A/N: Ugh, I am sorry it's taken me so long to get this posted. Blame the 3 consecutive chapters of Lifeblood and a bunch of TV shows, especially OITNB (which I haven't even finished because I've been working on this chapter, so please don't spoil me).
I would also like to preface this chapter by saying I like canon Clove (well, the movie version) and have nothing against her. But for the purposes of the story, she had to be a bad guy. I'd rather the backstabber be Glimmer, but alas, wrong district. BUT remember, we only get to hear Jo's feelings and interpretation of events, not all of Clove's motives and driving forces (for now). D7P will definitely give me a hard time for even saying this, because she's a heathen who doesn't like the adorable little murderer, but I just wanted to clear that up preemptively. I probably should have mentioned it before chapter 1, but oh well.
And finally, just a reminder, this fic involves iffy moral ground where relationships are concerned, on multiple levels. If you are sensitive to that kind of thing, be warned.
I awaken to a splitting headache on the penultimate day of the Tour, several hours later than my established rhythm would usually dictate. I stayed up way too late watching the banquet at President Snow's mansion, as I have every Victory Tour stop this winter. I know it's probably terrible for my mental health and ability to move on from my own shattered dreams, but I haven't been able to stop. I've been telling myself it's because I'm happy for Scarlett, which is actually true. Despite the slight strain I picked up behind Scar's smile during her interviews and the gossip about her life back in 2 on some late night show, I couldn't bring myself to feel bad for the girl.
I stagger out of my quarters to see if anyone has some painkillers, and am drawn straight to the common area by the smell of meat. The best hangover cure. I enter the kitchen and am greeted by the strange but amusing visual of my commanding officer wearing an apron and one oven mitt, bent over and peering into one of the side-by-side ovens, a vaguely familiar contraption in her bare hand. When she squeezes the bulb, I remember. It's called a turkey baster. Wait.
"Is that a turkey?" I ask, my jaw practically on the floor. Purnia catches my eye, steps aside and points at both ovens. I peek through the glass in the second one and discover that she has not just one, but two birds cooking. "Where did you get those?"
"At the butcher, obviously," she says blandly. I catch her eye incredulously. It's no secret that Purnia frequents the Hob. It's probably the only thing she does that's not by the book. A small smile plays at her lips and she winks conspiratorially.
I smirk in return and remark, "I didn't know you could cook. Aren't you full of surprises?"
"You have no idea, kid."
"You buy them yourself?"
She squints at me curiously. "Everyone on the morning shift pitched in for the meal. Darius collected your money, remember?"
"Oh, right," I mumble. I rub my eyes and forehead with the heels of my hands. "I'm a little off this morning."
I think I see a brief flash of sympathy in her usually cold green eyes. "You wait here," she instructs me, before disappearing in the direction of M wing. She returns a couple minutes later and hands me a small bottle. "You look like you could use some of these."
I eagerly unscrew the cap and down a couple of tablets along with the glass of water she hands me. "Thanks, Purnia," I reply earnestly. Maybe she isn't so bad after all.
"That wasn't a gift," she says. She points at the island counter across from the stoves, which is littered with onions, celery, and an array of spices. I recognize them as the basic ingredients for stuffing when I see the exposed, sliced loaves of bread peaking out from behind the giant bowl. "Earn your keep," Purnia orders me, guiding me over by the hips. "Help me shred some stuffing." I've barely settled on one of the barstools on the other side of the island when she points at my water and adds, "Make sure you drink the whole thing. And give it a rest today." I eye her edgily, and she replies with crossed arms, "I'm not an idiot, Johanna. You've been hung over almost every shift the past two weeks."
"Maybe," I admit, studying the counter.
"I don't care if you're too young to drink, as long as you're responsible about it," she declares, "but this is getting out of hand." She drums her fingers on one of her biceps. "Are you homesick? Or is there something else going on that we need to talk about?" Sure, there's lots to talk about. I'm homesick for a home I no longer have, in the arms of a girl who betrayed me and in the program I was forced to leave. I think I still love Clove as much as I hate her, and I hate myself even more than her because I allowed myself to get played the way I did. I hate District 12 and I hate that I'm starting to develop feelings for someone who I absolutely should not get involved with and who seems to hate me. It's probably for the best that we've hardly spoken since our fight on Tour day. But still, I can't help but wish she would smile when she saw me, not the opposite. Not that Katniss really smiles for anyone.
I refocus on Purnia, who's still patiently awaiting an answer. "Nothing we can talk about," I say, barely trying to mask my sadness. I can't even talk to Darius about this stuff in any detail, much less my CO.
Purnia appears unsatisfied, but doesn't pry. "Then I expect you'll get this under control," she asserts. She returns to the ovens to baste the second turkey.
I obediently drink my water and begin tearing apart the slices of stale bread in front of me. I don't mind. It's something to do besides miserably watch the opening hours of the Harvest Festival/Victory Tour festivities in the town square I'm far too familiar with. The festival is technically tomorrow, but the celebrations tend to spill over into Sunday because it's a day off for most people nation-wide. Tonight Scarlett will have her official dinner at the mayor's house and we may see clips of the speeches, but that's about it. Today would be boring in terms of TV even if I did feel like watching.
