"Muttations. No question about it. I've never seen these mutts, but they're no natural-born animals. They resemble huge wolves, but what wolf lands and then balances easily on its hind legs? What wolf waves the rest of the pack forward with its front paw as though it had a wrist? These things I can see at a distance. Up close, I'm sure their more menacing attributes will be revealed."
—The Hunger Games, pg. 331
Convergence
Chapter 14
::
"I'm sorry to run off on you right in the middle of preparing lunch, dear."
Katniss answers her mother with a nondescript shrug of her shoulders, her mouth consumed with munching on an extra ripe piece of fruit. The juice bursts under the force of her teeth, staining them a queasy shade of purple, and then proceeds to roll down the remaining flesh of the fruit. The drops of juice gather, coagulate, and finally let gravity take them hurdling towards the ground.
Mrs. Everdeen looks from her daughter to the stains marring the cleanliness of her floor and frowns. "Katniss, really?"
The younger woman shrugs again in apology, causing Mrs. Everdeen sigh and reach for a damp rag.
"You know that this may stain the floor, can you be more careful next time?"
"Yes, Mom," she answers. She only feels guilty for the offense when she sees her mother hunched over the floor. Her mother's shoulder blades have finally stopped protruding from the skin of her back, courtesy of a richer, more stable diet. But even though the bones might have been pulled back into Mrs. Everdeen's body, the slight hunch of her back will always stand as a testament to the difficult life she's led.
"Here, let me do it," Katniss says, bending down to take the rag. Mrs. Everdeen straightens and shoos Katniss's hand away, despite her daughter's protests. She heads over to the sink to rinse and wring out the rag.
"Don't worry about it, it's all clean now. Just keep it in mind for next time, alright?"
Mrs. Everdeen has always valued a clean house, but this is the first time in a very long time that she actually has the opportunity to keep one. Her obsessive drive to maintain it has become almost overbearing for both her daughters, but neither will voice such an accusation at her. 'Best let Mom be happy' stands as the general consensus between the two.
Even so, her mother's obsessive new habit it is still wearisome at times. Katniss bites her tongue to stop herself from reminding her mother to whom she owes the fancy new house to.
"Sure, not a problem."
The wooden clock on the wall chimes the hour, reminding her mother of the time and her previous intentions to leave. Untying her apron and placing it on the back of one of the chairs, she smooths down her dress to brush out any wrinkles.
"Now, Prim's upstairs. I'm sure if you ask her, she'll come down and help you prepare the rest of lunch. I'm sorry to constantly be running out on you like this, but I can't turn down anyone who comes to me needing my help."
"I understand, Mom. Help them as much as you can," Katniss says, "I can finish the rest of lunch, you don't have to worry."
"I know. It's just that…" her mother's voice trails off into silence as she crosses her arms under her chest and inspects her daughter. "Oh, never mind. I'll be back in a couple of hours."
The District 12 victor watches as her mother sweeps out the door with her head held high. It doesn't escape Katniss's notice that she has difficulty sometimes associating the independent woman her mother has become with the detached woman she once was. She's happy to see the light back in her mother's eyes, but it still twinges that it took her participation in the Games to cause the change.
Shaking her head, Katniss crosses the room to check on the bubbling pot of water to see if it has hit a boil. Reaching the stove, she notices the wooden wicker basket her mother keeps her herbs in. The older woman normally brings it with her when she goes out to help heal a patient, and it's unusual for her to go out without it when on her house calls.
Assuming her mother left it on her way out, Katniss scoops up the basket and opens up the front door, scanning around for her mother. Mrs. Everdeen is a bit down the road, but within shouting distance.
"Mom! You forgot your basket!"
Mrs. Everdeen turns around and shakes her head. She lifts the basket she's already holding for Katniss to see. "I already have mine. That one is Prim's!"
