Chapter 12
We both keep to the back corners of the cornucopia. The sky isn't getting lighter, but there's an almost tangible feeling that dawn is coming soon. My left hand grips my spear while my right hand hovers over my knife holster. I test the speed at which I can get my dagger out, just like I've been doing all night to pass the time. If I had to guess, I'd say it takes me under a second to stand in a defensive position with both my spear and dagger ready.
"You're a bit on edge," Cato notices, as he leans against the back wall.
"I'm making sure I'm prepared," I say, kneeling back down, sliding the dagger back in its place.
"But you've been doing that ever since we got here. Jumping up, getting the dagger out." he says, letting his sword fall from his grip, "But it's nearly dawn, so I guess I should get ready."
He jogs on the spot for a few minutes, then places one hand on his hip while reaching up with the other. I copy him when he bends down to touch his toes then stretches the rest of his muscles. I shake myself off, now warmed up and get back into position.
"Did you say something?" I ask, flicking the light off, sure I heard him whisper something.
"No, maybe-" he begins, but I lift my hand as a signal for him to be quiet.
"You shouldn't just walk in there," a voice says, a girl's voice, coming from the other side of the metal. I'm already braced and my dagger is in my hand.
A shadow stands at the opening of the cornucopia, darker than the sky that's beginning to look like a shade of blue. It's too big to be a girl. He's got to be from district eleven.
"They wouldn't be stupid enough to stay here. Look, nobody," he says as Cato and me stay to the shadows.
I hear his breathing get closer, along with the girl's breathing and I can swear the closer they get, the lighter it gets outside. It gets light enough that they see us, it takes a second for me to grab the girl, holding her in a choke hold. She knows that any attempt to struggle will be in vain.
Cato's ambush doesn't look so successful. Eleven must have seen Cato coming as I see him scramble up from the floor where he'd been pushed. Cato blocks Eleven's exit, though. I back away, so if he does get past, I might be able to delay him.
After a few petty attempts of trying to pass Cato, Eleven just crouches, shifting his weight from side to side, ready to spring. I wonder why Cato hasn't attacked him with his sword yet when I see it lying at Eleven's feet. He hasn't noticed it yet.
Cato goes to the right, making Eleven go to the left and notice the sword on the ground. Why did he do that? As he bends down, Cato lunges at him, smashing him into the metal. Both of them fall to the floor.
I can't help Cato without letting the girl go. But if Eleven gets up first he'll stab Cato. I could kill her now. Snapping her neck would be easy. Could I do it, though? When I killed the boy from district ten I didn't stand up and fight him. I made gravity do the killing. It shouldn't be in me to end somebody's life. It goes against everything human. Especially when the person poses no threat to me at all.
While I have my inner monologue I don't notice Eleven sitting up. If I wanted to kill the girl I wouldn't have time, anyway. I let her go and run to Eleven before he can hurt Cato. The back of his head smashes the wall with a metallic 'gong' and the cannon fires. Did I push him that hard? No, he's still breathing. Then who's dead?
My stomach sinks as the first person in my mind is Cato, but he's breathing, too. I turn around, I hadn't noticed how bright it is. It's broad daylight, all in a matter of minutes. A table lies not far from the cornucopia, with three shining bags on top, glistening under the sun. To the left of the table lies the body of the district five girl. The fourth bag lying beside her, an arrow sticking out her chest. If I had to, I'd bet it's a direct hit to the heart. There's only one shooter who that could come from.
"Cato," I say, tapping his face. His eyelids flutter open. I notice a gash down his shin, Eleven must have picked the sword up before Cato got to him.
"What? Oh shit," he says, rubbing his head and sitting up, noticing his wound.
"Katniss is out there," I say, "we're trapped."
Cato considers my words as he stands up and paces, testing the strength in his leg.
"Help me with him?" he asks, going to pick Eleven up, I sense him formulating a plan. We carry him to the front of the cornucopia.
"Okay, what are we doing?" I ask.
"She only has a certain amount of time to reload," he says and as Eleven begins to regain consciousness I understand.
