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.

A.N. Maybe if I write it up here people will listen: Please no reviews.

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PART 17

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Small hands pat my shoulder and this time I know to wake to them. Her bandaged face is before me and she is motioning to the bathroom. The sounds of a shower are coming from it and it brings me back to just where I am. Holy bagels! My face heats as I remember last night and the girl raises an eyebrow at it, which just heats me even more. Oh holy bagels! I nod thanks to her and scoot out of Gale Hawthorne's room. It's not the traditional "walk of shame" as the witch calls it when we see a merchant girl sneaking back home in the early hours but I'm certainly feeling it.

Back in my room I almost decide to skip the shower but his scent is all over me. It's my fastest shower ever and even then I can't help wondering why his is still going. I'm in and out of my bathroom in record time, but I do leave something for the Avox girl and order her to 'fix the mess in my bathroom.' The healing cream should fix her cheek right up, though I do feel a bit bad for writing my message in some flowery lotion on the counter.

It's six thirty when I go out to find breakfast is laid out, hopefully the first one of the day though doubtfully the last. I eat a plateful quickly and when my partner doesn't come out by the end I decide to postpone any outrage he has by checking on the lush. It doesn't take nearly as long as I'd like since he's locked his bedroom door from the inside. Well, fine then! I think about tossing the booze on the cart out again but since it's daytime he'll likely just inconvenience that poor Avoxes for his liquor.

When I go for my second plate of food (thankfully still the first version of breakfast) he is there and eating. We don't say anything and I'm tempted to flee before he finishes but I'm not cowardly enough to make him hunt me down if he has something he wants to say. Once he slides his plate away, surprisingly he just points for the lift and I follow his lead. He says nothing on the way down so I don't either.

The wall clock reads 6:50 when we hit the basement floor but the large, heavy gym doors are locked tight. I'm about to break the silence and ask 'what now?' when he starts in on the lock with some slim pieces of metal. In about 40 seconds the doors are open for us; I'd always wondered how he had set up some of his pranks at school when we were younger. It turns out my fellow tribute has been picking locks for a long time. Hmm. My mother must never know about this talent of his or she'll be screeching it to the peacekeepers and to every townie in 12 while painting him in the worst light.

We go to the Archery Station and it's much the same on my part as it was the last time but not for him. He is significantly better; he is faster, making three shots in the time it took him two and he is startlingly accurate hitting the very dead center or whatever spot on the dummy he calls out (like the tip of the nose, left pupil, knuckle of the right middle finger, notch between the clavicles). Even on the moving mannequins that I send spinning or tumbling at him he precisely hits his shot every time. It's really amazing what he is doing with that bow and the arrows and just when I think he couldn't get any better he switches bows and proves me right. What the hell?! For the first time this morning he misses by a wide margin and it takes him a bit to get his accuracy up. Soon the small thrown targets he has me throw are taken down dead center no matter how many or how weird I throw them. Then he exchanges the bow for another bow and the whole thing repeats. I get it, if there is even a bow in the arena who knows what type or what size it will be. I notice that with this smaller one he doesn't reach the level of accuracy he gets with the ones that are his size.

He practices for half an hour before we have to hide his pincushion and the used targets in the closet again. Though this time I notice he has to pick the lock on the closet door. I guess the staff doesn't appreciate it, oh well. Next are the knives from the Daggers & Knives Station and we take turns tossing small targets and human target dolls for each other. This time I make sure to hit dead center with my every blade and I'm very pleased to see that I'm far better than him. Oh Hawthorne is good, great even but I'm damn better! I admit it is kind of fun to show off, to excel at something and display the talent yet the enjoyment dies when his expression takes on a creeped out look. Yeah, I guess it doesn't make much sense for a merchant from home to be so good with throwing knives. Hoping he doesn't think me too weird I explain my old exterminator job and the practice with aim it gave me. That seems to ease him; well there are more than a few rats, not many cats and no dogs (Prim once murmured about soup or something?) in 12, so only the really rich can afford the luxury of a pet cat (with the exception of Buttercup).

At 7:50 he says that we have about 40 minutes or more before the Careers come and he surprisingly wants us to work on my weakest skill. Again I write off Shelters, Hammock Making and decide against everything but stealth. He's a hunter so he should be good at it right? Or how would he hunt? And besides maybe he can tell me about the real woods as we do it. When I mention the idea he just mutters something about tomorrow being Sunday with such reverence I know I missed something.

