Chapter 4

Katniss's POV

"Where are we going anyway?" Gale asks through gritted teeth. He's been staring stonily out at the stars for half an hour without saying a word.

"That's a good question," Peeta says good-naturedly.

"Huh. Some planner," I hear Gale mutter. A grin spreads across Peeta's face, diffusing the ire. I hunch into my seat and smile back, a lesson I'm trying to learn from him.

"Well, Madge," asks Peeta, "where are you taking us?"

"A very special place," she says, then rattles off a litany of coordinates that don't mean anything to me.

But Gale shoots up in his seat and splutters, "The new colony?"

"The same." She looks pleased.

"New colony?" Peeta asks, looking at me. "I didn't think there was anything there yet? I mean, it doesn't even have a name."

"Unless you count D13 Above," I snicker. Stupid name. Who came up with that, anyway?

"There isn't." Madge and Gale say in unison.

"Um," says Madge with a tinge of embarrassment. "We're getting a sneak peek."

Gale seems to forget his reserve and leans toward her, looking at the different dials. "How long till we get there?"

Just then – Effie—Ethel – whatever the damn contraption's name is, coughs. A lot. A shudder runs through the frame and we all bounce in our seats as the hovercraft experiences a sudden drop in altitude.

"Not soon enough, I take it?" Peeta murmurs. He grabs my unused safety restraints, which dangle off the armrests and jams the buckles in place. Then he blinks at me like he did all of that without even thinking.

Meanwhile, Madge and Gale, the only two who know anything about hovercrafts, share an uneasy glance as a thin plume of smoke issues from the nose of the hovercraft. Gale grips the arms of his seat.

"I think you'd better land her," he says, his voice tight.

Madge's eyes jump from gauge to gauge, which have started to go haywire. "I think you're right." She punches a few buttons, muttering something about the autopilot. Steam hisses through a valve overhead and Madge has to unbuckle herself to reach it.

Gale reaches for her, "Madge, don't—"

And then we plummet.

…

Eventually my vital organs crawl back down my throat into their properly assigned places. Somewhere a device flashes a tiny red light. I stare at it for a while, until I've taken stock of all my bones and teeth, making sure they're sound, and reached over to make sure Peeta's in one piece. He squeezes my hand, but neither of us says a word.

The air smells like scorched aluminum and oil.

"I'm going to kill Haymitch," Madge eventually groans into Gale's chest, where she landed after getting pasted to the ceiling. His face and shoulders are smashed against the hatch. One of his legs rests awkwardly on the control panel. "He has no business letting Ethel fall into disrepair."

Gale opens his mouth, and I can tell by the glint in his eyes that he's about to say something sharp, probably about Madge having no business stealing his hovercraft in the first place.

To be fair, Madge got us down as smoothly as she could. I don't suppose the initial spine-shattering bump at the end could be avoided.

"At least the safety restraints work. I'll have to let Haymitch know," Peeta interjects right away. We're both safe in our seats, a little bruised – especially my tailbone – but nothing worse. Miraculously.

"Not all of them," Gale says through gritted teeth, trying to help Madge into an upright position. She wasn't wearing one when Ethel gave out because she was busy frantically toggling gears, pushing buttons, and reaching at steaming valves overhead. Gale, however, had his restraints firmly buckled and she yet she managed to knock his right out of the seat when she pummeled into him. The frayed ends lie on the floor.

Something makes a popping sound and more steam issues from Ethel's nose.

"Do you think we should get out and have a look?" Peeta asks. The red blinking light casts a grim glow over the group and nobody seems eager to see the extent of the damage.

I ask, "Are we even on the ground?" All I can see is a black expanse out the windshield. Who knows where we've landed or in what conditions. We could be stuck in a dense grove or dangling precariously on a rocky ledge.

"Yeah," Madge says, gingerly messaging the back of her neck. "I saw us touch down just as it sent me flying into Gale, which…" she gives him a contrite frown, "…sorry."

