she retorts, "I haven't been caught yet, so I have to be doing something right!"

Cato gives her a look that makes her feel like a silly child, rubbing the side of his skull with his left hand. The action suggests to Prim that he is most likely battling another headache, but Prim doesn't care much about that at the moment.

Irked, Prim draws herself up to her full height and says, "Don't look at me like that, it's true! I've been going into the woods for herbs for weeks now and the Peacekeepers don't know the difference."

"That doesn't mean it'll always be like that. They could be holding out and waiting to spring it on you when you least expect it," Cato says wickedly, taking delight at the look of anxiety that bubbles on Prim's face.

"Stop trying to scare me. I need the herbs, so I'm not going to stop anytime soon!"

Cato shrugs, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his pill bottle. He pops the small green painkiller pill into his mouth and down his throat. "Not my problem, brat. Do whatever you want. But leaving behind footprints in the mud on both sides of the fence isn't going to help your case."

Prim flushes, for the first time acknowledging the glaring evidence before her. She mars the closest footprint with the tip of her shoe in effort to cover it up.

The older boy watches her attempt to hide her crime, his expression unimpressed. "Don't you know anything about stealth? Your uptight sister seems the type to worry about stuff like that."

The tips of her ears burn red. "She does. Katniss tried to teach me, but I wasn't very good at it. I'm better at other things."

"Like eventually getting caught by the Peacekeepers, eh?"

"No!"

Cato laughs, thoroughly enjoying making fun of Katniss's younger sister. It is another small victory against her, no matter how petty it may seem.

"I may not be that great at sneaking around," she admits, "But I know it's important that I get the herbs. So I go into the forest and do the best I can."

"Sounds suicidal, brat."

"No, not when it's something I need to do."

"No one is forcing you."

"I know. But we need them for healing. For helping people. I don't want to let anyone down if they come to me and my mom and we don't have what they need."

"You don't owe those people anything, why bother?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

Cato isn't impressed. "That kind of thinking is going to come back and get you one day. If I'm there to see it, I'll be sure to laugh."

"You don't know that. Besides, if it does, I'll be like Katniss," Prim says earnestly, and even though she doesn't intend for it to be funny, Cato still chuckles. She scowls at him, clearly unhappy at his mockery.

"Like 12? What are you going to do? Shoot arrows at them? If you shoot like how you sneak, you're shit out of luck."

"No. I meant that I'll be brave."

"Brave?" The look of glee fades from his face.

"Yes," Prim states firmly, "If there is one thing that this year's Games have taught me, it's how to be brave like my sister."

"She hid in trees and behind Loverboy. That's not brave, kid."

"It is," Prim insists. "Katniss is one of the bravest people I know. She did what she had to do to survive, but she also did what she felt was right. She's brave."

Cato opens his mouth to answer, but she doesn't let him. She cuts him off instead, not wanting to argue with the temperamental boy. "Oh, actually, while you're here—" Prim scoops up the basket near her feet and begins rustling through the contents. Her face splits into a satisfied smile as she withdraws her hand from the basket, a small vial clutched within her palm.

"Here, this is for you," Prim says, offering the vial to Cato, which he accepts after she forces it into his hand. Uncorking the top of it with his teeth, Cato's brow furrows after a short pause and a look of disgust crosses his face.

"What the hell is this? It stinks."

"It's a poultice I worked on last night for your arm."

Cato looks incredulously at the girl before him. "For my arm?"

"Yeah, I wasn't sure about some of the ingredients, so it may not work. Try putting some on the scarred area and see if it changes anything. I can't help you heal all of it, but I think I can ease the tightness of the scar tissue and help you move your arm better. And I got some help from my mother too."

"Your mother wants to help me?"

"Well, no," Prim admits, looking away, "She didn't know it was for you. She thought I was just asking to learn about a new area of healing."

Cato's expression is unreadable and his skeptical gaze doesn't leave Prim's fair face. His hand tightens on the vial, as if to crush it, but doesn't apply the extra pressure to do so.

"You expect me to believe that you went out of your way to make this for my arm, and on top of that, even lying to your mother to do so?"

"Well, yeah. It's the truth," Prim shifts from one foot the other, and Cato senses her unease around him.

Clutching the vial in his good hand, he steps closer to Prim, his body language dark and grim. "I think you're lying to me, little girl."

"I'm not," Prim says, and she sounds sincere. Cato doesn't believe it.

"Why would you want to help me?"

"I told you before I would," she responds back, puzzled and wary of this side of Cato. The teasing, mocking side she can handle, but when his other side emerges, Prim is reminded of how defenseless she really is against someone like the Career.

