An Unlikely Pair
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By: DarkGiggle
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.
Warnings: Un-beta'd and looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.
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PART 10
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"No, it's perfect." I insist. "And now that I know there is combat trainer you can't stop me from going." I smile at him. "I'm going to be getting better Gale, are you really going to let me pull far ahead of you?" It's childish to goad him, but I love the way his jaw tenses at just the idea. I continue in a more mature way. "Besides we'll help each other to see how well I'm learning. Oh," I point to my bag on the counter. "We can even hide the evidence of it if we use the creams!"
"Then it's settled then. Time for dinner." Haymitch declares and shuts off the showers before Hawthorne can get another word out. He motions the hunter to back his way and leads me out through my bathroom and bedroom.
Dinner is served and although it is delicious it's the strategies that I'm more interested in. For a moment an argument between us of District 12 pops up. Hawthorne is very much against my hopes to help him survive though he seems to believe I honestly mean it now. Mr. Abernathy and I disagree with him on that point. I am against teaming with him in the arena, I truly think I will be a burden to him. He and Mr. Abernathy disagree with me on this point, the hunter because he insists I won't be trouble for him and our mentor because he thinks our interactions could get more sponsors. Haymitch calls us both idiots for not agreeing with him on all points.
Ms. Trinket tries to break it up by tell us how she and our cleaned up mentor were out chatting us up. Apparently there was a perspective sponsor they talked to before the opening ceremony. She says how they couldn't go into detail because nothing is fully set but that my station snippet was well received and they both helped further clear up the understanding about Madge and me. She brags how she told people that coal, under the right pressure forms diamonds that can come from places other than District 1 and adds that losing our barbaric tendencies is doing that for us. It does shut us all up but mostly because we of 12 are mad at her for that.
Mr. Lautrec and Porter seem to catch on that none of us are pleased by that last bit and try to redeem Ms. Trinket by reminding her that tomorrow's meetings will be made easier after how well we did tonight. She nods and vigorously promises to try to rope in meetings between Haymitch and the top sponsors of the careers. She also promises if we keep up the good work she well try to make us the continuous talk of the Capitol. Her promises seem grandiose and though I know it is better for her job if we do well and have sponsors for the game, even our mentor seems glad about this. Could she really be doing us such a favor?
The meal is pleasant after that until a girl server places down a cake and Hawthorne spits out his drink from looking at her. His gray eyes are wide, full of recognition and apprehension. She seems to either knows him too or is just very freaked out by him but she just turns tail and runs away. The adults are tense and watching him with scrutiny.
"You can't know her, boy, she's an Avox. You can't know her." There is something in the way Mr. Abernathy says 'can't' that makes it clear it's better not to know her.
The younger Seam understands loud and clear, "Yeah, you're right she is just… hot that's all."
I know he is lying but it bothers me to hear him complement her.
"She's off limits. An Avox is a person whose tongue has been removed as a criminal punishment or for treason. Don't make friends with her or any of the others." These words are the last he or anyone utters during dinner and I have to admit it is a struggle to finish. Each time I move my tongue or an Avox server does something I cringe inside.
Talk resumes for the replay though it's mainly Ms. Trinket gushing in awe all over again, she can't stop complementing the stylists for the fashion and us for how well we stood and acted. Without the screaming of thousands of sociopaths around me I can take in the magnitude of how cool we look. Or should I say hot? But then the others and I notice something too, as well as having smiled my 'friendly smile' and having waved happily I kept glancing at Hawthorne. It was not much, not often and not oblivious but my smile got a bit warmer after I did. Shit! I didn't even notice I did that back then I just remember being happy they were cheering his name.
"That was a nice touch, Sweetheart!" Our mentor exclaims, "Could have been a bit more obvious but nice improvisation!"
I only nod as it is taking my everything not to blush right now. I turn to my fellow tribute to congratulate him and stop. His face is neutral but his eyes look troubled. He is likely still thinking about that poor girl or maybe it's just the entirety of our situation hitting him? Either way he is clearly feeling low. "Hey Gale, go grab a jacket and come see the garden on the roof with me."
"What?" he says almost dazed.
"Get a jacket, the wind's nasty but the air and the plants will do us good. So please?"
He looks at the adults, spots another Avox in the corner, winces and gets up. "Yeah, alright."
Everyone else watches us leave and I think that's the end of it until, "You two go to bed after you come back down. Separately!"
Damn that old bastard! My face heats as I get a coat and two small blankets from my closet. Thankfully neither he nor I say a thing on the way up. We both ignore the bright Capitol city with its lights (I bet they don't have to go on reduced power from 11 to 5 in the morning like at home) and just sit, wrapped in blankets in the garden.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.
"Nah." His answer is light but his Seam orbs are stormy.