He runs out and I wait a second before following. An arrow hits his chest as I run past him to the table. The adrenaline makes me forget what to do when I get to the table. I grab two random bags and run as fast as I possibly can, feeling death behind me. I run right, to the opposite side of the cornucopia for cover as a sting hits my forearm. I look and see a line of red running off my hand.
Cato runs to me and takes the bags, grabs the hand of my good arm and drags me into the forest. The green goes by in a blur along with smudges of deep red. I begin to become more lucid as Cato and I run. From the quick glances behind I see nobody is chasing us, but that doesn't mean that Katniss won't catch us up.
When we reach the cave we wait a few seconds to check nobody is following, even though we'd know if somebody was. Once inside we drop our stuff and crash to the floor before Cato gives me by far the best kiss I've had.
"Ow!" I say as Cato wipes down my left forearm. The cut isn't deep, but it's long, going from my elbow to my wrist.
"Don't be such a baby," he says as he uses a pipette to add drops of green liquid to the bandages he just applied. "It fights infection and helps it heal quicker," he says, noticing me looking uneasy.
"Is that what was in our bag, wait, did I even pick our bag up?" I ask, remembering that I didn't know which bags I picked up.
"This," he says indicating a small glass bottle filled with green, "this is what was in the first aid kit. I haven't looked in the bags yet, you did get ours, though. And Clove and Three's bag."
He holds up a bag with a '2+3'.
"What's in it?" I ask.
"Don't know," he says, unzipping it. We both look inside and see two syringes labelled 'TRACKER-JACKER ANTI-VENOM'.
"Oh," I say as he pulls out the enclosed note.
Tributes,
Inject directly into inflamed area, one notch per sting.
Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour.
Looking at the syringes, along the tube filled with a yellowish liquid there are ten distinct notches. I look to Cato, hoping to achieve some clarity.
"I guess they had stings too, probably worse than us. Come on, give me your hand," he says, taking the plastic cover off the tip of the needle.
"No, wait, what if we have some in our bag?" I ask.
"What's the difference?" he asks back.
"Their anti-venom could be stronger than ours," I say.
"All right," he says, unzipping our bag. He looks at what's inside, then to me, then back to the bag and bursts into hysteric laughter. After collecting himself he hands me the bag, looking in pain as he suppresses laughter. I warily look at my lap, where the bag sits.
I pull out a white, plastic squeeze bottle. An over-the-top logo is in the middle, but the under writing is what stands out to me. 'Lubricant for Men' it reads. I feel my face flush red. Cato sees my mortification and laughs harder. I drop the bottle back into the bag and zip it up as Cato's humour feels like mocking.
My sexuality is being dictated by millions of people. Just when I thought it was sick enough.
"Peeta?" Cato asks, my back to him, "I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you."
I turn back around to tell him I know he wasn't laughing at me. It's odd he thinks that's what offended me. Unless he's giving me the choice to pretend I was offended by that. We're supposed to be putting on a show and complaining about how sick the Capitol is won't do me any favors. Cato was only laughing hoping I'd laugh too and it'd look good for us.
"I shouldn't have overreacted," I say with a weak smile. He comes and sits next to me and I lean my head on his shoulder.
"Come on, I reckon if we use half a dose our stings will go down," he says, reaching for the other bag.
I give him my hand and brace myself for the needle. It pricks and feel the small amount of liquid enter my swollen skin. Pus begins to leak from the prick where Cato withdrew the needle.
"It's supposed to do that," he says, injecting my forearm which too begins to ooze pus.
"How do you know?" I ask, anxiously.
"I don't," he says, pulling my pants down. I should be worried that the medicine will do more harm than good but instead I wonder why I'm not stopping him from pulling my pants down, then I remember there's a sting in my thigh.
Don't get a boner, don't get a boner, don't get a boner, I repeat in my head. The sting is half way down my thigh so I don't have to worry about him having to pull my boxers down. He places a hand between the sting and my groan, a sensitive area that tingles to his touch. I flinch and he looks at me cheekily.
"I thought you'd have more self control," he says, injecting me with another half-notch of anti-venom.
"It's a sensitive area," I reply, looking at the gunk on my leg and realizing it isn't the best time to flirt. He gets the message too as he wipes my leg with a wipe that seems to be soaked in that same green liquid.
"Time for you, now" I say, getting the other syringe from the bag.
