Chapter 3: What a Kindness Is Worth

It has been one month. One month since my father rose early like he did every day of his life, kissed my mother goodbye, traveled down into the Earth and got blown up.

And still, my mother has refused to move from her marriage bed, from the mattress where she has brought so many young babies into the world as a midwife, as well as birthing myself, Prim and Aven.

It is dark, deep night in mid-winter, when I hear a knock at the door. Pulling my nightgown and the shawl Darius gave me tight around myself, I go to answer it. When I do, I draw back in horror, a hand to my mouth. I can see the clear outline of a Peacekeeper's uniform even in darkness. But when its wearer steps into the light - one of two men on our porch - I deflate in relief. It's only Darius.

And I gasp when he introduces me to his companion. It's a medic. A Capitol medic. I don't know where Darius found him, or how he ordered one. I've only ever seen them once in a blue moon, climbing up the hill to Victor's Village to administer check-ups to our lone Victor of the Hunger Games, a drunk by the name of Haymitch Abernathy.

"Can you take us to your mother, miss?" the medic asks me kindly. I nod, and usher them in, choking back a sob.

By now, Prim has woken up from the low voices in our parlor. I try to shoo her away by telling her to go check on Aven, which she does. But soon enough, she is back, pushing a dozing Aven in his mobile crib into the center of our kitchen and pretending not to study the medic's bag and supplies with a childlike curiosity. The medic notices and when he asks Primrose if she would like to be on hand as his assistant, she happily accepts. They both enter the master bedroom to attend to Mother.

Darius dutifully stands guard by the door. I busy myself by making a pot of pine leaves tea, setting the kettle to boil. I ask Darius if he would like a cup, but he politely declines. Warming my hands against the white formica of my mug, I anxiously wait.

"This is too much, Darius," I try to tell him softly. Sure. That's what I told him regarding the chicken a week or two ago. I still need to build it a henhouse, before Buttercup, Prim's cat, eats it. The beleaguered bird has been eyed like a snack ever since it arrived. Pretty soon, it won't be just the cat who sees it as plucked clean and roasting in an oven.

Darius just waves my concern away. "I filed the report, hired the medic. As I was the ranking officer made privy to Mrs. Everdeen's condition, her case will go in my folder, for my eyes only. It's in Panem's best interest that she lives. And besides..." His eyes flit almost sadly over to Aven, who by now is sitting up in his crib. He doesn't need to finish the sentence. I know what he means. The Capitol doesn't need another stolen child soldier.

It still isn't light when the medic emerges with Prim. "Give her another day of rest, and she will be back on her feet." He extends out a hand for Darius to shake. "It is good to see you again, Darius."

"Thank you, Copeland."

"But of course. Any family of Finnick Odair is family of mine." I gape. Darius hired the personal physician of his brother? The Victor Finnick Odair? That can't be above-board here in Twelve. But then again, Darius said my mother's case would be for his eyes only. He must be pretty confident word won't get out. And even if it does, Cray will probably be too grateful to care, as it's one less problem on his docket.

The medic takes his leave, and I walk Darius out into the cold. I stare up into his face disbelievingly. Gratefully.

"How can I ever thank you?" Darius shrugs his shoulders, his long red locks falling into his easy smile. "You don't need to thank me. Not every act of kindness is worth a thanks." I fold my arms, peering at him with a frown. "Everything is worth something, Dar. That's what I was taught." He grins at me curiously. "What do you think this kindness is worth then, Ms. Everdeen?"

My brow furrows as I consider the question. I think of all the little things that Darius has done for me, over this past month. And especially over those two weeks after my father's death, when we first became friends. The lengths he has gone to, and not expecting anything in return - though a concept that I don't understand, and probably never will - fill me with strange gratitude and warmth. So it is that I take Darius's face in my hands. Standing up on my tiptoes, I push my lips fiercely against his.

A kiss. A kindness is worth a kiss. Saving my mother's life and ensuring my family does not go hungry is worth a long, slow, deep kiss.

Darius's lips taste like soft, warm butter, and his mouth melts into mine. I feel calloused palms encircle my waist and pull me close. He holds me gently. His big, strong hands don't wander, which I appreciate. Tilting my face, I feel his lips press against mine and deepen the kiss.

Then something tickles my mouth. I realize with a gasp and a shudder that it is Darius's tongue. "Ummmm..." My lips part with the sound and suddenly Darius's tongue is in my mouth. It feels strange, to have his tongue dancing and twining about mine. Electric shocks seem to shoot from our lips down to the tips of my toes. Feeling oddly bold, I let my chilled fingers weave themselves into his long red hair, and I pull, yanking him tighter to me with a deep, guttural groan. My hooded eyelids flutter closed. "Mmmm... Hmmmmm..."

As Darius and I embrace and kiss, I don't notice my baby sister watching us through the window, her mouth agape in shock. After several moments, Darius and I break apart with a small POP!, our arms still about each other. Puffs of air from our breaths mix and mingle in the small space between us. My eyes fill with tears.

"Thank you," I choke out through the lump in my throat.

Darius beams. "You're welcome." And cupping my face, tilting my head back, he kisses me full on the mouth again. I don't fight it, closing my eyes and enjoying the taste before he draws away. "Goodnight, Katniss."

I flush, as the full weight of what I have just done hits me in the face. I kissed him! And he kissed me back. "G... goodnight," I stammer with a weak smile. I watch him amble away through the snow. Closing my front door behind me and pulling the latch to, I ignore Prim's squeals and peppering questions, instead simply snapping at her to go to bed and not breathe a word of this to Mother.

I collapse into bed in relief and almost... giddiness. That night, the chiseled face of an auburn-haired Peacekeeper dances in my head...