Surprised, Katniss nods her acknowledgement and waves her mother off again. As far as she knew, Prim and Mrs. Everdeen usually shared one basket together. The dark haired girl peels away a bit of the cloth covering the top of the basket and takes a peek at the contents. Resting inside of the basket is a hard-scavenged collection of herbs, leaves, and roots. Their purpose in healing is beyond Katniss's knowledge, but knowing her mother and sister, there is some long and convoluted explanation as to why they are important.
What Katniss does know, however, is that many of these plants can only be gathered in one specific place, and that place is not within the boundaries of District 12. All the herbs could only be found in the forest.
The notion of her younger sister scavenging in the woods causes mild panic to spring up in the pit of her stomach. It would only take one sighting from a guard to land Prim in serious trouble. Upset, Katniss trudges up the stairs with the basket in hand and opens Prim's door without so much as a knock.
"Would you like to explain where you got these?"
From the way Prim stares back, she knows she's been caught. "Don't be mad," she says simply.
"I didn't say I was mad."
"You didn't have to. I can tell from the way you're frowning."
"No, it's more like I'm surprised…and worried. Since when do you go into the woods? You know it's forbidden."
"Since when do you not go into the woods?" Prim shoots back, hitting below the belt as Katniss stiffens.
"This isn't about me."
"You used to go into the woods all the time," Prim continues stubbornly, despite the clear warning look Katniss shoots her to stop, "and now you don't anymore. Why don't you?"
"Who says that I don't?"
"Katniss," Prim states with the all-knowing superiority of a child, "You don't."
If it anyone else besides Prim pushed the issue, Katniss would have gone off on them. But she respects her sister, regardless of her prying, and keeps her temper in check. There isn't much she wouldn't do for her sister, and there isn't much she hasn't done already.
"Even if I don't, why do you? For these herbs?" Katniss shakes the basket for emphasis as she talks, rustling the plants inside. "These herbs aren't worth getting in trouble with the Peacekeepers."
"Yes, they are! I can only get certain kinds in the woods, so I have to go. Don't worry about me, I'm careful."
"It's more like I'm worried about what would happen to you if you get caught," Katniss reminds her, "There are too many eyes now. The Peacekeepers are always watching—especially with our family—no doubt relaying every little thing we do to President Snow."
"Nothing would have stopped you for going in the woods before!"
"Yes, but what I did was done out of necessity. We needed the food to eat and the money to survive."
"Well, some people might need the herbs to survive."
"There's no getting through to you, is there? When did you become so stubborn?"
"Maybe when you tried to tell me not to go into the woods," Prim snips back, "And besides, you don't know when these herbs can be useful. They can help save people!"
"I didn't go into the Games so you can save people and risk your neck doing so. I went into the Games so I could save you!" she says, and her young sister immediately flinches.
"I know you did," Prim says softly, "And I know I can't ever repay you back for that. But I want to be brave, like you are. If I can be. I want to help others, like you helped me."
"Prim," Katniss says, her throat suddenly dry, "You don't have to worry about being like me. Just be who you are."
"I know that. And I want to help people, that's the kind of person I want to be."
Katniss stares at her little sister, at the girl forced to grow up so quickly under the tough living conditions of the poorest and most looked down upon district of the Capitol. She looks at the child who isn't a child and yet not quite an adult, and wonders who she would have been, if fate had been kinder. Her little sister clearly believes in what she says, and Katniss knows that telling her otherwise wouldn't change a thing. The two are different in so many respects, but mesh together in other ways, especially it comes to having a soft heart for specific people.
She knows that there is no stopping her, for regardless of forbidding her, Prim will never stop. So instead, she says "Be careful then, okay? You're not going to do those people any good if you get yourself caught or lost in the woods."
"I promise I will be," Prim answers back seriously, "But, you know, if you're really that worried…you could always come with me, Katniss."
"Into the woods?"
"Into the woods."
"Someday," Katniss says, one hand reaching to tug tensely at her braid.
It is then that Prim acknowledges that despite all of her knowledge of herbs and poultices, there are some wounds that may be beyond her power to heal, even when it comes to her sister.