I tend to four of his stings easily enough, putting off the last. I had forgotten that he had been stung on his face because his face didn't look that swollen. I remember that the stylists have to do everything in their power to keep us looking good. Like how I haven't needed to shave since the games began. There must be something they've done to his face, probably mine too, to stop the swelling from effecting his looks. I tenderly put the needle where his cheek bone is, giving him a quarter-notch.
"Are there any side effects?" I ask after a few minutes of peaceful silence when I begin to feel tired.
"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you," he says in a relaxed tone, "since you have more tracker-jacker venom in your system the anti-venom will be more..." he considers his words, "aggressive."
"What does that mean for me?" I ask, feeling patronized.
"Headaches, nausea, tiredness," how could he forget to tell me this? "maybe a fever."
I cross my arms as I lean against the cave wall. I begin to feel hot, not sure whether it's from anger or a fever coming on. I adjust myself as the hard rock digs into my shoulder blade. I adjust myself again, tiresomely trying to find a comfortable position. My eyelids begin to drop but the rock makes my eyes flash back open.
Cato stands me up and sits where I sat and beckons me to sit on his lap. I do so, leaning my head against his chest. His arms wrapped around me feel soothing but my head feels like it's being tipped sideways. Like I've been spinning around and my head is confused thinking it's still spinning while my eyes tell me I'm lying sideways. I swallow as the underside of my jaw feels funny.
I run outside to a tree and last night's dinner makes a reappearance. Within seconds I feel Cato tenderly rubbing my back as I heave, bringing nothing up because my stomach is empty. I remember my father saying to me when I was sick as a child that I needed to eat and drink because bringing up something is better than bringing up nothing. I never understood what he meant because I couldn't understand how being sick could feel worse. As I continue to heave, tensing all my muscles, and coughing when nothing comes up, I finally understand what he meant.
I wipe my mouth and lean against Cato, my head spinning. Cato guides me back inside the cave and helps me into my sleeping bag. I pull it up to my chin as I shiver, but feel sweat forming on my forehead. I close my eyes and feel Cato placing his hand on my forehead.
"Peeta, you're burning up," he says.
I mumble incoherently as I drift into unconsciousness.
I'm woken by a bang. I sit up, seeing Cato making a net from leaves and he greets me with a smile. My head throbs horribly and despite how hot my skin is, I still burrow into my sleeping bag.
"What was that?" I ask.
"The cannon, I don't know who. Feeling any better?" he asks. I shake my head so he goes into the first-aid kit and hands me a pill with some water. I take the tablet and lie back down.
The national anthem plays and I open my eyes. The cave is empty so I go outside to see Cato. Hanging at the entrance I see the net of leaves Cato was making earlier, I brush them aside. He's sitting at the top of the boulder, looking up at the sky. I climb up and join him as I see Three's portrait beaming in the dark. Five and Eleven's faces come next, the Capitol seal is seen and with a flourish everything returns to dark.
"I wonder how he died," I think aloud.
"We have his anti-venom," he says, standing up with a heavy sigh, "it won't be long for Clove."
Cato helps me down and tucks me into my sleeping bag. My shivering keeps me awake while I hope that some sleep will make me feel better. Despite how much I wish I know it's in vain.
A/N: Heeeeere it is. For those of you interested, Cato sensed that Peeta was feeling pressured into having sex with Cato (what with the lube) so gave Peeta more anti-venom than he planned, so that Peeta would have a reason not to do anything he didn't want. But he doesn't have a way of telling Peeta without the gamemakers finding out. Oh and once the anti-venom has done its job, perhaps the effects it's had on him will disappear.
It's getting near the end, what do you guys want to happen? I'm interested in what you guys have to say, you won't be bothering me, I promise. I might even give some of you a preview. Who knows.
RueRajaram:
I'm glad it's making sense and yeah, Peeta pretends to forgive Cato but in the end knows that it's not important so forgives him. Okay, please don't kill me. I won't kill her as painfully as I was planning to. Don't kill me.
SakuraDrops141:
Thanks :) I hope you like it.
sOMEBODYsTRANGE:
I'm pretty sure it's called Peeto and thank you so much! You're awesome and I hope my updates are regular enough for you. Thank you again.