"Forget it," he grumbles, trying to look like his whole body didn't just get bashed against the hatch.

Madge slips clumsily into the pilot seat and holds her head. "That can be arranged. Ouch."

"Well, Dr. Everdeen," says Peeta, after we all hold our breath for a moment. "Has she got a concussion?"

I glare at him as I take unlock the restraints. "You know that's not my thing."

Peeta scratches his head. "No? Then who was I thinking of? Oh, Prim." He grins. "We should have packed her, too."

My retort is interrupted by Gale, who is also out of his seat. He kneels down in front of Madge. "What is your name?" Gale asks her.

"What?" Madge shoots me a glance, wondering if Gale's out of his head. Then she looks down at him. "Y-you know my name."

"That's not the point," he replies, knuckling his forehead. "What are we doing?"

She blinks in time with the annoying red light. "I already told you." Her voice sounds watery and confused.

Gale huffs, folding his arms across his chest. "Okay, what were you just doing?"

"Crashing?"

"How do you feel?"

Madge frowns as he pelts her with questions. "Physically or emotionally?"

He huffs again. "I'm going to check your pulse."

"Do you even know what you're doing?" she squeaks when he touches her throat.

"Miners got concussions all the time. We had to know the signs," Gale explains, his voice flat as he measures her pulse against the glowing numbers on his digital watch. "I need a flashlight to check your eyes."

Madge swallows. "There's one in the stowage bin. We need to get out and look at Ethel anyway," she says, pushing his hand away. "I want to know how badly Haymitch is going to kill me."

The hatch on Gale's side won't open, so we climb out through the pilot hatch. It opens with a groan after Madge fiddles with the latch. A cabin light blinks on, giving us a smidgeon of visibility.

We are surrounded by…what I'm guessing in the dark…is lush coniferous forest. I can smell the resin from the pines, and when I reach down, my fingers feel the prick of dry needles. Okay. I can handle this.

Through the interior light, we can see that the corvette is dented, scratched, and smoking slightly, but in one piece. The only problem is the cargo bin on the passenger side, which has been ripped open by the impact. Only one bag remains, besides the one Peeta brought.

Madge groans when she sees this and we make her sit down on the forest floor. Gale takes charge of the bag and in the light from the hovercraft, inspects the supplies.

Two blankets, a flashlight, strawberry fruit leather, a crossword puzzle and a lighter. "That's it," he says, zipping it shut with a jerk. "What have you got?"

Peeta leafs through his bag, listing the items. "Five dozen homemade cookies, an extra sock, and a knife."

"That's all you've brought?" Gale gapes. "One sock and cookies?"

"And a knife," Peeta adds, his jaw tight. Gale rolls his eyes. "Everything else got packed in the stowage bin."

"Oooh," says Madge, and everyone shuts up in case she's about to pass out or something. "Help me up." Peeta and I give her a hand. Then she wanders back to the pilot's hatch and rummages around. When she comes back out, a glass bottle reflects the cabin light. She waves it around. "Haymitch forgot this."

"Liquor?" I ask, eyeing the familiar, clear liquid.

She nods. "Yep."

"Well, it's something," I say, taking it. I break the seal and uncap the bottle. The smell of the alcohol singes my nose hairs, but I take a pull. It burns down my throat, slowly spreading a languor through my veins. "Oh, that's nasty."

I hand it back to Madge, but Gale intercepts the bottle.

"Hey," she mumbles, as her hand hangs in mid air.

Gale rounds on her. "You may have a concussion, and alcohol," he waves the bottle at her as he chides, "will only create complications if you do. Besides, fuzzy wits are the last thing we need." He scowls at me.

"I agree," says Peeta, giving me a similar look of disapproval.

"What?" I snap, wondering why they're picking on me. Then I remember the first time I drank hard liquor. I spilled half a bottle all over the back of Gale's jacket, which stank of it for ages, just before I passed out drunk. I had an awful hangover the next day, which only made it more painful when Peeta reamed me out over it. So I say, "It's not like years ago. We're just a little stressed out."