::
The Capitol citizens welcome Peeta with open arms and lecherous smiles. The gentle baker boy has slowly become a fan favorite, an object to be fantasized and craved. The crowd adores all three of them, no doubt. But where Katniss and Cato are hard and violent, Peeta appears as the dewy-eyed boy who did it all for love, as soft on the inside as the bread he kneads.
There is something about soft things that makes people want to try and break them, just to see if they could.
Peeta prays the reason Snow invited him back wasn't so he has to bear their company. He rather hole up in his room and avoid them all, keeping himself away from their seeking eyes and lusty breath.
He's no fool. Peeta hears the whispers, knows the rumors, tolerates the stark stares that seem to follow him everywhere he goes. Haymitch warned him about those who catch the Capitol's eye, hoping that his and Katniss's faux romance would be enough to protect him from giving up even further parts of himself for their entertainment. For it's one thing to whore himself out for Katniss—at least he loves her, and pretending to keep up their sham of a relationship makes it feel less dirty somehow-but it's another thing entirely to whore himself out to Panem.
"Peeta, my dear boy, are you listening?" President Snow's words are soft spoken, but there's a warning to pay attention hidden under the guise of the gentle reminder.
"I'm sorry, President Snow," Peeta apologizes with as much sincerity as he can muster into his voice, "I must be a bit tired from the trip from District 12."
"Ah, yes. That certainly can take the energy out of anyone," Snow agrees easily, "District 12 isn't the closest District to the Capitol, after all."
Unsure if the President is trying to remind him that help is so very far away, Peeta nods uneasily.
"It would make things better if it were closer—certainly would make it easier for people to go back and forth, wouldn't it?" President Snow continues, a gleam highlighting the dark pupils of his eyes. "Probably would be more of a comfort to you."
Peeta chooses his words with caution. "Yes, I suppose it would be."
"I bet you are just ready to fall into bed right now, aren't you?" President Snow's voice is heavy with implication, and Peeta represses the urge to shudder.
"That depends, sir."
"Oh? On what?"
"If it is my bed, or someone else's."
President Snow laughs. "Oh, you do surprise me sometimes, Mr. Mellark. Best not make a habit out of it."
Peeta swallows, his hands flexing nervously within the safety of his pockets. "I apologize again, sir. I did not mean any impudence."
"Of course you didn't," President Snow waves his hand as if to wave away the words, "You wouldn't be here if you did." The older man shifts in his seat, his eyes boring into the young victor in front of him. "And you most definitely wouldn't be my favorite out of the lot."
"I'm your favorite?" Being President Snow's favorite seemed just as dangerous as the alternative. Peeta didn't want to be President Snow's anything.
"Of course, my dear boy. I don't see how that comes as much of a surprise in comparison to your competition."
"May I ask why?"
"Well, look at the other two. That District Two boy was the favorite, but couldn't get the job done with killing the rest of tributes despite all the help he was given. Oh, come now, Mr. Mellark. Don't look so pale, you must of known that. Where was I? Oh yes, so he couldn't kill his way to the top and then didn't even die properly when he should have. You must see how he doesn't rate high in terms of being a valuable victor."
Peeta struggles to find his voice, but his throat seemed to have closed up. He nods his head, encouraging President Snow to continue with his calculating evaluation of the people he placed within the Game to die.
"And Miss Everdeen, so much to say about her. Do I even need to remind you about her pin? Her actions with the District 11 girl? How about saving you from your wounds? And even worse—her plan with the berries? Seriously, Mr. Mellark, don't even try and protest that it was an idea you both came up with. Neither of us are fools, have some self-respect, or at least some respect for me. And then helping out that idiot boy from District 2...well now, that really was the final insult against everything the Games stand for, was it not? Katniss Everdeen is certainly not my idea of a proper victor."
"But then why me?" Peeta manages to say, unsure of why President Snow is divulging such information to him. Every move Snow makes is not without calculation, so what were his calculations in this?
"You're the only one who respected the rules of my Game," President Snow says, his attention fixated on Peeta's wan face, "You were ready to die for your little girlfriend and give me the one victor the Games needs. Granted, I wouldn't have liked her as the victor you were trying to give me, but that's beside the point. You understood the sanctity of the Games, thus you become the favorite by default."