He sits facing the wind on a broad bench and I sit a few feet away just listening to the hung wind chimes. I don't know what to say to make him feel better. If I even should? We were never friends; when we weren't trading, weren't throwing sarcasms, weren't watching-over the other's fight or running into each other on errands in town, we didn't interact. Magde and he interacted some and I would try to interact with Catpiss; not really him and me. He is the popular Seam stud and I am the reject his little brother liked to tease. Still he is one of the few boys outside of my grade, sports and fights that would talk to me so maybe I owe him? Finally I decide on something. I walk over the other side of his bench and sit with my back pressing into his.
He doesn't move but he grunts, "Mellark?"
"Well you're blocking the wind anyway, be useful Hawthorne." I respond. His larger frame blocks the cool wind well though his back is stealing my warmth.
We just sit for a long time, lost in our separate thoughts then he snorts and asks, "So what, we're friends now?" There is a nasty bite to his tone.
"No." I don't think we will ever be friends. "But we could be partners."
"No. Partners look out for each other evenly." He has so much conviction in his voice I'm sure it's a put down somehow. "You'd have to let me help you to be partners."
Partners? I think of what Catpiss said, put it together with what he said and understand. Partners help the other survive. "Then no. Not partners. Want to be teammates like in gym class?"
"You're an idiot, Mellark."
There is a bite in the way he said that, which I don't take kindly too. "Maybe I am, maybe you are, maybe everyone is. Are you done sulking up here, Hawthorne? Can you do it inside where it's warm?"
"You're the one that wanted to come up here!" He snaps.
"I thought the sound of the chimes would help you, since they didn't lets go it's freezing up here." I retort.
We march down no better then we were going up and the only good thing is I find a hallway bathroom. We agree to take turns with 'our bathroom' and the hall one. A quick game of odds and evens forces him (Ha! Loser!) to take the hallway restroom and I scurry off to use mine while he's busy.
After a (very confusing) shower, while pulling back the covers for bed I remember the stylists' gift for me. I spread out my parcel, a scar removal cream, a bruise cream, a cream for soreness, paper-thin bandages and some written instructions. As disinclined as I am to put them on it makes it a real chore to do so. I crawl into bed, grumbling about stupid Capitol aesthetics and superficiality, fully intending to rant about their inanity for the whole night but the mattress practically swallows me in fluffy, warm, downy goodness. It's all over.
In the morning, after what might have been the best sleep of my life the only thing that gets my brain going is the sight of the redheaded Avox girl in my room. Half of me wants to talk to her, just to find out that something so cruel is not true, the rest of me wants to ignore her completely because I know it's true. 'Suck it up!' I order myself and speak, "Whatever it is you're doing, thank you very much for it but could I please have some privacy while I get ready?"
She nods and leaves absolutely silently. Holy bagels, is she not allowed to make any noise? That thought is just creepy and hurries me through everything. In dressing I find what the poor girl was doing here, she was leaving me two sets of training uniforms. I'm just glad it's pants! Reluctantly I leave my bindings in favor for a bra. Oh how proud the witch would be! Luckily it hooks in the front or I'd have no clue how to get it on. The whole outfit is much improved when I note that the double-layered high collard is perfect for the pin; it plus my sensible braid and I'm ready to go.
It's six in the morning so naturally my teammate is up and eating breakfast thus I join him. Soon after a hurried Ms. Trinket comes out talking into a phone that seems to have a ludicrously long cord. She wastes no time serving herself, then sits with us while she speaks in quickly in her Capitol accent. It's funny to see her; her face is scowling hard but her voice and the few words I catch are sweet as honey and bright as sunshine. When she hangs up she mutters, "twit." Then greets us with a genuine smile.
I can't help inquiring what it was all about; I shouldn't have.
"No worries dear, I won't let a twit assistant like her stop me. I will get her to schedule Haymitch in if I have to steal her appointment book myself! But that is just one potential sponsor, I've already gotten 6 confirmed appointments and I'm just a bit into my list. No worries dear, this is a big, big, big day and by the end of it I'll make sure all the sponsors know your names!" When she starts eating she is noticeably faster than normal and is back on her phone and walking away as soon as she is done.
I have to remind myself harshly that she is just doing her job, that she is working for herself in the long run, so as not to feel a bit touched at her effort.
When we are done, we just sit there, unsure what to do and when our mentor will arrive. We give it an hour before I suggest we wake Mr. Abernathy as we don't know what time training starts or even where. It takes a while just to find his room; we knock loudly to no answer then decide, hell with it and go in.
He is a mess! He's laying on top of the covers, in a small pool of dried vomit, still in the clothes from last night, reeking of liquor from a few feet away and dead to the world. Dear freakish god of delirium please let this be an optical illusion. It's not and now I know better than to let him have a night to himself. I grab his arm to start shaking him and immediately have to dodge the knife he swings at me. What the fuck? He sleeps with that thing? Sleeps is right, it turns out, because that slash was reflexive and he isn't conscious. There is something seriously wrong with this man and if I wasn't this upset right now I know I'd be worried.
This time when I move to snatch the blade, my teammate stops me, points to the glass of water by the bed and does a tipping motion. It's tempting but I want to be mad at him, not the other way around thus I find his bathroom, wet a small hand towel and toss it on his face. That does the trick in waking him up; however, he doesn't seem in his right mind. Now I really wish I had taken the knife.