Peeta crosses his arms, studying me, unconvinced. "Still."

My hands fly to my hips. "Peeta, I was upset. They'd just announced the Quarter Quell. Anyone in those circumstances –"

Peeta purses his lips like a parent waiting for his child's tantrum to pass. Then he chants, "Lots of people, like Haymitch, use alcohol as a coping mecha—"

How can he compare me to Haymitch? "I'm not—"

The sound of shattering glass ends the dispute. "Problem solved," says Gale, holding the jagged remains of the bottle's neck. My mouth pops open. Though, really, I shouldn't be surprised. Gale's always been impulsive.

But, not everyone is as used to that as me. "Oh my goodness, you just busted that on poor Ethel," Madge groans, plopping down on the lip on the hatch opening.

Gale smiles grimly. "I'm sure Haymitch will find it fitting."

She shakes her head, blinking in disbelief. "We could have just put it away."

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Peeta asks, looking around the forest though we can't see much. His mood lifted immediately after the white liquor was destroyed.

"Find out if the radio works, so we can get some help," Gale says, trying to gently shove Madge out of way so he can get back into the cabin.

Madge bites her lip. "It doesn't."

"What?" we all cry. Gale steps back and looks at her with incredulous eyes.

She cringes as she delivers the news. "It never has. Haymitch pulled it out so that people wouldn't bother him. Sorry, guys."

Gale turns his back on us, clenching his fists. "Great," he snarls. "Well, welcome to your new existence as full-time waifs. Starting off fine with two blankets and a bag of cookies between us."

"And a knife," Peeta reminds him.

"Shut up," Gale spits over his shoulder.

We stand there, fuming and thinking, not saying a word in case something sparks the tension into a disaster. I bet everyone's wondering the same things. How far are we from the Underground? When will they miss us and how on earth can they find us?

We could make it for a few days, with Gale's and my shared knowledge, but what if this little trip becomes permanent?

"Look," Madge pipes up while she cradles her head in her hands. We all turn to look at her. "Maybe we should get some sleep and we'll figure this out in the morning," she mutters. Then she climbs inside Ethel and pulls up a floor tile, revealing a niche, where a box of tools lies hidden. And another flashlight. "Here, now we have two flashlights and a lighter." She replaces the tile, but leaves the toolbox out, since we'll be needing that.

She hands the hovercraft flashlight to Gale and the one from her backpack to me. We switch them on, and look around us. I'm right. Pine trees. Huge, old ones. Large, green ferns cover the forest floor, except for a long drag where Ethel skidded to her final resting place.

"Are we sleeping out here or in there?" Peeta asks, gesturing toward Ethel with his thumb.

"There isn't enough room," Madge tells him. "Not with the engine in the way."

Then comes the awkward moment when we pull the blankets out of the pack, and have to decide who gets what. At least, it shouldn't have been awkward, with the ratio being two and two.

So I say, "Madge and I can share one and you two can –"

Gale crosses his arms, looking like his dignity is in question. "No."

"Not really," says Peeta adds with a stubborn frown.

They won't even look at each other.

Madge rolls her eyes, then winces.

"Look, it's only for the night," I gripe. "Nobody expects you to start dating each other."

"No, Katniss," Gale repeats.

Madge grabs a blanket from upstairs. "Know what," she huffs. "Why don't you and Peeta take one, and Gale, you use this one. Go get some sleep." Madge shoves each blanket at me and I take it. "I'm going to take a look at Ethel anyway. I'll sleep in the pilot seat."

Both guys start to protest, but she gives me a look, pleading with me to get them out of her hair. Then she just turns around and reaches for the tools again. Ignoring everyone.

"Come on, Peeta," I say, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind me.

For a few minutes there's only the sound of the forest, of pine needles crunching under our feet, the distant yawp of a fox, or the scurry of a mouse over the bracken. But after a few yards, Peeta asks, "Isn't he supposed to come, too?" He gestures toward Gale, who doesn't seem to know what do to, and hovers just outside the corvette while Madge bends over the toolbox.