Peeta doesn't answer, but President Snow doesn't let that deter him from continuing on. "Oh, come now, my boy. You should be happy! Most people would much rather be in my favor than incur my wrath."
"I thank you for the honor, sir," Peeta finally answers, treading carefully, "But what of my fellow victors? I understand what you're saying, but I wouldn't want any special treatment that they wouldn't get as well."
"Worried I'll kill them, boy?"
"Should I be?"
"You should."
Peeta freezes and President Snow leans closer to the baker's boy. The scent of roses floods into Peeta's nose, a smell so toxic it almost makes him choke from the potency. It is a putrid scent, over saturated beauty warped into a former shade of itself.
"Is that a threat, sir?"
"It will be, Mr. Mellark, unless you behave yourself and act in the manner of a proper victor for me."
Peeta's fingernails dig crescents into his palms, threatening to draw blood. "What would you have me do, sir?"
"Stop looking as if I'm going to torture you. Lighten up!"
"I'm sorry. It's difficult to relax with everything you've been telling me."
"Ah, you worry too much. You just have to perform the typical duties in the Capitol for now and look the part of the model victor. That's all I'm of asking of you—to represent the victor Panem should have had this Game," President Snow gives him a polished smirk, "Is that so much to ask?"
"But you've always allowed other victors to return home before the Victor's Tour. Why call me back so early?"
"That was then, this is now. Different Game, is it not? The people need a reminder of how the old Games have gone in the past, a reinforcement of sorts. Having you here before the tour will accomplish that purpose."
"And you'll leave the other two alone?"
President Snow shrugs his shoulders and the stench of roses grows stronger from the movement. "Well, I can't say that, but I can promise you that I most certainly will not if you don't play along."
Peeta jerks his head back, anger lighting his face. He's well aware he could do everything Snow asks of him and it may not even matter in the end.
"That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Mr. Mellark," President Snow says, cold eyes watching him, "But weren't you the boy who was so recently willing to do everything he could to keep the girl he loves safe? Are you willing to gamble with her life? Because I can promise you that you won't like what happens to her if you don't do as I want."
A defeated look enters Peeta's eyes, and President Snow knows he got him.
::
Most people who endure a traumatizing event will inevitably carry the side effects of it with them for the rest of their lives.
Katniss Everdeen is no exception to this. Some of her scars are more visible than others to the people around her, the most obvious being that she doesn't venture into the woods anymore. She also doesn't hunt because she doesn't go into the woods. Sudden bursts of flame and light make her jump. She always carries some food stored carefully in her pockets just in case.
She's discovered along the way that she's become somewhat of a light sleeper too, courteously of the Games, and it's more of an annoyance than anything else. Noises she'd formally sleep through with ease have her bolting upright in her bed, tense and ready for a fight. The wolf pack in particular, the one who hunts around the woods that border her District, have become especially difficult to sleep through when they're dead-set on howling.
Opening her eyes to the still dark surrounding her room, Katniss listens to the howling that echoes from across the boundary of the District fence. The pack doesn't always hunt so close to the Victor's Village, but when they do, they almost always wake her up.
Katniss sighs, sitting up in her bed and rubbing sleep and grit from her eyes. There would be no more rest for her while the wolves sang, no matter how much she tried to force herself back to sleep. The noise is too relentless, too loud, too wild, to allow for her to block it out.
Wrapping the light-weight comforter around her body, Katniss pads over to her window to try and catch a glimpse of them. She doesn't begrudge the wolves for waking her up, she knows it isn't their fault. They're simply being what they always have been, and it's she whom is different. Prim and Mrs. Everdeen sleep soundly through the night, unaffected by the cries of the wild animals, leaving Katniss to sit alone in the dark and enveloped by wolf song. She thinks it might be a victor-type affliction, but she's never had a chance to confirm it with Haymitch.
