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 14

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The bath is both heavenly and torturous. It is heavenly because it feels so nice to my very sore and aching body yet it is torturous because Hawthorne is directly across from me in his own tub. With the mood we're in it's not hard to keep our eyes to ourselves but it is unnerving having any guy in the 'same' room while I bathe. I scold myself for being so girly then I try to relax, close my eyes and organize my thoughts. It doesn't work, so many things have happened in the last three days that nothing feels normal or secure and my brain doesn't have much to hang onto. How do tributes keep their sanity before they go into the arena? Yep, I so can't wait for the days to come!

I get out of the bath reluctantly and wrap a towel around. As nice as the bath feels, it's the creams that will heal me faster. It takes a while to bandage all the different parts of me that need one if not two creams and by the end not much bare skin is left. I brush, dress for bed, on a whim add Madge's pin for comfort and head for the hallway bathroom. I don't want to bother Hawthorne; hopefully he'll be better in the morning, not likely but hopefully. On my way back from the restroom I see the light on in the living room and go for a look.

It's Mr. Abernathy and he's drinking! An empty bottle is with him, he's a good way into his second but it's the third unopened one that disturbs me. Oh no, not again you intoxicated jackass! I sneak around the couch he's on, saying out of his thousand-mile stare and take the still sealed bottle without him noticing. Like in the train there is a bar cart and I tiptoe to that next, carefully I load up my arms with bottles and go back to the hallway water closet. It takes several trips but eventually I have all the booze and I start dumping them down the sink. As I'm on my last jug I hear, "What The Hell?! Where's…? Un… Spirits Spirited Away! Ha Ha Ha!" I creep out to see him fumble all over the cart then make for his room! Yes! Success!

Happily I trot to my room, very please with myself. So pleased in fact to decide I want one of my cookies from home with milk so I go to the little microphone to order a cup when… "Oh Shit!" Damn it, I forgot about that! What to do, what to do, what to do? Can't break the mounthpiece or the dumbwaiter because we don't want to have Capitol staff nosing around finding the bathroom wall out. So that leaves… Yes that could work, it won't be comfortable but what are the options. I grab a few things then head to the hunter's room. I knock several times but he doesn't answer so I go in. It's dark but the glowing wall clock reads 10 past 10; already he's in bed and sound asleep. I really hate to wake him but this is important.

"Gale," I gently shake his shoulder, "Gale wake up."

His eyes stay shut yet he grumbles, "What now Panty?"

My descending fist stops a centimeter from his handsome face and my whole arm trembles with restraint. I almost socked him though I still so want to hit him! Does he have any idea how much I loath that nickname? Through grit teeth I say, "You need to help me, Mr. Abernathy is drinking."

A sleepy "So?" is his total response.

"So we need to sleep with him to keep him from drinking more."

His eyes snap open and he peers at me in the dark for a beat then, "No!" he says strongly and suddenly wide-awake. "I'm not sleeping with that shit. I wouldn't even if he were the last thing alive."

"Wha-" is all I get out before he grabs my arms, making me drop my things and pulls me to his face.

"And you aren't either Mellark! I don't know what kind of screw loose you have but you're not sleeping with him just to keep him sober." He declares very determinedly, as if his will and decree alone could stop anything.

"Ew. No!" In the dim light of the clock his face is so dark and serious it would be funny if what he suggested weren't so repulsive. "I meant sleep in the same room so he can't order drinks." This is what happens when I say 'sleep with' to the guy who does a lot of… 'active sleeping' back home. "I already emptied out the bar cart we just need to stop him from ordering or leaving his room to bother an Avox."

He relaxes, releases me and lays back. "Different type of screw loose then. Look Panty-"

He cuts off when I smack his arm. He needs to stop that crap! I snarl, "It's Peeta, it's not a hard name!"

He rolls his eyes, continues "Look Panty," and ignores the second smack, "if Haymitch was any good at getting tributes out, of helping someone become a victor don't you think he would have done so buy now?"

"Yes, I have thought about that, Gay-boy, but he is still a resource. And he has sent a few gifts to tributes in the past. He is someone that will be here on the outside and can help us. Maybe he can't and won't help us much but it's still help, how can you ignore that?" It's a total of eight gifts he's sent in his time of being mentor. The witch keeps a loose track of the sole victor during the games and the rest of the time she'd rather pretend he, like the residents of Seam, doesn't exist.