"Let him stay with Madge. That was your plan, after all," I jibe, since Peeta should know better than to get involved.

Peeta cringes. "Yeah, I don't think right now either of them are at their best, though…." He stops like he's thinking about turning around.

I grab his wrist. "We're not going far in case, you know, one of them decides to kill the other," I say, with a bit of an edge in my voice.

He shrugs. "Right."

A few minutes later, we've managed to scrape together a decent bed of needles and ferns. Peeta, who's been looking over his shoulder every few seconds, throws the blanket down on top of the pile. We sit down.

"So, do you think it's working?" he asks as he rummages through his backpack.

"Stop staring at them," I reply. "They're fine."

He frowns in the glow of the flashlight. "I think they're fighting."

I laugh, thinking about how Gale's the last person to willingly cooperate with anyone else's plans for him. "That's about as close to romance as Gale ever gets," I reply, and then feel a pang of guilt as Peeta's shoulders bunch. Even if Gale and I have only ever kissed twice, it bothers him. So I quickly add, "If she wants something mushy, she'll have to stick with Quintus."

"Uh." Peeta grimaces at the suggestion. "Not really."

"Why?" I ask, with some surprise. I haven't met Quintus, and I didn't think Peeta had either. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's too nice." Peeta shrugs. I laugh and he looks a little hurt. "What?"

"Quintus is too nice?" I elbow his side, since he is probably the nicest guy I know.

"A different nice," he says with a shrug. "Cookie?"

He holds one up for me to take. They're beautiful sugar cookies cut like flowers, each with a purple center and three petals covered in white icing: Katniss. I stare at it a moment, taking in Peeta's detailed hand and feeling pleased and choked up at the same time.

"Peeta," I murmur eventually, "we should ration those in case we're stuck here for a while." I take the bag away from him and seal it, though the scent makes my mouth water in protest. "Sixty cookies should last…"

He chuckles. "Sixty-five cookies, Katniss."

"What?" I wrinkle my nose, trying to figure out how the math could work out that way.

"Uh." He scratches his head. "Yeah, there's 13 in a baker's dozen. Geez."

Peeta laughs at me, which produces a scowl. How should I know? Half the time anything with the word baker attached to it was priced outside of my budget range, and therefore, not an important detail.

I grouse, "Fine, sixty-five. Whatever"

Peeta shakes his head knowingly. "We should probably ration the batteries, actually," he says, switching off the flashlight.

Then his arm snakes around my waist and the mood shifts in the darkness. It's like we're really alone out here, despite the static sound of Madge and Gale's voices in the distance. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust. Even then, I can only see traces of Peeta's facial features, relying mostly on the sound of his voice.

"So…did you really bring only one sock?" I ask, remembering the earlier tension between the two guys. Gale shouldn't have reamed into him about his packing skills, but I have to agree that Peeta could use some improvement in that area.

I can hear the smile in his voice. "Katniss, I only need one sock. Why pretend?"

"I don't know…" Peeta's blunt acknowledgement of his wound makes me squirm, even now. Maybe it's the guilt, maybe it's that injuries still make me feel queasy? I can't bear to imagine what his…stump…must look like. After two years I still haven't seen it.

"Don't let it bother you," he murmurs against my temple for maybe the millionth time. "I mean, look on the bright side. It takes me twice as long to wear out a pair of socks."

I shake my head against his shoulder, though my fingers involuntarily trace the outer seam of his pants nearly down to the knee. I stop before my fingertips brush the prosthetic. "I don't know how you have such good humor about something like this." Not when I seem to feel sorrier about the loss of his leg than he does. And that's bad enough, since it's my fault for not being more like my mom. Then heap on more guilt for being safe while President Snow held him in his clutches as bait. Because, just my luck, I finally, accidentally convinced President Snow of my love for Peeta.

At the exact moment when Peeta became the most vulnerable.