Katniss sighs again, though the sigh almost turns into a yawn. Resting her arms on the window sill, the girl places her chin atop her crisscrossed arms and stares out in to the night. Her eyes seek out the wolves in the dark, hoping to catch a glimpse of them when she spots movement coming from the house next door. She raises her head from her arms, squinting into the darkness for a better view of whatever Cato's up to at this time of night. The District 2 victor slips quietly from the door of his house, stealing into the still dark like a wraith. The glint of moonlight reflects off the sword he clumsily carries in one hand.
The entire situation reeks of suspicious activity. Backing away from her window, Katniss stalks quietly to her own door, grabbing her quiver of arrows and her bow along the way. She doesn't trust whatever has him out of bed so late at night with a sword, drawing the conclusion that he may finally be trying to make good on his promises to kill all of them while they slept. It seemed like the only logical outcome.
Inching her way to Cato's house, the night at her back, Katniss scans left and right as she approaches. Her fingers twitch against her sides and she wipes them against her thighs. Any movement at all will immediately result in her drawing an arrow in defense.
She flicks her gaze past his house and to the field and the woods beyond it as she searches for him. The wolves continue their song somewhere in the distance, but Cato has disappeared despite her best efforts to pinpoint his location. Frustrated and worried that he may already be creeping into one of her loved one's houses to finish them off, she nearly jumps out of her skin when Cato's voice echoes through the darkness.
"Just what do you want, 12?"
Startled, Katniss squints into the perpetual black, trying to discern the place where his voice came from. Her eyes, finally adjusting to the intimidating dark, find him sitting none other than on the steps of his porch.
His porch. Not creeping into her house. Not sneaking into Haymitch's. Not on his way to murder the lot of them. Suddenly embarrassed, Katniss wishes to be back in her bed and away from dealing with the situation she created through her own assumptions.
"What are you doing out here?" she replies, answering a question with a question. "It's the middle of the night."
"You're out here to ask me what I'm doing out here?" Katniss can't see so clearly in the dark, but she knows without a doubt that Cato is smirking, "Isn't that a bit of a contradiction?" There's a sudden burst of dull light that blinds her eyes, and memories burn their way through her brain as she remembers the fire that once flew at her. She shudders involuntarily.
Cato examines her from under the dusty glow of light streaming from the lantern he holds. "Pretty jumpy tonight, aren't you?"
"Shut up."
Cato gives her a toothy grin, but his eyes stray from her face and to the woods behind her. "You know what? I don't care why you've come to pay me a visit. I'm not interested."
"I didn't come to pay you a visit," Katniss scowls over the word, its meaning tasting of ash in her mouth, "I thought I saw something and came over to check it out, that's all. Nothing to do with you." She's ready to lie and take the whole situation to her grave if she has to.
"Glad you've cleared that up for me. Now turn around and go home, before you make me reconsider using this," Cato tells her, gesturing towards the sword that sits beside him. The dusky glow of light flickers off the metal and bounds back into the shadows that creep in behind them.
"Threatening to kill me again? That's really starting to lose the effect it once had after all the times I've heard you say it," Katniss retorts, but she's more than ready to leave without any encouragement from him. She'll hightail it to her house with whatever part of her dignity remained, and then likely spend the rest of her night watching from the window to make sure he didn't move an inch from his porch.
Cato opens his mouth to return with a jab of his own, but falters, tensing slightly as another howl cuts through the open night air. Muscles knot beneath his skin and his good hand twitches in the direction of his sword.
"Afraid of the wolves, Cato?"
Her question is met with silence as the boy doesn't answer. His attention is fixed elsewhere. If it weren't for the dim light, she could almost confirm the anxious set of his jaw and the trickle of sweat that beads down the side of his face.
She didn't think they would bother him at all, since he's never shown any lasting trauma from his own encounter with the mutts. But Katniss knows better than anyone about side effects from the Games, and the lengths she'd go through herself to hid it. Cato's never allowed himself to display any real type of fear before, but then again, her own phobias are something she didn't have months ago.