He glares, "Because false hopes aren't worth anything." He pauses to look at me. "For a person so fine with dying you sure act like you want to live."

I growl at him, snatch up my pillow and blankets then leave. I'm on my own and it's fine! I stride up to my mentor's room and barge in without warning since the lights seem to be on. He is passed out on top of the bed, above all the covers and still in his clothes from dinner sans shoes. Yet what annoys me the bottle in his hand is pouring liquor steadily straight on to the carpet. Maybe Hawthorne is right about him but he is at least helping us lie for the interview with Flickerman and Ms. Trinket seemed positive about their day meeting with sponsors so I need to try. I take the bottle from his hand, dump it in his sink and grab a few towels; one for the floor, one if he pukes and one for me.

Now to deal with the in-room food service and the door. I look at the huge menu, then ignore it and try to order five glasses of what my grudged teammate got him. It takes a while and I feel bad for hassling some poor Avox so late but I get the drinks. The old lush can have these if he wants any sort of alcohol. The door is taken care of the same way my brothers pranked me once. I just use some outlandishly absurd ties from his closet, make a rope, fix one end to the doorknob and the other around my ankle. Yeah that was some laugh my dorky bros had when our father opened the door, yanked me out of bed and straight to the floor. That done I lower the lights and arrange my towel, pillow and blankets under the microphone (Ha! Let's seem him get his drink on now!). As I curl up to sleep a wave of tiredness crashes down on me and pulls me under. The last thing I feel is the pillow under my ear and I'm out.

My dormancy is strange, it's more like lucid dreaming with me back home in the bakery knowing that I'm really not there somehow. There is whimpering, that is coming from somewhere but no place that I can find as I look all around my empty home. It's a weird, whispering whimper; words of sadness and longing are too low and too poorly pronounced for me to understand. I check from attic to cellar and every room in between but it's as if it is coming from every wall. No one is home save me yet the sounds are too human to be anything less than a person. Then it changes to fabric swishing, a rumbling groan followed by muttered curses, hate filled profanities and peaks to howls of pain. It's the howls that push past my dream's credibility and I wake to real howls of pain, horror and fear. It's the fear, the sound of core deep gut wrenching fear that freezes me place. I watch uselessly as Mr. Abernathy cries and wails his terror and agony. After a while he quiets back into whimpering sobs, sinks into a fitful slumber and I shakily come to my senses.

Sweet freakish god of delirium please tell me that was one for yours because I sure as hell don't know what that was or how the blooming hell to fix it! My adrenaline is pumping, urging me to do something, anything, just do it now but all I can do is gaze at his still form and listen to his once more rhythmic breathing. Eventually my eyes get tired and close but my ears and mind stay alert for a while.

The second time it happens I don't become a statue but do trip over my own tied leg. He is still thrashing when I get try to wake him. Thankfully he doesn't have a knife with him. I try calling his name and shaking his shoulder but my arm gets caught under him when he rolls over it. Just as I lift him off 'WHAM!' My chest where Hawthorne nailed me explodes in dizzying, breath sealing pain and my vision blurs for a moment. All other sensations in my body start to slip through my grasp as I slump down. Vaguely I think I feel a hand on my cheek and hear a soft "lee." After a moment of crippling pain and stillness I inch away, then crawl from the now peacefully unconscious bastard. I curl up into a tight ball, try to breathe through the ache and wonder what the hell is he dreaming about that makes him sleep like this. What could give anyone such dreams that make them sound like that? As I've never heard anyone cry like him, awake or asleep, I haven't the mildest clue. I try to dismiss the thought (maybe he is just like this) and to go to sleep. I need sleep desperately if I'm to survive tomorrow. However the question of just what caused his unrest nags at me, like the answer should be something obvious that I'm just not seeing.

The third time it happens, somewhere around 4 in the morning I just wet a washcloth and fling it on his face. The wet contact wakes him enough to spot at me then tract me with his sleepy slitted Seam eyes as I return to my bedding. I'm not sure how truly coherent he is right now, nor I myself. For a long time we just look at each other; both totally silent yet neither backing down. Unfortunately I'm so tired my eyes close first and I am gone soon after.

My blanket being ripped away shocks me into the land of the alert. Hawthorne is standing over me, frowning. He says something that I don't catch. "What?"

"I said, it's already 8:50, get up."