When Purnia is finished basting and joins me in ripping bread, I observe, "Our crew is lucky you have Sundays off. What would they do for the Festival without a domestic goddess around to cook for them?"
"Not much," she smirks. "I worked Sundays and Mondays when I was in Four, and we never really did a meal for it." My hands still. "I guess that's what happens when a bunch of teenagers who've never had to cook get funneled into the ranks."
"Wait, you were stationed in Four?"
She nods and elaborates, "Transferred here three, four years ago."
"Like, voluntarily?" I ask. She nods again. I can only blink dumbly for a moment, but finally sputter, "Why the hell would you transfer out of Four? And to District Twelve, of all places?" District 4 is a prime location, one that Peacekeepers apply to transfer to in droves. It's generally warm, most outposts are close to the waterfront, and they say the lifestyle is laid back. Not like the District 12 version of laid back, where the locals are too hungry to cause any trouble and the Peacekeepers are a bunch of slackers, but a legitimate laxity inherent in their culture. Days off would be much more enjoyable in a place like that.
"For my career," Purnia replies simply.
"Are you shitting me?" I squawk. "This is where careers go to die. No one gives a fuck here – it's where they send the deadbeats because all they need is bodies."
"That's exactly why it's good for my career," she argues. She chuckles at my continuing bewilderment. "I know you assume I've been around for ages, but not everyone enlists at eighteen, you know. I was twenty-three. I've only been in the Corps for six years, and I'm already a Captain. That would be impossible anywhere else."
I smirk knowingly and waggle a finger at her. "So it's rank you're after."
"The money that comes with it, actually." She tosses a handful of bread in the bowl and admits, "Well, rank too, in a sense. Cray's getting on in years, you know. He'll retire in a few years, in all likelihood."
A grin grows on my face as her plan dawns on me. "And then it's between you and Captain Rawley for Head Peacekeeper," I extrapolate. I blink and chew my lip. "But he's both older and more experienced."
"And a drunk, like Cray," she notes. "Barely keeps the afternoons running. If I can get promoted to Commander before Cray retires, I'll outrank Rawley."
"You sneaky little bastard," I remark with admiration. She shoots me a dirty look and I quickly add, "Ma'am." She snorts and returns her attention to the bread. I think this last exchange through and ask, "But what if someone else applies? Wants to transfer here?"
"Didn't you just say no one transfers here?"
"You did," I point out.
"I'm a special case," she counters. "Most of us in the higher ranks wouldn't move to a shitty outpost just to be a Head. They'd rather have the swanky lifestyle than the extra money for being top dog." She smirks wryly. "There's a reason it's so hard to transfer out of Twelve – no one wants to transfer in."
A few slices of bread later, Purnia turns around and pulls a large blade from the knife block on the counter next to the ovens. She turns back my way slowly and ominously, expertly spinning it in her fingers. "Now, Agent Mason, as my own personal form of punishment for your lack of decorum while addressing for your commanding officer, I'm going to have to make you cry." I blink between her and the knife a few times. She can't be serious. She turns the knife around so she's holding the blade and reaches across the island, handing it to me. I grip the handle and eye her with wary confusion until she tosses me one of the onions. Oh.
"Hilarious," I deadpan.
"Believe it or not, I do have a sense of humor." She braces her hands on the countertop and leans forward a little, trapping me in her suddenly icy gaze. "But in all seriousness, Mason, if you call me anything like that again, I'm writing you up. I don't care if we're off-duty." Her sincerity is evident in her voice when she cocks her head slightly and continues, "I'll treat you with respect if you treat me with respect. Got it?"
My face is a bit twisted from insult and embarrassment, but I nod and assure her, "I got it." She continues to stare harshly, so I try again. "Yes, Captain Stark."
"Good." She straightens up and points to the vegetable in my hand. "Make sure you mince those nice and fine. I hate chunky onions."
***o***
The Hob is quiet tonight, even for a Tuesday. It's not exactly deserted, but buyers are sparse, probably because most Twelve residents with money to spare sprang for some festive cuisine for yesterday's celebrations. I have eighty dollars in my pocket, thanks to my recent payday, but I'm not here to buy. Ripper's table is tempting, but I steer clear because I'm trying to follow Purnia's advice. Today was the first morning in over a week that I felt more than halfway functional, and I realized, much to my own amusement, that I kind of miss sobriety.
I've been killing time chatting with Greasy Sae when Gale finally enters the warehouse. I straighten up and finger the money in my pocket in anticipation of Katniss on his heel, but she doesn't follow. I watch him inquisitively as he approaches the stall, game bag slung over his shoulder. He gives me a small nod of acknowledgement before opening up his bag and starting to barter with the old woman. I smile to myself. There is an upside to Katniss's absence: the freedom to have a little fun without having to constantly be on my toes. Gale is the safer one to flirt with, for a variety of reasons.
I sidle up to Gale just as the merchant turns away, nudging his thigh with my hip. "Hey, Stormy," I drawl, fluttering my eyelashes. He looks down at me with I think is meant to pass as an annoyed expression, but he looks vaguely amused, if nothing better. "Where's your worser half?"
"Katniss is sick," he answers pointedly. He casually leans against the counter and adds, "And I'm not sure she's the worser half."
"What are you saying, Gale?" I stand up on my toes to reach his ear and whisper into it, "Are you a bad boy?"