Katniss leans against the porch railing, keeping one eye on the tense boy and another out into the woods. To her, the wolves' song holds the promise of an invitation, one that's calling her back into the woods she used to love. She wishes she could return, simply walk into the forest with the sunshine above her and a quiver of arrows ready at her back. But it's not that easy, as much as she wishes it could be again.
For a while, neither Cato nor Katniss say anything at all. The howling of the wolves speaks for them, breathing life into phobias locked within both of their hearts. It is only when the wolves' song becomes quieter, less frequent, does Cato finally speak again.
"I'll kill them if I have to."
Cato's harsh voice breaks the silence, his tone unyielding and bitter. Katniss, jarred from her thoughts, glances over at him. "Kill the wolves?"
"Yes," Cato answers without the least bit of hesitation, "I'll slit their throats if any of them comes near me."
Katniss rubs the center of her back with practiced hands. It has gone numb from being pressed against the porch railing for so long and she can't afford to be stiff. Not around someone as unpredictable as Cato.
"Why the wolves?" Katniss presses, though she already suspects the reason, "Have you always disliked them?"
The muscular boy next to her breathes heavily through his nose, and for a moment, she doubts he will answer and is surprised when he does.
"After the Games…I just don't like them."
He doesn't say anymore, but he doesn't need to. Katniss understands him as clearly as if he had gone on at length about his dislike of the animal. The wolves remind him of the mutts in the Game.
Considering the way they tore him apart, she isn't shocked that he's ready to kill anything that comes near him that even remotely resembles the mutts. Having the District 12 pack so close, so loud, has to constantly set him on edge. Even safe behind the walls of his house, the sound of their howls has to trigger a fear that cannot be rationalized.
It's no wonder he brought his sword, even though it'll be of no use for when he truly needs to use it. Katniss doesn't remind him that he can't use it to slay the ghosts that crowd his mind, no matter how sharp the steel.
Of course he can't sleep. She can't either.
How could they with the wolves at both their doors?
::
"Hey idiot, how long do you plan on sitting out here for?"
Clove sits next to him on the porch, swinging her feet back and forth. She mutters dramatically when Cato doesn't answer. The swinging tempo of her feet becomes quicker and more violent.
"Fine, fine. Don't say anything. Don't want to look like a lunatic with Everdeen here, I get that. But seriously, why the hell is she still here?"
Cato's eyes stray from the woods to momentarily shoot Clove a warning look. Sweat trickles down his brow as the way he works his jaw betrays the effort he's using to keep his mouth shut from answering her. Katniss is standing against the railing, unaware of Clove's presence, and he'd prefer to keep it that way.
"And why are you even talking to her about your ridiculous hangups with the wolves? Seriously..what kind of District 2 citizen shows his fears? Are you just plain stupid?"
Cato grimaces, his fingers inching toward the sword, and Clove knows he'd love to stab her through with it if he could. It delights her to no end, encouraging her to berate him even further.
"Those mutts messed you up real good, didn't they? Look at you—talking to me, scared of some mangy wild beasties—it's really no wonder why District 2 didn't want you anymore." Clove says, her vicious eyes squarely on Cato until movement beyond him draws her attention. She watches as Katniss finally moves away from the railing and sits down on the steps, positioning herself on a different step than Cato's. She makes herself comfortable, bringing her knees up to rest against her chest and then wraps her arms around them without a word.
"Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful. Would you look at that?" Clove pokes her wispy finger against Cato's broad shoulder, causing his teeth to clench as he shoots a murderous glare in her direction. "That bitch isn't leaving! And it's probably because she knows as well as I do that you're a spineless wimp now and not someone to be afraid of anymore," Clove says, slithering closer to Cato and knowing her mere proximity will provoke him further. "Don't you realize that she's the reason you're like this now, why you're afraid of all these things that would have never been an issue before the Games? She's the reason you lost and why the mutts were able to rip you apart."
He knows her words are poison, but that doesn't stop them from seeping in. Cato sneaks a quick glance over Katniss, and regrets it immediately when Clove's face blooms with a gleeful smile.