No, that can't be right. I blink at him, take in his sweaty form, his concerned face and check the wall clock. Holy bagels it really is that late! I've actually slept past 8 for once in my life. Slowly and sorely I get up from Mr. Abernathy's floor and look for him. All I see are five empty glasses. "Where-"

"They are gone, I don't know what time they left. I'd been waiting for you in the gym but you're still here. What the hell's with you? You look like crap."

I stretch delicately, "Well then I look like I feel." I glace at him. He exercised without me? He trained at a station without me? The thought stings though it shouldn't for any reason; I push it aside. Breakfast (first, second or possibly third?) is out and I'm too sleepy to do anything except dig in. The food and a strong tea help me wake. A short yet hot shower helps my aches but the bruise on my sternum is vivid (freaking drunk turd). I decide to apply creams and a bandage there for the day; it shouldn't show too much there, even in the fairly tight training clothes. I'm ready (pin in place, hair braided and shoes on) with lots of time to spare so I'd like nothing more than to crawl into my bed for a few minutes, I settle for the couch instead. It's 9:45 (shit! So late!) when my teammate wakes me and insistently shuffles me to the elevator.

"I can't believe you were stupid enough to sleep there! And now look at you! You still look bushed."

Why does he care? Yet my reflection shows how tired I look. Huh, I must have been really out of it if I slept through our mentor getting ready and leaving. "I wonder if Haymitch was drunk or just hung over this morning?"

He scowls, "By now I'm sure he's drunk out there somewhere, so that means you shouldn't do it again tonight."

"I won't, he snores too loud." No matter how much I want his help it's not worth me being sleep deprived. Whatever his deal is I don't want to experience it again and he likely wouldn't like me spreading it.

We ride the lift down, picking up 5 and 3 on the way. The stations are manned now but none of the specialists are teaching and the tributes are messing with anything. We're the last ones to arrive and lots of stations have tributes waiting to use them. Not feeling up to much right now I head to the Archery Station more to see if the hunter left signs of himself (assuming he did archery in the first place). The twiggy woman running the station looks as groggy as me and I have to wonder how a thin thing like her can be so good at archery. For a second I think of Catpiss and get homesick even for her. Yetch. The bow and arrow feel unfamiliar in my hands and I have to remember how Hawthorne properly held it to try to mimic him. I aim, relax my fingers to release when "No!" & "Peeta!" Too late, I let go, 'SNAP!' only to yowl in surprise and hurt. I drop the bow and grab my breast. "OW! Mother Fucking OW! OW!" My boob is burning with a hot stinging streak of pain and in the back of my mind I realize the taunt bowstring caught me. I start to curse a long line of nonsensical obscenities that only stop when I hear deep belly laughs coming beside me. I glare at my supposed teammate, way to have my back you jerk!

He zips it quick and puts his palms up defensively. "Hey, I tried to stop you," He chuckles again, "and did you hear the things coming out of your mouth? That thing about the spork was damn funny."

I'm awake now, but too tired to recall what just spilled out. A scan around the gym shows a mix of offended, amused and shocked eyes of tributes, trainers and the few early Gamemakers alike. It would be so easy to lift my middle finger to all of them but I don't have the energy for the repercussions that could make right now. Thus I very immaturely leave the damn bow on the ground, decide it's not the weapon for me (let Catpiss and her flat-chested look-alike have it) and go over to the Camouflage Station. For a second it's odd to paint and decorate my body and not a cake, to use mud, berry juice, ground leaves and a stick as my supplies but then the familiarity kicks in. I'm trying to copy what I see in nature on me, like the times I would go to the flower shop, the candy shop or the tailors shop to recreate things for special order cakes. Those cakes that called for something absolutely real were a rarity because of their expense so I always tried to surpass any request and expectation to make the cake worth the money. Plus, as the witch says, impressed people brag and bragging brings good future business. In less than four minutes my left hand is hard to tell from a tree branch and in eight it's impossible. I babble with the impressed specialist about different materials to use (which to avoid for long periods lest incurring a rash), the drying time, the color changes due to oxidation and the how different times of the day are only good for certain lighting. She and I are babbling on and on however I'm having a blast! More than anything it's the chance to create something, the chance to narrow my world down to this one thing and regain my mind a bit. I leave after one very fast but productive hour feeling totally rejuvenated and, funnily enough, happy.