He runs his scrutinizing eyes over me as I sink back down onto my heels. "What is all this?" he inquires suspiciously. "I thought you were into girls." I glare at him, but he just shrugs. "That's what Katniss said."
"I am," I huff. "And I'm also into boys. Why is that so difficult for people to comprehend?"
He twitches his eyebrows dismissively. "Well, I suppose it gives a big flirt like you a larger field to play."
"Don't tell me there isn't a parade of girls willing to admit to making out with you behind the school," I scoff. Greasy Sae snorts from her position by her cash box while Gale narrows his eyes.
"How do you know about that?" he demands.
"I didn't," I laugh, "it was a good guess. Handsome men like you are known to get into trouble."
"Not me. I know how to avoid trouble," he asserts, dragging his eyes up and down my body, "how to recognize it when I see it." He cocks his head. "I've never been arrested, you know."
"We could change that," I smirk, trailing a finger down his chest. "You like the idea of being handcuffed?"
He snorts indignantly and brushes me off. "Yeah, give me what I've spent the last several years avoiding?" he spits. "I think I'll pass."
"Wow." I step back and raise my hands innocently. "Chill out, it was just a joke."
"To you, maybe."
My fists tighten as I drop them to my sides. I understand what he's getting at and am already turning red from that blunder, but my pride wins out over my regret and I grumble, "You're no fun."
"I have more important things to be than fun," he scoffs just as Greasy Sae returns to the counter with a ball of yarn and a small bag of coins.
"Thank you, young sir," she says, handing over his loot. He nods cordially. "Be sure to come back for a bowl for Katniss before you leave." He starts to open his mouth, but she presses on, "On the house. I insist."
Gale licks his lips hesitantly. "She won't like it." Sae throws him a dirty look and he clarifies, "I don't mean the soup."
"Katniss isn't in much of a position to turn down favors right now, is she?" Sae tosses back. "Besides, I'm sure she'll come up with a way to pay me back, at least in her own head."
"She always does," he agrees.
"You'd think she'd be back on her feet sooner, living with the medicine woman," the old woman remarks.
Gale snorts and counters, "Doesn't mean they can afford to use their own remedies."
At this, I remember the money I owe Katniss and start digging for it. "How long has she been out for?" I inquire.
"Haven't seen her in three days," Sae replies.
"Shit." I turn to Gale. "Is she at least getting better?"
"What do you care?" he scoffs.
"I don't," I argue as nonchalantly as possible. "I have money I wanted to give her."
His eyes narrow suspiciously. "What for?" he demands.
"For the sunglasses." Gale's face doesn't light up in recognition, so I elaborate, "She bought some sunglasses from some guy here and jacked the price up on me. Sad part is, I probably would have paid more buying them direct. Everyone overcharges the Peacekeepers." Gale and Sae exchange a look. I can't tell exactly what it is. Disappointment, maybe? "Oh, shit… did I just get her in trouble?" I ask uneasily. "Is there some kind of unwritten code forbidding Hobsters to play middleman on each other and take the profits?"
"Forget it," grunts Gale. He extends a large paw toward me. "I can take the money."
I tighten my fist around the bills in my pocket. "I'd rather give it to her myself."
"Her family needs it as soon as possible," he argues impatiently.
"Obviously," I snark. "I meant I can take it to her, tonight."
Gale's face scrunches in disbelief and his body tenses just the slightest bit. Being trained to pick up on aggressive posturing, I notice that almost as much as the extremely obvious jealousy flashing in his eyes. So that answers whether he likes her, at least. "You know where she lives?" he sneers contemptuously.
"Yeah," I brag, standing up straighter and hooking my thumbs through my belt loops. "I helped her drag that deer home on Tour day."
Greasy Sae responds to his doubtful expression by confirming, "It's true, Gale. She told me when she was taking bids on the venison cuts."
Gale eyes me warily for a moment, but eventually just shrugs. "Doesn't matter. I'm going by her house to drop off the soup anyway. And it's on my way home. I might as well take it with me."
"Who says we can't both stop by?" I point out.
"I was just trying to save you the trip, Johanna," he replies icily. "It's a long way from the barracks." The merchant's eyebrows arch and she glances over at me. Now with two sets of curious, probing eyes on me, I know this is a battle I'll have to surrender. I really want to visit Katniss, see how she is and help in any way I can, but my insistence would look suspicious. The last thing I need is rumors being spread about me.
"All right," I concede, slapping the cash down into his waiting palm. "I trust you." Gale's expression plainly states that the sentiment is not mutual. But why should a poacher trust a Peacekeeper? I'm not sure Katniss even trusts me. She's kept a cool distance between us for the past couple of weeks, and I haven't tried to breach it. It physically pains me to avoid her, but I've been listening to my brain when it says to take the easy out she's offering me with her stubbornness. I can walk away now and blame our failed friendship or whatever it is on her. So, I leave the money with her hunting partner and walk away. I doubt I'm the person she wants to see, anyway.