"Yes, her! Would you have fallen to the mutts if it weren't for her? Would you? I don't think so! You would have won the games—as a strong, whole man! Not as this pathetic waste you've become," the specter of his former District partner hisses, her expression hard. She watches him as the poisonous words strike home, enjoying how he struggles not to flinch against them. She inches closer as he tries to inch away, his grip on the tightening, as if he could fend her off with a weapon.
"She's the reason you're actually experiencing an emotion like fear...District Two never allowed for such a shameful thing to fester in us, but just look at you now. One hint of the wolves, of the mutts, and you're reduced to creeping out onto your porch to make sure the creatures that go bump in the dark don't get you—newsflash, you were one of those creatures. And now you're not, and it's her fault," Clove spits venomously, running her ghostly hands over the blade of his sword. "And you're okay with that?"
Cato's fingers twitch over the hilt of the sword as he unwittingly glances over at Katniss again, who meets his gaze with one of her own. She offers him a small incline of her head, unaware of anything amiss.
"Why don't you kill her now and be done with it?" Clove purrs, her words a dark temptation. "She's making it incredibly easy, just sitting here with you. Alone, no friends around her. It's like she's practically offering herself up."
Cato looks from Katniss to his sword, his expression considering, and then back to Clove. Her words crawl like fire ants into his mind, itching and pressing against his brain. His own thoughts burn and writhe, twisting against the invading thoughts she plants there. It builds from the back of his skull, the haze flaring bright and brilliant, making it hard to think. His head gives a dull, agonizing throb against the rage she cultivates within him.
"Yes, that's right," Clove tells him, feeling the anger she's fed into. She knows if she keeps pushing, she'll get it to erupt. "Kill her, Cato. You know you want to."
And maybe he would have, if Clove only had a bit more time to allow those murderous intentions to fester. Or maybe not. But Katniss's voice tumbles softly into the night, the sound of it acting as a knife to cut through the hazy hold over him.
::
"Do you know I don't go into the woods anymore?" Katniss asks, words tumbling out before she can think better of it. "Well, I guess you wouldn't even know I used to go in the first place, but I don't now. And it may not seem like a big deal to you, but it is to me. "
His entire body seems to twitch as she speaks, giving one almost involuntary jump that she would have missed if she hadn't been studying him so intently. Cato snaps his attention away from the empty space to his left and stares at her. Blinking like a startled owl, he cocks his head slightly to the side as if to make sense of her.
"What do you mean?"
Katniss would want nothing more to look away, embarrassed, but she keeps her gaze fixed on his. "I used to go off into the woods, beyond the fence, every day. I loved it."
The boy next to her continues to look confused, as if having trouble understanding what she's trying to say. "Why would you even bother to go there?"
"At first it was for food. We didn't used to get a lot of it in 12, as you probably can see. Then it was for money," she says quietly, "But really, it became about getting away for a while. An escape from everything else."
"I can understand that."
"Can you?"
"Life in District 2 is much different than District 12, but that doesn't mean that I didn't have my own problems there," Cato tells her, his face pinched with some emotion Katniss can't pinpoint. "I had my own place to escape to."
"Really? You did?"
"Mhm," he answers, but doesn't explain any further. "When did you stop going into the woods?"
"Since after we got back from the Games."
"Scared of the creatures that live among the trees?"
"Creatures? Try the people."
"People like me?" Cato asks, a hint of humor coloring the question. His body is still tense with anxious energy, but his signature cocky grin has finally come back across his face. Something inside her relaxes at the sight.
"As if you could leave that much of an impact," she quips back good-naturedly."No, for me it's more like the memories."
"Hn. So you're a sham."
"Excuse me?"
"Well, you played the Games as someone who thrived in the woods. You hunted, climbed trees, and tracked in a way that became incredibly obnoxious."
"Obnoxious?" Katniss says dryly, "So what?"
"Look at you now," Cato says with a shrug. "You're supposed to be the Girl on Fire, but you can't even take the heat after the Games."