Moving slowly I pick up the glass and offer it to him. "You should drink Haymitch."
He peers at me blearily and sputters, "May, oh may silly, yore ear."
Wow, he is really out of it. "Gale can you go grab another glass of water and a cup of coffee for him?" I bend down to him since he doesn't seem hostile just this moment. "Can you drink this for me, Mr. Abernathy?"
He blinks at Hawthorne's departing back then at me. "Oh," he says then scowls, "it's just you."
Well hello to you too, Mr. Volatile. I keep my face and voice even as I ask again, "Please have some water."
He takes the glass, sloppily half chugs half spills it and does the same with one the younger Seam brings up. After a moment he asks, "You put something in there besides water, boy?"
He shrugs, "Water, salt, sugar and a bit of alcohol. Now drink your coffee and get up you old booze hound."
Instead he reclines back down, closes his bloodshot eyes and snipes, "Leave it on the night stand, you moronic fuck, get out and take the fake with you."
"So you can what?" I snap. "Stay there in your own puke? Not going to happen. Now can you make it on your own to the bathroom or do you need help?"
He finally seems to become aware of mess he is in and at least rolls over to the clean side of the bed. This puts him in facing the wall clock, which he frowns at, squints at then frowns again. "You Ruddy Shits!" he snarls "It's 7:20 in the morning! I don't even need to see you 'til ten for training! Uh! Get out of here! Hit the basement on your own for all I care!"
A flame of anger sparks inside me. No, oh no nope no! This jerk-wad does not get to crap out on us just because he is hung over! I lunge at him, ready to haul the lush into the shower and deluge him in icy water but an arm snags around my waist halting me. Looking over my shoulder I see Hawthorne shake his head.
It's very weird to be pulled out of the room by him, the disorientation does not stop until he releases me and I snap out of it enough to query "Why not?"
"He was bound to do this anyway, it was just a matter of time." His fingers make a 'follow me' motion so I do. "I've seen him enough times at the Hob, buying whites from Ripper so I know he is a hopeless alcoholic. How he hasn't pickled his guts yet is anyone's guess though I'm surprised he lasted this long sober."
"What?! He's really abandoning us?! And you knew he would?! Why didn't you say something sooner?!" I yell. Every single cell in my body wants to run back in and do anything to make it not true. In fact I take a step to do just that when he catches my arm. Why is he so grabby today? As I open my mouth to tell the idiot to let me try to fix the drunk a door opens and Ms. Trinket, phone still to her ear, comes out to shush me.
She must see my distress because she lifts a neon pink eyebrow in question.
"He's drunk!" I blurt.
That seems to be all the explanation she needs as her face deforms into a funny Capitol scowl. "Slorcus love, I'll have to call you back to confirm that scheduling, do you mind?" She says jovially into the phone. "No? Good, toodles love." She hangs up, fast steps to our mentor's door, mutters "Over his dead body," throws the door open, and shrieks his name at such an ear splitting volume that we instinctively run away to preserve our hearing.
My teammate leads the way and I don't care where we are going; my smile may rip my face in half but I also don't care about that. I've decided that I may like Ms. Effie Trinket now and I definitely will if she can get Mr. Abernathy back on track. It is the sliding of the silver doors that jars the understanding of where exactly he has taken me. "And just where do you think you're going?"
"We. Why don't we go down and check out the training stations? He said it's just in the basement and we have until 10 anyway."
I gape at him. What the hell is he thinking?
"Do you really want to just stay here, doing nothing on the chance she can sort him out in time?"
"Ye-Nnn, mayb-be…" I sputter. My fingers go to the pin and I can at least talk again. "Maybe if we help Ms. Trinket we can get him back to mentoring before 10 and we can go down early anyway?" It's a weak answer but it's all I have. I had not realized just how much the idea of Gale Hawthorne becoming Victor and bettering our home had given me stability and hope. I won't kill so I need something good to come out of my death. My fingertips trace the little bird. If Mr. Abernathy quits that hope feels more remote and the idea of just being a waste like his previous tributes rattles me.
The hunter just narrows his beautiful eyes at me, pushes the elevator button, rebuffs rebelliously, "I'm going, you can stay here if you like. I'll be back at 9:30," and steps in when it comes.
He doesn't call me a coward but I know he's thinking it. That does bother me but what perturbs me greatly is that he really will go alone. Shit! I jump in, just avoiding the metal doors closing behind me. I glare at my teammate and say "Well we're both idiots now."
He smirks; looking handsome enough and smug enough (from provoking me) it should be illegal.
Part 10 End.
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Side Note: The following parts of the story may take longer to post because I'm thinking of double posting again. It will move the story faster to have two parts at once even if it slows the update rate. I'm not sure I will and am just playing this by ear but I wanted to give you all a heads up. I'm not abandoning this story, just being a bit difficult, sorry. Oh, and reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's still me trying to find all my grammar errors and well…