Anyway what happens next seems to be cringe worthy, or at least for him it is. With each crack, snap, crunch, thud and smack of my trekking through the course set up he flinches, twitches or visibly winces. All his reactions would be funny if these weren't the same sounds that can get me dead in the games. By my third attempt I can tell by the closeness of his brows this is one subject he doesn't have his usual patience in teaching. By my sixth time through I've completely worn through any good will he had for me.

He growls, "Mellark, you're doing this on purpose aren't you." It's too much of a statement to be a question.

Nervously I shake my head. I'm really trying my best however my best is making him look at me with such contempt he may wring my neck at any second.

He snorts and glares fully force for a moment. "Then what the hell's with you Mellark?"

Okay, that's enough of that! "No, what the crap is with you Gale? It's not my fault I never chose to cross the fence, you know, I'm just more used to the indoors."

His comely grays meet my blues for a beat more before he sighs and orders, "Fine Milky, try one more time but with your shoes off. In fact just strip and see if you'll notice then when you trample, brush or smack into things."

My cheeks heat violently both at the suggestion and the name he just called me. Milky is a Seam name for an annoying, pampered merchant who is so useless or lazy that their skin never sees the sun. I've never been called it before in my life and am more than a bit insulted by it. I've always worked hard and I'm in fact sun-kissed for an indoor merchant (though it's not much compared to his Seam tones of olive and tan). I'd like to say something back to him however I bite my tongue and check to see if he is serious, he is. "No way in fucking hell is that going to happen," I mutter but I do take off my shoes, tie up my shirt in front to expose my midriff then roll up my pants and sleeves. This time the only difference is that 'nature' is touching me back. Branches and twigs rub my arms, tree bark scrapes my middle, plants tickle my calves and every little thing is poking me particularly through my socked feet. It is weird and disturbing to have this contact on my skin yet nothing right on the clothed parts of me, I must really not notice slight pressures. It's now a struggle not to react, not to jerk away and just endure the unfamiliar sensation without spazzing out. I'm not used to touch and it makes me clumsy (hello mud, dirt and grass stains!) in trying to get away from it only to hit something else. I nearly sigh in relief when I finish then just curse profusely when he tells me to do it three more times.

By the end of it I think I'm finally doing pretty well, until my teammate scowls at me and shows me how it's done. Damn freaking prick doesn't make a single sound, leave any trace or get dirty in the slightest! And the smirk on his cocky face is so obnoxious I'd love nothing more than to hurl a mud ball at it. 'Well at least this proves my point about being a hindrance to him in the arena,' I think as try to brush the worst of the mud off me.

When 8:30 rolls around we clean up some, exit and he locks the doors behind us. In the lift our mutual muteness allows me a moment to think. I kind of have to wonder just how early he was there yesterday if he has such free access to the gym and how much training he really got in. Something tells me he was there very early but what was it that sent him back to our floor if he had the place to himself? He had lots of time to eat or change, hell so did I so why come up so early? Unless it was the Careers that drove him out? Is that why he knows when they will show up? Is that why we are leaving now? I almost ask but I don't know how to without it sounding like we're avoiding them like cowards or that he might have yesterday morning. Was that why those two Careers tried to hassle him after lunch? In any case it is the smart plan to avoid them, as galling as it feels.

"Go clean up then meet me on the roof, I'll tell you about the woods there." He says and exits as soon as the doors open, leaving me to trail after him.

I hurry to comply, washing, dressing and re-braid quickly, so eager to learn more but when I catch my happy smile in the mirror I halt. I must remind myself that his help does not make us friends; that dampens my smile quite a bit. Maybe I'm a bit lonely? I'm used to having Madge, my brothers and my father to talk to (and reluctant merchants from home to chat at), am I trying to get the Seam to fill the void? If that's the case I'd better stop and suck it up because being alone in the arena will be best. I grab a coat and two blankets from the closet and hustle to the roof.

The wind is going and the many clouds are a murky gray-blue, it's not a warm morning. It may rain later. I plop down next to him, bundle up and toss the second blanket on him. He doesn't react, just looks out into the horizon like a stupid statue. Part of me is annoyed that he is being so dramatic about this and the rest of me worries this is somehow touching on something deeply personal. I see it is the later when he starts abruptly, still not gazing anywhere but straight in front of him. He talks about the way everything needs water but that doesn't mean that water is readily available. He speaks about the fitness of trees and types of tree, as an indicator of water, ponds and rainfall. I guess that makes sense. He gives me vague descriptions of their leaves, but detailed ones of their bark and smell. He explains how water and sunlight will effect vegetation density and how that can leave you in the thick or thin of things. I have to wonder which will be better for me; thin means I might have less to make noise with but there isn't cover from other tributes and thick might mean that they'll just hear me but won't see me. He adds how vegetation and the water availability will influence animals. He details the signs of animal tracks and burrows. He suggest where and how to hide the twitch-up snares, especially since it could give my location to other tributes. He spells out how to tell a healthy creature from a lame one and that from a rabid one. He tries to clarify the sound and smell of certain animals but that is too foreign for me to picture. When I tell him this he finally turns to me and it's with slightly nasty look in his eyes.