"Yes, but it's not like I believed you," he grits out.

"Why not?"

"Because in case you've forgotten, brat, I spent almost all of the Games trying to kill your sister. And, if given the chance, I won't hesitate to kill her now," he states methodically, watching Prim's face grow paler at every word that comes out of his mouth. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

There is a pause of silence that follows Cato's words, allowing Prim the time to gather herself and her fears, getting a grip on them.

"I didn't forget," she says, her knuckles white against the dark wood of the basket in her hands, "how could I forget that?"

"Exactly," Cato hisses, "So you expect me to believe your lies?" He holds up the vial. "What is this really? Poison?"

"It's not. It's what I said it was."

The tension in Cato's body escalates to higher levels, and Prim hurries to continue before she accidentally sets off the monster inside of him.

"I know what you did to my sister. And I know what you want to do to her. But I didn't lie to you. I really am trying to help you."

"You're a stupid girl."

"No, I'm not. I'm not helping you because I like you, or because you deserve it. I'm helping you so I can get back at President Snow."

::

Unbeknownst to Prim, Cato watches the shade of Clove circle around the girl, a calculating look on her face. The shade appeared while Cato and Prim debated over the vial of medicine, phasing into existence as if she had always been there.

Prim can't see her, but the way her body tenses suggests she can feel the animosity that Clove is exuding in her direction. It is either that or the animosity from Cato himself as his anger grows. His skyrocketing negativity only seems to make Clove's shade become all the more clearer.

"For Snow? Ha! I'm right then. You are a stupid girl."

"You don't understand! It's the only way I can get back at President Snow. He didn't want you fixed, so if I try and fix you, even just in some small way, it can be my way of paying him back for hurting Katniss."

"You? Fix me? You're only a kid. Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous! I know I can't help you completely, if much at all, but I can do more for you than those Capitol medics did!"

The way Prim stares at his crippled arm, analyzing the wound as if it was hers to analyze, is embarrassing enough. It goads him to consider how pathetic he must be if a little girl thinks she can do a better job than the Capitol medics.

"Has it even dawned on you that if you help me, you'll only be helping to hurt your precious sister?" Cato says harshly, "Because helping me regain some use of my arm allows me the ability to go after your sister more than I can now."

In the background, Clove pauses from her circling and claps her hands in delight and approval.

But Prim doesn't even flinch. "You're wrong."

"Am I? You don't think I would go after her?"

"No, I do," she says, "I know you would. But Katniss would stop you. She won't let you hurt her."

Clove laughs, the sound high-pitched and grating to his ears. Cato's own laughter mingles with hers, though his is the only one Prim hears. The younger girl sets her mouth in a fine line of disapproval at Cato's clear disrespect.

"She wouldn't stand a chance. I'd find a way to get her when she lets her guard drop, just a little, and it'll be in a way that the Capitol can't link back to me. Don't you get it? You help me and I'll snap her neck."

"Or gut her! Gut her!" Clove shrieks eagerly from where she stands.

Prim ignores his mockery and his threats. Shaking her head, she tells him, "Katniss would take you out before you had the chance to hurt her."

Cato smiles so hard that Prim can see almost all of his teeth. The look on his face turns her stomach over, but she doesn't let herself be cowed into submission.

"You're a stupid girl, just like I said. On the slim chance Katniss does survive, where does that leave me? Back to where I started—injured or dead. And for you? Well, you just wasted a whole lot of time."

Cato takes a step towards Prim, who remains where she stands. Clove moves closer to Prim as well, her eyes bright with the possibility of Cato hurting the District 12 girl.

"And like I said, you don't understand at all," Prim states firmly. "It's not about what happens to you after, it's about what happens to you right now. What you do after can always change."

The resolve in her voice stops Cato's advance and causes him to study the child who stares back as if she knows something he doesn't. His stare is relentless as he tries to figure out Prim's game, look for hidden meaning behind her words. All he is left with is her sincerity, however misplaced, and a motivation for giving help that is beyond his reasoning.

He considers then that he might not understand, but doesn't give Prim the satisfaction of saying it out loud.

"I still think it's a stupid plan, brat," Cato tells her, but drops the level of animosity in his voice. "And I think one day you'll regret it."

"I don't think I will."

"Obviously not," Cato holds the vial up for Prim to see. The light of the setting sun reflects off the glass and bounces back into Prim's eyes, causing her to squint. "If you did, you wouldn't have given me this."

"Will you try it?"

Cato gives a shrug of indifference. "On the off chance it'll help, maybe."

"I have to work on it more," Prim reminds him defensively, "so don't expect too much."