***o***
I clutch the straps of my rucksack nervously as Darius and I approach the Hob a couple nights later. I haven't bothered returning since handing my payment over to Gale, telling myself I had no reason to go. But tonight, I have two reasons: Thursday, and consequently Darius's company; and the bundle I have stowed in my pack. My resolve to leave well enough alone with Katniss didn't last very long. It never does. I was wandering the square while on duty this morning when something in one of the storefronts caught my eye. Another way I can help the girl, better than hypothetically showing up with money I already owe her and otherwise being completely useless. According to what Greasy Sae said on Tuesday night, I'll probably have to come up with a convincing reason for Katniss to accept this gift, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Darius swings open the door, and we enter the dilapidated warehouse to find it energized, but still sparsely populated for a Thursday night. The post-holiday frugality has clearly not abated yet. "Spend a little extra tonight," my redheaded companion whispers. "These people have food to buy." He nods at Ripper. "This is her only source of income."
"I'm pretty low on funds right now, actually," I admit. "I made a couple of big purchases recently."
"Oh yeah?" he pries. "Like what?"
"The sunglasses, duh." I shrug. "And some clothes."
"What a girl," Darius chuckles. I smack his chest, which just makes him laugh more.
"Sexist prick," I mutter, trying to hold back the smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
"I'm joking," he assures me. "If I were actually sexist I'd say…" He puffs out his chest and gazes down at me condescendingly. "Hey there, little lady," he drawls in a deep baritone, "can I get you a drink? Since you obviously aren't capable of holding down a job?" He lifts one finger meaningfully. "Only one, though. If it takes more than that to put you on your back, you're not worth it."
My whole face puckers. "Dude, that's so unattractive." He nods emphatically in agreement. "Do guys actually say shit like that?"
"Not usually to a woman's face, but behind her back, sure," he replies in his normal voice.
"Maybe I'm being the sexist one now," I scowl, "but men are pigs."
"More accurate than women spending all their money on clothes," he agrees. His mouth twitches. "Honestly, did that bother you? I have a habit of taking jokes too far. I'm not the best at knowing what's funny and what's offensive."
I laugh out loud. "Don't worry about it, Hallett, I can tell when something's a joke. In case you haven't noticed, I'm really hard to offend."
"I have noticed," he smirks. "That's part of why I like you. You're even more offensive than I am."
"Oh, yeah? What's the other part?" I bring my fists up beside my temples and do a seductive body roll, flashing him my best bedroom eyes. "My smokin' hot bod?"
"Don't do that," he pleads, covering his eyes. "That's just creepy. And so unlike you." I'm glad his view is obstructed, because it takes me a second to reign in my slightly miffed expression. I don't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment. Maybe I'm easier to offend than I thought. Over certain things. I must return my face to neutral an instant too late, because he's suddenly backpedaling, "No no, I meant that as a good thing." He smiles softly. "Just be Johanna. Crass, hilarious, charming Johanna. You don't need to do that shit to get people to notice you."
I have to duck my head and bite my lip to hide my slight blush and grin. Katniss could take a lesson in speech from this boy. At least he can climb out of a hole instead of digging it deeper. I could use some help with that too, to be fair. I force my lips into something like a smirk and drawl, "Are you saying you've noticed me?" I mock gasp. "Do you have a crush on me, Agent Darius Hallett?"
"I said no such thing," he parries, his eyes playful. He jerks his head toward Ripper's table again. "Come on." I'm smirking for real now, but I let it be.
We're just coming up on the booth when Commander Cray, who is of course camped out by the liquor, turns his head. His eyes initially widen at the sight of me, but then squint into a predatory focus. "Mason."
I blink cluelessly. "Cray." The old man doesn't say anything else, just snickers and shakes his head. I watch with bewilderment as he tips his bottle at me and ambles away.
"What was that about?" asks Darius, echoing my own thoughts.
"I have no idea," I scoff, continuing to monitor his position. "Just keep me away from him. I'm probably within his ideal age bracket." Honestly, I'm not even sure that's the issue, given he's never looked at me like that before. If I thought he was just drunkenly checking me out, I'd find it less unnerving. I could more than handle his ass if he tried anything.
"Not a problem," Darius mutters. He gives it a moment, and then elbows me in the ribs. "Hey there, little lady," he says in that deep put-on voice from before. "Want a drink?"
I shove him, laughing, "Oh, fuck off!"
"Seriously, though," he says through a toothy grin. "I can spring for your broke ass if you need it."
"Nah, I'm good," I decline. "Trying to cut back."
"Then why are you here on a Thursday?"
"For the company, of course," I smile genuinely. He returns the expression. I blink past him to get a bead on Cray again, but the familiar face I land on doesn't belong to my boss. My heart jumps and my fingers find the straps of my backpack again. I'm trying to summon the words to excuse myself from my current conversation, let alone the nerve to approach her, when her grey eyes lock on me. It turns out I don't have to get up the courage for anything, because Katniss approaches us immediately. Darius notices my distraction and turns around to find the source of it.
"Hey, Johanna," Katniss nods when she gets close. Her eyes jump over to my friend. "Darius."
"Hey yourself, Katniss," he reciprocates.
"You feeling better?" I interject. "Greasy Sae said you were out for days."
"Yeah, it was just a tough bug to shake," she shrugs. "Thanks for the money."
"No thanks needed," I chuckle. "I owed you."
Katniss nods, and her eyes flit down to the ground momentarily. "I was surprised," she admits. "That you'd give it to Gale, I mean."
"Well, I was gonna take it to your house so you wouldn't have to wait until you saw me next, but Gale insisted he take it," I explain. Katniss blinks in surprise and looks over her shoulder, scoping out her partner. "I trusted him to get it to you."