"Well you wouldn't need to worry about that or the woods if you would just stop being an idiot and stay with me in the arena!" he snaps.

My sky blues narrow at him, "Who's the idiot, if you want me and my thunderous feet to pair up with you? I'd scare every animal away and lead the Careers right to us. Even if it was just two Careers, I'm still not killing anyone so what use am I to you? You moron!"

His eyebrows try to merge from the harshness of the scowl he gives me. "You're still the idiot, Milky! How do you expect to survive long enough to even get a sponsor if you're such a natural racket? You'll need me to live long enough to even wiggle your rack at the arena cameras!"

My face colors with anger, my fist clench and itch to punch him but I leave. I just get up and leave him there. Maybe what he said is true (though vulgar) yet I'm no less right and a fight or argument about it right now helps neither of us. Childishly I stomp every step down the stairs, keep stomping straight to my room and then stomp around for a bit. It and a few deep calming breaths help, surprisingly, and I ease into just pacing the room. I don't know what his problem is but I'll find out once we're both calm and stay away from him until then. Yeah, that's a good idea and it should be an easy strategy to stick with… So why can't I stop pacing? It's a really good idea… Or at least that is the plan before a peek at the clock shows it's just 8:56. Damn it!

I want us to be on the same page going into the arena. There is no telling for sure where we will go from there because of the nature of the games, none the less starting on the same foot will give me some piece of mind. I'm not sure how much time we'll have to talk and settle things until we go in, Haymitch hasn't talked about the private session this afternoon aside from us being last and each must do one thing we are best at (archery for him and weights for me). He also hasn't said anything about tomorrow or the day after at all. Yes he is a very comforting mentor, really makes us feel just so prepared. Bastard.

I glance at the clock and curse. It's just 8:58! I've been stewing for two minutes (that felt like twenty) and done absolutely nothing but make the slightest groove in the carpet. Way to be productive, Mellark! Oh great now I'm criticizing myself. I fiddle with Madge's pin, sigh and know what I have to do. Marching out in the dining room I grab a serving tray from breakfast (2nd, 3rd, 4th?), load it up with foods I've seen him like, hot teas and juices and head for the stairs.

He's still there, still like a statue; a handsome but stupid statue in worsening weather. I resume my place and shove the tray into both our laps. When he turns to me I just shrug, say "Fat for the games," and start eating. After a beat he goes for the hot tea first and I totally understand, the blanket that I left has gotten cold so it's unpleasant to put on. The quiet munching is kind of nice for some reason, it lifts my mood though I swear a second ago I was mad at him.

He waits for the food to be gone to randomly state, "So Rory was right about you not being a lesbian."

But not the drinks… HAK! I choke on my orange juice at his question. Still coughing I can only lift an eyebrow at him, silently asking 'What the hell man?'

He ignores it and continues, "He even called dibs on you last year. Of course we all thought it was a joke, but he made it Seam wide. You said he liked you so do you like him?"

I start hacking anew, maybe on orange juice irritation, maybe on air or maybe just on embarrassment. Despite my spasming throat my cheeks stain red, both at this topic and with whom I'm discussing it with.

My fellow tribute's eyes widen and he spurts, "You like him?" with incredulity packed in every word.

This makes me redden more at the mistake and I have to vigorously shake my head. "No." I rasp out then go for the remaining tea, it helps. "No I don't like him." As flattered and hopeful as I was back at the Justice Building his past antics in no way endeared him to me. True I kissed him, but he was hurt, sad and in need of some kind of comfort at the moment. I was also a bit touched at his feelings for me (as I am) so I wanted to help. Still, under this gray-orbed scrutiny I can't help feeling embarrassed that I pecked his little brother at all so my face flushes even more.

The hunter leans in a bit, visibly disturbed, "Then why are you so red?"

I manage to throw an 'Are you stupid?!' look at him however it doesn't phase him so I actually have to say, "This an embarrassing topic, can we just drop it?"

It's his turn to shake his head, "No, this is important. I need to know how important he is to you." He says so very seriously.