I look around, determined to keep better track of the other tributes to today. It's a bit hard to be discrete about it but I manage; Hawthorne is the one more used to this as he's the one that gets jumped. Most of my intended fights, unless right at school have to be scheduled; if they were Seam guys, well they needed to ask me to the Seam to have a fight where the peacekeepers wouldn't be all over them and if they were merchant then like all fights in town one has to find a spot where the peacekeepers aren't patrolling for a half hour or so. All that means I'm not used to having to watch for potential attacks or picking up signs when I'm the person of interest. Still it's thanks to that looking around that I notice the tiny girl watching me with longing eyes. When she hesitantly comes close I don't have the heart to shoo her away.

The Knot Station seems like a good idea and it proves to be. The instructor is nice, seems excited to have the two of us and doesn't mind me making silly little rhymes or limericks to remember how to tie different knots. I make no comment when tiny 11's lips move silently repeating and repeating my words. Next he teaches us how to do a few snares and traps; I know this is a way my teammate hunts but now I have a new respect for it. Just when I think I've got it I'm proven wrong and my twitch-up snare closes on my wrist to pull me four feet into the air. Dangling there is a bit humiliating, especially under the orbs of a few amused Gamemakers and the District 1 male, who is fixed on me for some reason, but I pull myself up and free myself soon enough. It takes the full hour for me to get the two snares and one trap he has us learn and it's galling to think I could not have gotten it at if he wasn't taking extra care to explain it all clearly to 11.

The last hour and a half before lunch I (really we, since she won't leave my side) decide to it spend at the Edible Plants & Useable Plants Station. Holy burnt bagels! There are shit loads of different plants! I mean I knew that, because I use some to cook with and Mrs. Everdeen uses others to heal but these are more than I ever imagined! After about seven minutes of this random plant bombardment I stop the instructor, this mousy man may be very knowledgeable but he is a piss poor teacher. I don't know how other tributes handled him or maybe they just waited for the woman co-running the station to be free but I order him to separate the plants into 'food,' 'not-food' and 'make you regret it.' I have him further subdivide the 'food' and 'not-food' into 'will cause or treat' or 'benign' and the 'make you regret it' into 'fast poison,' 'slow poison' and 'non-deadly unpleasant.' I think Hawthorne or even little 11 could have learned the plants with his method but she seems to know some already and I know he does. Anyway this re-organization is working for me, and touching, smelling and even tasting the edible ones works even more. The man looks dumbstruck when I take bites out of his supplies and lets out a high-pitched girly-squeak as my tiny shadow joins in. I take particular note of the food benign plants (like which can be eaten as a source of water), the medical plants (one cures fevers, that is for draining infections, this is a bit antiseptic, one to kill fleas and another to fight off tracker jacker hallucinations) and the bad plants. Both the girl 11 and the instructor actually get uneasy by how much attention I give plants like nightlock (to help suicide) and this weird one that will give rapid, violent stomach pains (I never said I wouldn't fight back).

The lunch buzzer sounds and we finish up with the plants (though I may be back later.) I scan for the hunter but can't find him out here. A check in the cafeteria shows all the other tributes but him, so I (we) go back out to the gym. If it weren't for one remaining Gamemaker up in the balcony observing the Knot Station underneath him I would have missed them. Hawthorne and the knot trainer are crouched and whispering over something. I don't know why neither of them has been shooed to lunch yet, but it's time to retrieve my teammate.

They really are engrossed in something and have changed the station all around, making it tricky to get to them. There aren't any signs of the snares that the expert showed us earlier so I step into their little realm of oblivious-ness calling his name, "Gale." I take my third step as he looks up finally. His grays shoot open, his face turns to panic, his mouth opens just as my forth step lands and something snaps. Uh-oh. Ropes snag each of my feet, yank me off them and launch me into the air. The motion is so swift I don't have time to react and just see his horrified face. Up and up I go, the slight tug of the ropes release does nothing to deter my climbing ascent, until I'm eye-to-eye with the Gamemaker; 35 feet off the floor. For a split second I slow, coming to the peak of my flight and I realize that is not a dangling trap but some type of catapult launcher meant to break the tributes from the fall. My fatal descent starts and I'm on my way to a sudden death.

Part 14 End.

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Side Note: Sorry for the long wait, I'll try not to let that happen again but at this point this is the longest story I've ever written so it's a bit tough now. Standard reminder, I am still looking for a beta because it's just me trying to find and fix all my grammar errors that I'm sure none of us enjoy.