Peeta shrugs, then leans back to rest on his elbows, crinkling the dry brush beneath the blanket. "Humor's all I've got. I can't pull off a scowl like you can."

I scowl. He winks, which makes my lips tremble with the effort of holding on to the sour expression.

"See? You're a natural." Then he says seriously, "Do you think this escape plan was a stupid idea?"

I think about it for a moment, then smirk. "No. Anything to piss off Haymitch and get me out of that sewer sounds like a great plan to me."

Peeta looks gratified and we both share a moment at Haymitch's expense.

"Besides," I murmur after thinking a bit. "You've always been good at this."

His eyebrows contract as he looks a question. "At what?"

"The romantic stuff." I try to remember a specific moment. There are many. I think of the pearl and the locket he gave me. Or the time he pretended to braid my hair on the training center roof just so he could touch it. But one makes me giggle. Like a girl. Ugh. "Like the time you picked me flowers and they turned out to be wild onions. You didn't know what they were, but the thought behind it, picking me flowers; that sort of thing just comes to you. And I like it. Now that I'm used to it."

"I like doing those things for you," he says with his usual Peeta honesty. He smiles lopsidedly. "So I gave you an onion? When?"

"On the way home from the Games. The first time. Just before…"

The smile fades. "Just before you admitted that you'd been acting the whole time." He lays down on his back, quiet for a moment. "And I gave you onions that I thought were flowers – what would only be flowers to any other girl but you. Miss Backwoodsman." He snorts. "I bet Gale looked pretty prime just then."

"Peeta." I chide with frown. I hate it when he brings up Gale, my feelings for Gale, what Gale can do better than him. It's really got to stop.

"That's exactly what you thought." He presses, though he isn't accusing me, just stating a fact.

I shrug and find a loose thread on the blanket and play with it. "Well, I thought of Gale, yes. But it's wasn't like that. I wasn't in love with him, and I wasn't not in love with you."

"Wasn't not?" He chuckles and tugs on my sleeve. "Panem's educational system failed you."

I snap off the loose thread with a snort. "What I mean is that I wasn't in love with you, but that doesn't mean I felt indifferent or uninterested. I didn't know what I wanted." I expel a sharp breath, remembering the confusion I felt and how little help I had finding answers. "We were sixteen, for crying out loud, and just barely escaped from the Capitol with our lives. We were being messed with that whole time either by the Capitol or by Haymitch. I didn't know if I could believe all the things you told me or if you acted it as much as I did." I pause, remembering, and my chest tightens. "But all those months of silence…I didn't like that. Not that I really helped, but…"

Peeta grasps my hand in his. His hands are warm and strong, maybe not as strong as Gale's. But I bet in a brawl, Peeta would win. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding contrite. "I just didn't know what else to do. I've never felt so disappointed and foolish in my life. And the whole country, and most of all our families, knew what an idiot I'd made of myself over you."

Peeta a fool? I snort. "As far as Panem was concerned, I still felt madly in love with you."

"But you weren't." Then he smirks. "Not yet, anyway."

"I'm not madly in love with you," I retort, rolling my eyes. "It implies that I am out of my mind. But if I am unhinged, it's not because of what I feel for you. If anything, loving you has made me more balanced than I've ever been since my dad died."

"How so?" he whispers.

I take a deep breath and plunge forward. Talking about stuff like this doesn't come natural for me. I'm more inclined toward, well, scowling and brooding. But Peeta needs this, always a little hungry for affirmation.

So I say, "Because I'm not just surviving for the sake of it anymore. I've got something to live for, and you help me see the beauty in what's around me. Before you, I only saw what I could use to survive. And you know people. Others have always been a puzzle to me, but strangely, I feel more human when I'm with you."

Peeta lies there with a shattered look on his face. A good shattered.

"Something in me responded to you, always," I say as the feeling of his hand reminds me of how much his warmth has always meant to me. "I kept track of you. And I remember the first night together in the cave, when we shared the sleeping bag."