Katniss nods slowly. "You're wise to trust him," she confirms. She looks back at me meaningfully. "Gale's not just my hunting partner, he's my best friend. I trust him with my life, every day."
"I can see that," I murmur, dropping my eyes to the floor. How I could even entertain the idea that I could compete with someone who's so entwined in her life already, someone she already needs and trusts? I'm an ill-fated fool. I meet her eyes again and tell her honestly, "I trust your judgment."
I may say I trust her judgment, but I can't stop myself from glowering irritably at the pair of hunters as they move between booths over the next little while, haggling and making conversation. It's mostly Gale making conversation, actually, despite how antisocial he always seems to be around me. Figures. It's maybe twenty minutes of brooding later that I catch the girl laying a hand on his arm and feel my stomach roiling with jealousy. I can't hear their dialogue from across the warehouse, but from how she's slung her game bag over her shoulder and how he glances at the door, it's clear she's bidding him goodbye. I wait until Katniss is halfway to the door before excusing myself from the group of Peacekeepers we've joined, trying to settle my breathing and stomach as I follow her out into the cold. Now's my chance. I didn't want to do this in front of anyone else, not even Darius. Especially Darius.
Upon exiting the market, I spy the girl heading northwest toward the Seam, and swiftly give chase. "Hey, Katniss!" I call at her back. "Wait up!" She turns around curiously as I approach. "I have something for you," I explain, shrugging off my rucksack. I dip my hand in and extract a folded black garment. "Maybe you won't get sick again if you can stay warmer," I suggest as I hand it over. Maybe I am an idiot for entertaining any thoughts of us when she seems destined to be with Gale, but I'm not going to withhold my goodwill on account of that.
Katniss eyes the bundle with a hint of suspicion, but takes it and unfurls it to reveal its shape. "Wow," she gapes, examining the black snow pants.
I notice her rubbing the shell between her fingers and quickly tell her, "Waterproof shell, thermal lining," trying to keep my voice measured and my eagerness concealed. "They should keep you warm and dry when you're hunting."
She tries unsuccessfully to shake the disbelief from her face and finally looks me in the eye. "I'll never be able to pay you back for these."
"You don't have to. It's a gift."
Katniss suddenly recoils and tosses the pants back into my arms. "I'm not taking anything bought with Peacekeeper blood money," she scowls.
I laugh aloud just as she's turning to storm off. "Don't be so dramatic, Everdeen," I belittle her, grabbing her arm before she can outpace me. "I haven't spilt a drop of blood here." She shakes my hand off her arm, cheeks steadily reddening, so I soften my tone. "It's just my job, Katniss. It's not even one I want."
"It doesn't matter," she retorts flatly. "I'm fine with associating with Peacekeepers, selling to you, but I will never take favors from you. You're the last people I'd ever want to be indebted to."
"What about that time I helped you haul that deer to your house?" I scoff.
She falters briefly, but then snarks, "You were doing that for the exercise." I lift an unconvinced eyebrow, so she quickly gets to the point. "If I have blow 'Darian' for bread crumbs, what would I have to do for something like this?" Katniss closes the gap between us to mere inches and glares down at me with a challenging head tilt. She runs her fingertips down one of my arms and croons, "What do you want from me, Hanna? We might as well get that out in the open right now."
"What I want is for you to not get fucking pneumonia," I huff, my face smoldering from both indignation and embarrassment at what she's implying.
She scoffs. "You do remember how we met, right?"
My mouth puckers and I glare down into the snow. I kick some of it away and mutter, "Can we just pretend that wasn't me?" I catch her eye guiltily. "I don't tend to give the best first impressions."
"To be fair, neither do I," she sighs. We stare at each other throughout a moment of mutual sheepish silence.
"Please, just take them," I finally appeal. "If you have to make yourself feel better about it, consider it an apology for that day."
"An apology?" She widens her eyes theatrically and claps a hand over her mouth.
I roll my eyes. "I'm sorry I made you walk through the snow in your bare feet, okay? I was pissed off and on a power trip and I took it out on you. Not that you weren't asking for trouble." She raises her eyebrows, so I elaborate, "I could have flogged or shot you for poaching under the actual laws of this country. Or just for resisting arrest or assaulting a Peacekeeper. But I didn't want to."
"Why not?" she asks, dropping her hand and relaxing her face so her expression is as genuine as her tone.
My eyes flick down to her lips momentarily. How I'd love to plant one on her. It would explain everything. But it would also give the impression that I actually am hoping for sexual favors in return, so I just shove the pants into her chest instead. "Here, just take the damn pants, Everdeen. Please."
Katniss slowly lifts her arms to cradle the gift, holding my gaze the entire time. "Okay," she agrees quietly as she closes her hands around it.
"Thank you," I whisper, loosening my own grip.
"For what?" she blinks. Her slack jaw has left her lips slightly parted and her brow creased inquisitively. The evening breeze tickles the wisps that have fallen loose from her messy braid, depositing a few flakes on her crown in the process. I can't help but stare.