I blink, uncomprehending at this. My teammate's suddenly earnest face makes it seem like a reciprocated crush is life or death. Some of me just wants to ask, 'where the flying fuck is this coming from' but the rest pauses to think of the most honest answer I can give to his urgent question. Rory, since the second time I saved him, has always been the little imp that made my life a bit more hassle some. And while it was enlightening to see he had bothered, provoked and half tormented me out of some highly juvenile, vastly immature and all out childish crush on me it was by no means appealing. Under other circumstances, IF in few years time he grew mature enough tell me he liked me (in words, not antagonizing actions) I would have tried dating him but it would have been out of desperation, sprung from a desire not to be alone. Aside from his behavior, Rory is just another none-fighter boy; no sweeter, no meaner, no kinder, no cruder and no more especial than any average boy to me. That last bit I verbally share with Hawthorne.

He nods and retreats from me some, "Right, that's about what I thought." Then casually lets out, "So if I died before you in the games I don't suppose you'd start killing for his sake."

I freeze, as I am supremely uncomfortable with the thought of him dying. In fact I have actively not been thinking about that. I want to tell him not to think of it, to tell him that won't happen, to tell him not to entertain the thought of it happening but he just did me a service. He just shared some of his inmate knowledge with me I cannot replay him with hollow placations nor can I ignore it all together. I can't help sighing before I say, "If you somehow die before me Gale, I'll go back to trying to win the games my way."

He tenses, grips the bench beneath us then frowns and states, "You can't win without killing, Mellark."

Instead of tensing in return I relax. I'm not going to fight him on this, it's my life to live and I have final say. "Maybe, but I can sure as hell try."

"And what about the people at home? We're both fighters, they are hoping for one of us to be victor, hoping for that parcel day, hoping just to have some hope, are you going to let them down?"

I look at him sharply. That stings; his words sting as they were meant to. I did not know he could or would say such things. None-the-less the words bring up the crowd at the reaping and this time there is a flicker of hope in every face. Some people's faces are more familiar to me than others but that just makes the longing more vivid for me. However I won't let that sway me, I won't kill.

He just doesn't understand, he never had to fight every single day just to be who he is. He never had to really look at himself and see parts of himself people would rather he not have. He has never had to be conscious of his every decision. He has never had to wonder what is true to himself or what is just from expectation of others. He was always just accepted for who he is, no questions ask, no struggles and no doubts.

I try to relax again as I reply, "I'm going to try my hardest not to let them down but that doesn't mean I'll kill for them." 12, if they can't have him, won't care how I win so long they get their parcel day.

His brows gravitate towards each other, "What about your family and Madge, won't you kill to get back to them?"

At that I scoot away from him, upset and no longer wanting to be anywhere near him. Out of a sense of fairness I don't get up and walk away. So it is out of a twinge of anger I tell him with conviction, "They love me, they love me the way I am. I'm sure they would like me to kill if it meant I could return but they love me enough to understand and miss me."

My family, well except for the witch, loves me. Even when they tried to change me or just cringed at a mannish action of mine they still loved me. Madge is the only one who has never tried to change me and I have no words for the depth of gratitude and comfort that gives me. Unbidden I remember my father raining kisses on my forehead and his large, sturdy arms squeezing me while my brothers kiss my head through my hair between their angry accusations of stupidity. I also remember being with my Madge not long after. These combined memories sting my heart much worse than his words ever could.

Now he looks more agitated than ever and he spits, "What about my family? Would you kill for them?"

The second I realize this is his underlying concern I understand. He's worried, actually as I look into his smoldering eyes I see something I've never seen in him before; fear. He is scared for his family. No matter that the mayor will help them some he was probably planning to provide for his family at least until his sister was of age. He needs assurances that they will be alright but there really aren't any I can give. And besides I need assurances that he will win, all my hopes, fears and sanity are ridding on him. I don't want to die and I don't want to kill, so I need him to be strong. My fingers come up to rub the pin though after a bit I still don't have an answer for him. I watch as the realization enters his eyes and for the first time I feel my regretful of my decision. More to it, I feel guilty about my choice and what it's doing to him. I think I would agree to change myself, just a bit, if it would erase that condemned look on his face. However murder, for the Capitol's delight or his family's sake, is still wrong. He's asking me to agree to kill a person, a peer, someone's dear friend and family, another district's hope. I just can't do that nor I can say anything to comfort him but… "Isn't enough? My life for yours, isn't it enough?"

He pauses a moment then turns away. Only the sound of chimes is in the air. He just opens his mouth to say something when a drop of rain hits and slides down his cheek. It's time to go.

Part 17 End.

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Side Note: Sorry to leave it on a low tone but Part 18 won't be posted for some time. Again sorry but real life is in the way. Just thought you should know. Oh and I'm still looking and hoping for a beta, any volunteers? (No, not a hunger games pun.)