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THE HEALER
(Day 3 - Dawn)
Flynn wakes to the pleasant sound of humming and the scrape of a knife. He cracks open one eye and sees the girl peeling another apple.
"Oh, you're awake!" she says, in a tone so cheerful that it grumbles his guts. "Good morning."
So much for his plan to wake up first. Mornings were never his forte, even back in the factories of District One. "Yeah, yeah," Flynn mutters. He sits up with a groan and a rustle of thermal blanket, and starts to rub at his bleary eyes.
Then he yelps in shock, as searing pain blazes across his hand.
The girl sets her knife aside, kneeling next to him. "Ouch," she murmurs, wincing at the red seeping through his fingers. "I didn't know you were hurt. Can I have a look?" She takes his hand in both of hers, and after a second of confused resistance, Flynn lets her gently unfold his clenched fingers.
After his first glimpse of his hand, Flynn is more than happy to let her do the looking. The slash scabbed over yesterday, and he did his best to ignore it, but the scabs have cracked open, and blood is oozing across his palm. The girl sucks in her breath.
"That's a bad cut," she says, frowning. "Why didn't you say anything? It could get infected, if it isn't already—"
"Aw, c'mon, Blondie," Flynn snorts. "You really think I'll live that long?"
He meant it rhetorically, but she actually seems to consider it. Then she answers, with a shy smile, "Well, I hope you do."
What can he say to that?
Flynn sits tight while she folds away the rustling thermal blanket, and fetches handfuls of herbs and a roll of gauze from her little bag; and then he eats the apple she hands him, and lets her do her thing. Watching her face is more fun than looking at his own blood. The sunlight glints on her braided hair and the smooth curve of her cheek as she carefully cleans the wound. It would take an idiot not to see that she was beautiful long before the Capitol got their hands on her. She doesn't belong here…
"Ow!" he gasps, nearly snatching his hand back - whatever she just did stung - and she gives him a half-amused, half-apologetic look.
"Sorry," she says. "This might hurt a little, but it won't help if I don't get it really clean." He makes a face, and she giggles. "I thought you Career types were supposed to be tough."
"Yeah, well," Flynn admits, "I'm not exactly your typical Career."
"Is that why the rest of the pack was chasing you?" she asks. Curiosity is suddenly alight in her eyes. Shit.
"Those guys? Eh, they didn't like me." He tries for an offhand tone, but apparently he tries too hard. The girl's green eyes narrow suspiciously. She may be pretty, but she's not dumb. Flynn sighs.
"Look, tributes volunteer in my district, right?" She nods, nimble fingers still working as she listens. "They pick the volunteers in advance. The cream of the crop, for the glory of the district. Nobody else is supposed to steal that glory, you know?"
"But…you did?" She falls silent, turning a half-shredded leaf over in her hands. Bites her lip. "But why did they wait to attack you?"
"God, I don't know," Flynn says, and grits his teeth as she presses the leaves against his wound. "To catch it on camera? Make an example? Let me wipe out a few tributes for them first?" Why is he telling her all this? What is she, Caesar Flickerman? "My district partner tried to warn me," he says, the words still spooling out of him, "but I didn't listen. Not the way I should have. They…they killed her first. She went to help me and they just…put a knife in her."
The girl's hands go still, in the middle of tying off his bandage. Flynn winces, realizing he's as good as confessed to "wiping out" one of their fellow tributes. This is the part where she runs away, isn't it…
Something warm falls onto his wrist, and drips onto the ground. A tear. She's crying - not hard, but that's a real tear sliding silently down her cheek. Crying for a girl she's never met. A girl who might have killed her own partner for all she knows.
"I'm sorry," she says, and swipes at her eyes, giving him a damp smile. "I know it's…never mind. That was very brave of her."
Flynn just stares at her. Flexes his bandaged hand. It does feel a little better. "What's your name, Blondie?" he says, finally.
"Rapunzel," she says. "Rapunzel Rose Corona."
"Hunh." It's a little frilly, but he's heard stranger names. Flynn gets to his feet, and stretches; and looks over his shoulder at her. "Well, Rapunzel Rose Corona, are you sick of apples yet? Because I think I can find us something better."