Katniss shouldn't find it funny, find him funny, but in that moment she does. Because Cato's right, and she is a sham, and he doesn't give two figs about offending her by telling her so. A grin breaks across her face, and she knows it's a reaction that surprises Cato because he's looking at her as if she is a really complicated puzzle he can't begin to figure out.
"That may be true," she admits, a mischievous light in her eyes, "But at least I'm not the one sitting out here and guarding the porch the moment a wolf howls."
The sound of crickets fill the momentary silence between the two of them, and then the air is heavy with Cato's laughter. Katniss stares at him as he laughs, a full, deep, belly-laugh that comes from deep within his chest. She's heard his mirth before—the unhinged laughter, the angry laughter, the snarky laughter—but she's never heard this one yet.
Cato's laughing with genuine humor, and it's the first time he's sharing it with her.
::
When the dawn is beginning to extend lazy arms into the fading night sky, Katniss stretches out her legs and stands from the steps. Cato's eyes follow her movement, but he remains sitting on his porch.
"You stay up all night often?"
"Lately more often than I'd like to admit," she says ruefully.
"Me too."
"Well, goodnight I guess. Or should I be saying good morning?"
"Never thought I'd be spending a night with you," Cato says.
"Don't remind me and don't get used to it."
"I'm devastated, really," he deadpans.
She rolls her eyes skyward in response. "See you when I see you, I guess. Try to behave yourself, okay?"
"Don't know about that, 12. It's hard to take you seriously with your hair down like that."
"Hn?" Katniss tilts her head at him, confused. She reaches a hand up towards her hair and for the first time acknowledges the dark waves that fall freely around her face. Her hair is always worn down when she sleeps, but rarely does anyone beyond her family see it like that.
"It's weird to see you without the braid," Cato tells her, "I wouldn't believe you ever changed it up if I didn't see it myself."
Wearing her hair down suddenly feels as if she's revealing a whole lot more of herself than what she actually is.
"Goodnight, Cato," She tells him, feeling too exposed, and is grateful when he doesn't question the blush that stains her cheeks.
::
From next his own window, Haymitch stands with his arms crossed against his chest. A light sleeper when not drunkenly passed out, he still wakes up in a panic to the slightest sound. Had Katniss bothered to ask, Haymitch would have told her that the wretched howling of the wolf pack beyond the fence was more than enough noise to wake him up. He would have told her that the only cure for him is to grab some more alcohol and drink himself back into a stupor so deep that most sounds can't penetrate it. Except this time, he didn't expect the sight of the two of them together when he went to grab another bottle.
Through the panes of glass, the older victor watches the dark haired girl and the fair haired boy sit together on the porch. It's not only surprising to find them together, but what startles him more is the lack of animosity between the two of them. Had he not known them, he would have almost said they looked like friends.
Flexing his fingers, Haymitch stares in disbelief, unable to look away.
He watches them talk.
And then he watches them laugh. Really laugh.
It so surreal for him that he almost feels as if it were a dream.
But it isn't a dream. It's reality, and it's happening right before his eyes. His distrust for Cato burns through him. Haymitch is well aware of what District 2 would do to win, and he wouldn't put it past Cato to trade in his anger for fake friendliness if it gave him a shot at Katniss. District 2 citizens are a grisly, vengeful bunch, and Cato has never shown any signs of being different from that mold.
Katniss finally leaves for her house, turning her back on Cato as she walks away. Haymitch is tense the entire time, fingers glued to the sill of the window. He's ready to fling open the window and shout a warning if Cato so much as looked as looked at her the wrong way.
Haymitch would not give that boy the chance to put a sword through her back.
She makes it back to her house and Cato returns quietly into his as the dawn light grows brighter. Haymitch doesn't relax. Instead, he paces the floor of his room, pausing momentarily now and again to shoot venomous glances over at the District 2 boy's house.
Any potential seed of friendship between Cato and Katniss is a problem, and Haymitch has yet to encounter a problem he couldn't fix.
::
Reviewed on 7/28/19 for grammar and sentence structure.