"Yeah?" He wiggles his eyebrows.

I blush. "Stop. What I mean is I felt safe for the first time since my dad died. Nobody had held me like that for years…I never knew how much I missed it until that moment. And you were always the only one who could keep the nightmares away."

Peeta gently pulls me down alongside him, till I'm resting in my usual place, with my head over his heart, and his arms enfolding me. "You'll always be safe with me."

"I know," I mumble into his shirt.

His lips press against my hair and I close my eyes. "And you make me feel the same way. I love you."

"I…um…I…" I try to choke it out.

Peeta chuckles. "It's okay, Katniss, I know you love me, too."

"How do you know?" When I still have such a hard time saying it out loud?

"I figure if President Snow snatched me instead of Gale, well…you know. He could obviously see what you were feeling, when I couldn't."

Hearing him say this makes the back of my eyes prickle painfully. "Peeta, that's an awful way to find out…" My voice sounds watery.

"Hey," he murmurs, gently massaging my arm. "That was supposed to be funny."

"Well, it isn't," I choke, though my throat feels tight. "It's my fault. Everything that's happened to you is my fault. Your leg, the bait…the disappointment…"

I feel his lips frowning against my forehead. "That's not true, Katniss. You didn't put my name in the reaping ball twice, nor did you design the arenas. And you aren't Snow. He hurts people on purpose. You saved my life, over and over again. How many times do I have to say that before you believe me?"

"A lot?" I sniffle.

We're quiet for a moment, listening to each other breathe. Somewhere an owl screeches, disturbing a branch as it takes off in search of prey. It is not a comfortable sound.

"Okay, let's start over," Peeta says, making me straightening up with him. His hands gently cup my face. We're nearly nose to nose, so that we can see each other. "I know you love me because you saved me. It's the things you do. I figured that out when you told me about gifting Prim with her goat. Let's face it; I'm the verbal one in this relationship." I grimace, but it's true. "You give yourself – that's how you show love. And you know," he continues, as he kisses the tip of my nose. "I am very open to letting you show me just how much that is."

I laugh and let him kiss me. He pulls me down nearly on top of him, my leg resting over his. My toes curl when his hands trail down my waist and rest on the small of my back. Then I'm distracted by wondering if his toes do that too when I kiss him. And that he only has one set of toes to curl…and only brought one sock.

"You're distracted again," he murmurs, nibbling my throat.

"I was thinking about your foot." My voice comes out oddly raspy.

He smiles against my skin. "I said don't worry about it."

I pull away a little and feel his arms tighten around me. "I'm not blaming myself, I just wondered if…if I made you feel the way you make me feel," I say, followed by a shaky laugh.

Peeta rests his head back on the ground to look up at me. His throat constricts as he swallows. "How you make me feel? Heh…I'm usually way ahead of you."

"Oh," I reply, feeling both happy and foolish. Maybe a little giddy. But then I falter a little. "You know…one thing I still don't get – "

His eyebrow arches. "Only one?" he drawls.

"Shut up, Peeta," I sigh, playfully holding a finger up to his mouth. "What I don't get is, if you're so good at reading people, how come you didn't know that I wasn't on the level about my feelings in our first Games?"

He shrugs and pulls my hand away. "Because I wanted to believe you, and I figured I'd be dead soon. So why bother to find out if you meant it when you kissed me or…or told me that I didn't have competition?" He tweaks my braid. "Besides, you're such a poet. Everything you said dazzled me. That goat's a gold mine, eat your soup, keep your clothes on, Peeta."

"Ugh." I try to sit up. "I did not say that."

Peeta laughs, not letting me go. "And the funny thing is you still want us to keep our clothes on."

"I do not!" I squeak, blushing. "I mean, I do. I mean, you know what I mean." I huff and roll off of him. "We should get some sleep."

"Okay." His hand inches up my shirt.

"Peeta!" I shriek, jerking the fabric down.

He purses his lips. "Told you so."

TBC

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