"For accepting my apology," I say mindlessly, reaching up to brush the powder from her long bangs. "For letting me…" Not sure how to finish that sentence, I drop my gaze, and immediately catch her squinting eyes jumping from my intrusive hand back to my face. I snap out of my trance, my hand slipping down her cheek to her shoulder. "Sorry, you had…" I trail off as I realize how ridiculous I'm about to sound.
"Snow in my hair?" she deduces. I nod sheepishly, and she exaggeratedly lifts her eyes to the sky. "Imagine that," she quips. But when she catches my eye again, her mouth turns up in a slight smile that I return involuntarily. Her eyes briefly flit down to her collarbone, and it's only then that I notice how I'm twirling her braid absentmindedly between my thumb and forefinger. And that she's not complaining, only curiously examining my face. Her gaze suddenly intensifies as we lock eyes, and she swallows almost indiscernibly. Great, now I'm making her nervous. And with her infuriating poker face, I can't tell whether it's in a good or a bad way. But it would be so easy to just push up off my toes a little and find out…
The telltale squeak of the heavy door swinging open pierces the air, and instantly we've both jumped back several inches. The ruckus coming from inside the Hob reverberates in my eardrums as I watch Katniss catch her breath just as sharply as I have to. Well, I guess that answers that question. Maybe. Or maybe she just doesn't want to be caught fraternizing with a Peacekeeper. She gives credence to that theory by slipping my present behind her back just as the noise returns to muted levels. I step aside and turn around so we can both see who interrupted us. My heartbeat picks back up as I identify the Head Peacekeeper just outside the door.
Cray looks our way and, upon recognizing us, eyes us inquisitively. "Katniss, Johanna," he slurs as he approaches us, "what a surprise." He stumbles to within a few feet of us, and I have to make a conscious effort not to step back. Not only does he reek of alcohol, he's leveling that strange and oddly predatory look at me again. What, did Clove send him naked pictures of me or something? He looks from me to my companion and back again. "So, you two are getting along better now?" he infers.
"We have a business arrangement," Katniss replies blandly. "It works better if we're not trying to kill each other."
Cray laughs obnoxiously. "I suppose it would." He sways a little and catches himself on his back foot. He focuses on us again and chuckles, "Well, I should get home while I still can." Good, please go away. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mason."
My brow scrunches at this piece of news. "You will?"
He blinks as though to clear his head. "Yes, I will." Well, I'm certainly looking forward to that. He turns to Katniss, looks her up and down, and gives her a much-too-friendly smile. My ears instantly flare up, my fingers curling tightly into my palms. Only my will to live keeps me from laying a finger on him. In his current state, all it would take is a finger to knock him on his ass. "You ladies have a good night," he drawls, giving us one last smirk before staggering away. My muscles relax marginally as I watch his retreat, sighing in relief.
"Gross," I mutter.
Katniss shrugs. "I'm used to it."
I can't help grinning a little. "You mean because you're so attractive, or because Cray's a total pervert?"
She snorts. "Whatever you say, Mason. I was talking about Cray. And some of the other Peacekeepers, too."
I almost flash her a lecherous smirk and offer a generous rebuttal to her self-perception, but I catch myself. She doesn't need anyone else coming onto her inappropriately right now, let alone another Peacekeeper. Instead, I shove my hands into my pockets and nod curtly. "Well, goodnight, Everdeen," I mumble, taking a step back.
"Goodnight," she reciprocates. She pulls the pants from behind her back. "Thanks."
"Of course," I assure her. "Anytime." I tuck my chin and smile a little to myself once I've turned to head back inside. I can't help but bask in the feeling I get around her, like I'm walking on air. But, it's not without some trepidation. Walking on air, unfortunately, puts me in a position to fall. Again.
***o***
I hug my jacket tighter around my midsection as I traverse the path leading to Cray's house the following afternoon. I would be mildly annoyed by being summoned to a meeting post-shift in any case, but it's particularly irritating when I have to walk there in this weather. The snow picked up a little overnight, and the temperature has taken a bitterly cold turn. I hope Everdeen decided to make use of my gift after all. I try to put last night's run-in with Cray out of my mind as I round the side of his house and rap my chapped knuckles against the front door. Despite my urge to avoid him, I burst inside the second he gives me permission, shuddering as the warm air contacts my skin.
After kicking the snow off my boots, I poke my head into Cray's office and inquire, "Purnia said you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, Agent Mason," he confirms. "Please, sit down."
I obey that order and inquire expectantly, "What can I do for you, Commander?" My face starts to fall as I notice his grim expression.
"I've called you here because you were mentioned in a complaint filed at the conclusion of the Victory Tour," he explains. Oh, shit. I thought that little indiscretion of mine had blown over. Maybe a comrade tattled on me after all. "You might not know this, but the victor, mentor, and Capitol escort are given an opportunity to provide feedback on the Tour to help improve it for future years." Xavier. That blue-haired little bitch. I'd love to pin him down and slowly crush his fucking windpipe with my axe handle.
"Yes, I've heard that," I reply calmly.
"You know I'm not one to strictly enforce protocol," Cray starts, "but it's different when the name of our district is on the line. This is not disastrous, because the incident occurred off-camera and no Peacekeepers from out-of-district were present. Very few people are aware of it. But stepping out of line on reaping day, for instance?" He points a stern finger my way. "I will not have my outpost become the laughingstock of all of Panem."