"Lucky for me, I don't expect much from anyone."

Behind the small girl, Clove wraps one arm around Prim's fragile shoulders and snakes the other up towards the neck.

As Cato watches, she pretends to slit Prim's throat.

::

Over the next couple of days, Cato uses the foul smelling poultice Prim has created for him.

It doesn't change a thing.

::

"Have a seat and stop hovering by the doorway, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

Brutus makes his way over to the sturdy, straight-backed chairs that line the wall of the room, wrapping around a long conference table. At the head of the table sits President Snow, a pair of spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose as he pours over the documents in his hands. Spread out across the table are other papers and reports, inked notes and charts scribbled in their margins like delicate cobwebs.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

Snow doesn't look up from his paper. "You heard about the uprising in District 11, correct?"

"I have. I thought the Peacekeepers took care of it and killed the leaders?"

"They did," President Snow confirms, penning another note onto the report before reaching for another one. "District 11's rebel leaders have all met their ends, and things are calm once again in the district."

"That's great news," Brutus smirks, "killing the traitors and ending all that nonsense. Excellent."

"I'm adding more Peacekeepers to patrol the Districts."

"More Peacekeepers? Is that necessary? This is an isolated incident—"

"Isolated for now," President Snow talks over him, "There's still unease in many of the districts, too much for my liking. I want to avoid something like this happening again, understand?"

"If I may, sir?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"I don't disagree with what you're saying, but are you sure it won't backfire on you? Adding more Peacekeepers may fuel the people to react with further rebellion."

Snow finally looks up from his documents, regarding Brutus with a critical eye. "Do you think I haven't calculated the risk? But if people are allowed too much freedom, it will be even more disastrous. This will help sniff out the remaining troublemakers and get rid of them for good."

"That sounds like a gambled risk to me."

"Every single moment in this life is a gambled risk," Snow leans back against his chair, "Why, look at you. A victor of the Games, a celebrated hero in District 2, and now a subordinate of mine. All portions of a life that went from risk to risk. The most important thing to remember while playing the game is to make sure that the odds are in your favor, otherwise it is not worth the chance."

Snow watches Brutus for another long moment, scrutinizing the man in front of him and storing away whatever conclusions he draws. President Snow is an older man, lacking the force and strength of someone like Brutus, and yet, he holds power over him simply for how the odds have worked out, odds that have placed him in the seat of real power.

"I once told another of my subordinates about the notion of hope, Brutus. Do you know who that subordinate was?"

"Seneca Crane."

"That is correct. And do you know what happened to Seneca Crane when he questioned me and forgot that very important concept?"

Brutus shifts slightly in his seat. "I heard he was taken down to the laboratory. No one has heard from him since."

"That is because Seneca Crane is dead. It would be wise for you to keep that in mind the next time you question my decisions, for I doubt you would want to go the same way he did." Snow's words are soft and he smiles as he says them, but Brutus can sense the malicious promise folded delicately between each syllable that slithers out.

"Of course, sir. Adding more Peacekeepers is a brilliant idea."

"Glad to hear you agree with me, Brutus," President Snow says as he turns back to his papers, "After all, you don't want to give them too much hope— it would only cause me to go through all the trouble of beating it out of them."

"May I personally assist in that beating, sir?"

"So bloodthirsty, Brutus. That's the kind of attitude I like to hear from you. But no, the reason I called you here was to give you a friendly reminder about that mockery of a victor from your District."

Brutus's face remains impassive as he shrugs. "What of him?"

"With this latest uprising, I need the process to hurry up. You know what I'm talking about."

"I do."

"Good. Then we both understand each other. See my assistant on the way out, will you? She has something for you."

"Yes sir."

"Go on then. We're done here."

Brutus rises from his seat, pushes his chair in, and heads for the door. The scritch scratch of President Snow's pen against the parchment of the paper follows his every footstep. The noise sounds like nails digging into the flesh of a wall and shredding their way down, breaking as they go.

"Brutus?"

The muscular man pauses. "Yes?"

President Snow remains fixated on his papers, adding even more comments to the margins as his hand flies across the paper. He doesn't even bother to look up.

"Make sure that boy gives me a reason to kill him. You understand?"

Brutus smirks. "As you wish."

::

Edited on 1/17/15 for grammar and sentence structure.

Original Author's Note: If it seems like a new chapter is taking longer than it should, feel free to check my profile page. I'll post up updates about how the next chapter is going and/or any reasons for delays. Thank you for all the reviews and I hope you all have enjoyed this one just as much! Next update will feature a Cato/Katniss scene to make up for the lack of one in this chapter.