I take a moment to conceive the best possible response to weasel my way out of this situation. "I acted impulsively, Commander," I confess. "I wanted to say hello to a friend, but I didn't consider the consequences for the whole outpost, and I regret that."
"It's not just your breaking rank that's the problem, Mason," he rejoins, hardly placated. "Politely approaching and saying hello in a dignified manner would have been out of order, but not wholly embarrassing. But Miss Caskey's escort claims you chased her down and called her some kind of demeaning name." He squints at a report on his desk. "Bean sprout?"
"Beanstalk, sir," I correct him, "regarding her physique. It's a childhood nickname. We've known each other for years."
"Yes, I know," he declares. He clasps his hands in front of him, resting his forearms on the desk as he leans in. "I've done my homework on you, Agent Mason. This incident piqued my interest, and I've made some very interesting discoveries." I'm glad I'm sitting down, because I almost lose my balance as it is. "I'm aware that you were enrolled in the candidacy program, and that you withdrew under less than ideal circumstances."
I strain to keep a calm façade despite the panicked clamor ringing in my ears. Fight or flight. I almost always choose the same option, but I have to be careful how I do it here. I allow my face and tone to darken only slightly. "Commander Cray, I gave no reason for my withdrawal from the program. Anything you think you know about that is purely speculation."
He chuckles dismissively. "Perhaps that is true, but logical deductions can easily be made from certain facts. Such as the company you kept." He peeks into a file folder, withdraws a sheet of paper, and places it on the desk. My stomach immediately seizes up at the sight of her face, and not just because I know where this conversation is heading. Cray taps the candidate biography in front of me. "Clove Kentwell: age sixteen, born October 2nd. Now widely considered to be the top contender for female designated volunteer for the 74th Hunger Games. Was known to be in a long-term relationship with a fellow candidate…" He pulls out another biography and sets it beside the first. "Johanna Mason: age eighteen, born August 25th. Was the undisputed favorite to represent District 2 at the 74th Games until she unexpectedly withdrew from the program on September 12th of this year..." He opens the folder and flips through a couple of pages. "…Before enlisting in the Peacekeeping Corps on October 6th." He catches my eye and points back and forth between our birth dates. "It doesn't take a genius, Mason."
"Lucky for you," I snap. I shoot back in my chair the instant I realize what I just said, avoiding the blow that is sure to come, like it did to Katniss on my first day. So much for being careful.
Surprisingly, Cray only raises his eyebrows and muses, "No wonder you're so familiar with the 'laws of this country' you mentioned the day you arrived. Maybe you should have paid attention to them sooner." He sits back and eyes me smugly. "But, of course, who am I to judge you for your sexual preferences?" I just about puke in my mouth. Hitting me would have been better.
"With all due respect, sir," I growl, "this is completely different from what Miss Everdeen was referring to. Clove and I had been involved for over a year. Morally, backing off for one month seemed unnecessary and, quite frankly, ridiculous."
"Morally, yet not legally," he notes, wagging a finger. "I do realize there's a distinction between the two, which is why I don't always seem so keen on enforcing the law. I value results over procedures." Cray corrals the biographies back into the folder. "I don't care what you do, Mason, so as long you help maintain order in the district." He smirks knowingly. "In fact, keeping tabs on potentially inflammatory individuals is one way of doing so, so by all means, do as you please."
I feel my neck turning scarlet under my collar. It takes every scrap of my already sparse self-control not to jump across the desk and snap the old man's neck. Or run away. "Am I dismissed?" I hiss through gritted teeth.
"Not yet." He slides the first document across the desk. "This is a report of the incident that occurred in the Justice Building during the Victory Tour. Attached is a copy of our discipline contract, including the details of your sentence. You are suspended without pay for one week, effective immediately."
I blink and shake my head. "This was decided without giving me a chance to defend myself?" I complain weakly, despite my fear of my voice catching.
"You admitted to what you were accused of, Agent," he replies impatiently. "If you hadn't, I would have withheld punishment until I'd had a chance to interview your comrades who were present at the time and determine the validity of the escort's claims." He flips open the package to the last page and points to the Disciplinary Action heading. "This is standard for a Dereliction of Duty – Class 1 Misdemeanor. I was kind enough to withhold any action under Conduct Unbecoming, considering your established relationship with Miss Caskey and her favorable response to your behavior."
Under his penetrating and expectant gaze, I swallow enough of my venom to manage a, "Thank you, sir."
Cray places a pen beside the contract. "Please read this carefully and sign to declare your understanding and cooperation." My mind is whirring far too quickly to comprehend much of anything no matter how hard I try to concentrate, so I barely bother to skim my eyes over the document before shakily penning my signature and the date. "Very good, Agent Mason," he says as he signs on his designated line. "You are dismissed."
I flee out Cray's back door on shaky legs and head southwest, straight for the gap in the fence. Hot tears start stinging my eyes before I even hear the screen door swing shut behind me, but I stubbornly withhold any sobs until I can escape the district, causing my breaths to come in choked gasps. When I hit the forest a few minutes later, all I've held back comes rumbling out of me in bellows of rage. I roar obscenities and attack the trees furiously with a fallen branch in lieu of my axe.
I have never been more humiliated in my life. Cray found the chink in my emotional armor, my deepest regret and source of self-loathing. He found it, drove the knife deep, and gave it a twist. I fucking hate him. He might even surpass Clove on my most-hated list, which is no small feat. But as much as I curse their names while hacking at these unforgiving trunks, I can't escape the fact that I'm as angry with myself as anyone else. And completely ashamed. I can blame Clove and argue morality versus legality all I want, but I'm the one who fucked up. And here I am, poised to fuck up yet again with another angry younger girl who could just as easily turn on me. There is something seriously wrong with me. The stick snaps in my hands, and I hurl it away with one final scream. Suddenly drained of energy, I slump back against the nearest tree and slide down it, dissolving into tears.
My butt is completely numb and I've just about cried myself into oblivion by the time I hear the subtle crunch and squeak of soft feet in the snow to my right. I raise my fists defensively and snap my head up, only to have my visual field filled by black goretex. I simultaneously sigh in relief and kick myself mentally. I'm out of form. Even Katniss Fucking Everdeen shouldn't be able to get that close to me without me noticing. I duck my face and wipe it, only to find it dry and sticky. I ran out of tears a while ago, leaving my stomach aching and heaving with dry sobs. Katniss sinks into a crouch beside me, and I begrudgingly make eye contact. "Fucking hell, Katniss," I grumble. "I could have killed you."
"Yes, you look downright terrifying right now," she quips dryly. I push my right hand out and put my weight behind it, shoving her as hard as I can without moving off my ass. She teeters but drops one hand into the snow behind her to catch herself. I can't help but notice she could use new gloves, too. She waddles a few inches closer, sincere concern clouding her face. "Sorry, I'm not very good at this."
I snuffle back some phlegm and spew it far to my left. "Good at what?"
She hesitates a second but then prods, "What's wrong?"
I sigh and let my head tip back to rest on the trunk. My eyes drift over to her and I scoff, "Shouldn't you be in school, kid?"
"It's like three-thirty," she huffs. I guess I've been out here longer than I realized. I barely even noticed the loss of feeling in my nose and ears. Katniss pokes me in the arm and grips my jacket. "Now, tell me."
I duck my head again to hide my hint of a smile. I can tell her confidence is a sham, but the fact that she's trying to be tough with me is kind of adorable. "Everdeen, it's…" I stop myself before I can say anything incriminating, or even intimate at all. I sigh heavily. "It's not something I can talk about with you." Insult crosses her features, and I clarify, "Or anyone, really."
She bites her lip, and I can practically see the gears turning in her pretty little head. She shrugs theatrically and ventures, "Well, I can tell you from experience, this is the safest place to let anything out." She moves her hand to rest on my shoulder. "Not just tears."
"There's no such thing as a safe place." I flick my eyes over to her hand and back. "Or a safe person."
She drops her comforting expression and hand. "Fine, forget it." She starts to stand, but I instinctively grab her arm.
"Katniss…" I protest, locking my elbow so she can't straighten up.
"What?" she demands impatiently, settling back into her crouch. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Not because I have nothing to say, but because I can't say any of the things I want or need to. Don't give up. Wear me down. Hold me. Don't go. Those pleas are not only unfair to her, they are just asking for trouble. Serious trouble. Everdeen doesn't wait long before grumbling, "Pardon me for thinking you could use a friend. I was only trying to help."
"I don't need your help," I scoff. Katniss's face stays fairly impassive, but the hurt in her eyes gives my killer instinct an opportunity to end this. I harden my gaze and say what I need to be true. "I don't need you."
She glares at me and jerks her arm in my grip. "Then let me go." I should, but I hesitate. She rolls her eyes and snorts. "Make up your damn mind, Johanna."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I growl. She said that far too emphatically to just be talking about her arm.
Katniss scoffs exasperatedly. "You're so volatile and confusing. You make me want to clock you half the time, but then sometimes you're really nice to me and I… I just don't understand. I don't get you."
I twitch my eyebrows cynically and glare into the snow. "There's nothing to get."
"Why do I get the distinct impression you're lying?" she retorts. I don't respond. Finally, I hear her sigh, and I can't help but look up. "You know what? I think there's a lot to you," she declares. "But if you don't want to let me see it, fine." She snatches her arm away and stands up. "I don't have time for this crap."
I smile ironically. "No? Too busy shooting things with Stormy the not-boyfriend?"
"Better than shooting people who are just doing what they need to do to survive, just because you can," she snaps. "Unlike you, I have real responsibilities. People counting on me." That stings, but I push down the anger simmering in my gut and only narrow my eyes in response. She wants a fight, but I won't give it to her, not this time. As expected, she deflates as my cold silence drags on. She finally just shakes her head and says, "Goodbye, Hanna."
When I don't protest, Katniss turns her back and walks away. Every step she takes smarts in my chest, but I let her go. I am nothing like Cray, and I'm going to prove that to him. And, more importantly, to myself.
A/N: I'm not sure whether I will post another chapter of this next or jump back to Lifeblood. If you have an opinion, feel free to sound off on tumblr, but I can't guarantee I'll listen. "I'm not in control of the muse." I like to do quick updates after downer chapters, so I might stick with this fic. Nobody likes Joniss staying at odds. :/
Thanks, as usual, to District 7 Profanity for her beta reading, even if she has a hard time being objective because of all of her overwhelming feelings. No, but seriously, thanks for being a good moderating force and my guinea pig for things between the lines.