The MATRIX: The One

9 - Katniss is overwhelmed

Katniss POV

"You know, this wasn't what I had in mind when I asked you to make it up to me," Peeta mutters, wincing as I dab an antibiotic gel onto his knuckles.

"Well, next time, don't flail your arms around when you're practicing tae kwon do." He'd left a bit of skin on the corner of the monitor.

He rolls his eyes. "Right. First, you complain because I'm not getting into my training, and now you're complaining because I'm taking it seriously."

"I never complained."

"All your complaints are silent. That doesn't mean you don't still make them."

Again, he almost wrings a laugh out of me. What is it about him that makes me smile so damn much? "What are you, a mind-reader?"

"Nope, just a really good guesser and," he continues with a grin that hasn't changed since the days he'd been a little boy getting away with hiding sweets under his bed, "I just got you to admit to complaining."

"Silently."

"Oh, no. That admission was very audible."

I sigh through a smile. "Oh, shut up."

His grin widens. I hadn't thought it possible that it could.

"C'mon," I mutter, refusing to be charmed. "Let's eat and then I'm turning you over to Finnick."

"Oh?" The stool he'd been perching on clatters as he stands. Holy hell, it's impossible for him to move with any stealth whatsoever.

"Yeah."

He scrambles to reach the medical bay door before I do so he can be a gentleman and hold it open for me. He ought to look ridiculous with his weeks' worth of hair sticking straight up on his head instead of fucking gorgeous. "Well, Finnick's nice and all but—"

"He's a better teacher than I am."

Peeta scoffs. I lead the way down the corridor to the mess hall.

"Seriously," I tell him. "Do what Finnick tells you… unless you're harboring a secret desire to hit me as hard you can."

"Hit you? No!" I've never seen him look more horrified, not even when I'd first introduced him to the gruel we eat for every single meal aboard the District Twelve. "Is that what he has in store for me?"

I gasp, my hand flying up to my mouth and my eyes widening. "Oh, shit. Did I just ruin the surprise for you?" I mock.

He bumps my shoulder with his and presses a hand over the mess hall door. My gaze follows the lines of his slowly developing muscles past the bend in his elbow, over his wrist to the fingers splayed against the cold metal. Masculine. Reaching. Greedy. Is that what his hand would be like against my skin?

"Katniss?" he prompts in a strangled tone.

I tear my attention away from his pale hand and look into his eyes. That's my second mistake. Ogling him had been my first. Now I watch as he licks his lips. Mistake number three.

"Aren't you hungry?" The words are a jumble in my ears, but I read the ache in his tone.

I can't handle this. "Actually, you go on ahead. I have to—um, something to check."

And then I jog back toward the broadcast deck before he can try to stop me. Thank God he doesn't holler after me. That would be unforgivably mortifying.

"Yo, Catnip."

"Gale," I greet.

He nods distractedly as he scans the coding which drips down each of the three main monitor screens. "Where's Peet? Picking out the wedding invitations?"

"Piss off," I growl.

He chuckles. "Not a chance in hell. I wanna see the Great Katniss falling all over herself for a boy. Been waiting for this for a long time."

"Well, go ahead and hold your breath a little longer then. I'm sure the brain damage is already permanent."

"I hope you're not standing him up for that lunch date he was looking forward to all morning. Wouldn't shut up about it. Kinda sickening if you ask me."

"I didn't." But his jibe is enough to send me back down the corridor.

I stomp so I don't have to listen to his chuckle of triumph rolling along the walls in my wake. I slam the mess hall door open and feel every irritation abandon me at the sight of Peeta sitting down at the long table. There are two bowls of goop in front of him and he holds a spoon in each hand. With a boyish grin, he brandishes one in my direction.

"Everything check out?" I can't tell if he's teasing or not.

"Yeah. Gale's got it under control," I grumble. Since Peeta and I are the only ones in the room at the moment, I climb over the top of the table, swinging my feet around and stepping down onto the bench before taking a seat next to him. I jostle him a bit just to see if it makes his smile wider.

It does.

I accept the spoon. "Thanks," I tell him.

"You're welcome."

We poke at our gruel a bit and I notice that he seems to be mirroring my table manners, coating his spoon with the stuff before sucking it clean. This is the only way I've been able to stomach it. I can't stand to watch Gale and Rory eat, shoveling the goop into their maws and swallowing whole mouthfuls. Of course, they've never tasted things like grilled lamb or roast potatoes, double cheese pizza or dark cherry ice cream so they don't know what they're missing.

"Please tell me," Peeta begins with a hesitance I've never heard from him before, "that we have a Construct-based program for food that tastes halfway decent."

I smile. "Nope. Sorry."

He coats his spoon again, rolling the utensil through the lumpy goo, and groans. "Ugh. Seriously? Why has no one invested serious amounts of energy into a restaurant program?"

I shrug. "I guess it's never been very high on resistance priorities."

"Well, it ought to be. This stuff is offensive to my taste buds. Does it smell like wet dog to you?"

I snort so hard my palate vibrates. "Why do you think I eat at glacial speed? I can almost pretend there's no smell if I keep the bites small enough."

"Yeah, I just picked up on that. Handy trick. It still smells like wet dog, though."

"Are you allergic?"

"You mean was I?"

"Yeah."

"Nope." He sighs. "Resistance or not, I still think people need more than perfectly nutritious slime to be happy."

I'm in the middle of offering him an agreeable shrug when the door bangs open and Johanna saunters in. "Oooh, are we debating the range of human needs again?" She plops down on the bench across from me and gives my foot a kick beneath the table. "What say you and I run through that Agent Program again, brainless? Have us some eye candy?"

Beside me, Peeta coughs into his wet dog slime. "Wh-what? You guys have—?"

Johanna lounges, enjoying his wide-eyed shock. "Oh, yeah. Hot stuff in that simulation. Ain't that right, Kat?"

I feel a wide, embarrassed grin pulling at my lips. My spoon clatters into my bowl of mush as I hide my face in my hands. Shit, the last thing I want is for Peeta to see me blush, but damn I just can't help it!

"Uh-huh," Jo drawls lustily. "I could lick that up one side and down the other then slurp up what's in between all. Damn. Day. Long."

"Are we talking about the same training simulation?" Peeta ventures, referring to the program designed to distract you long enough for an agent to overwrite one of the people still hardwired into the Matrix and level a gun at your head. It's a very educational program, highlighting the fact that anyone who hasn't been hijacked yet is a potential enemy. And it also teaches you to pay the hell attention and watch your fucking ass.

Peeta's face is turning pink as he checks, "The program with the woman in the red dress?"

Johanna cackles evilly.

I shake my head, force my flush to dissipate, and then drop my hands. "No. Um. We got Version B."

"B, for beautiful, buff boy," Johanna finally admits. She waggles her brows at me and I can't help but remember that training program and the gorgeous specimen of manhood that strolls down the street in a tight, white tank top and ripped up blue jeans. The engineers had even included cologne: sandalwood. Fuck all, that's the best part. Some enterprising programmers had subsequently designed an interactive erotica program featuring Mr. Sexy Sandalwood. There's a mirror version featuring Miss Red Dress, which is who Peeta must have met this morning when Beetee had taken him through the simulation.

"Seriously, I need to work off some steam with that. Gonna load up and, ah, unload later. You're welcome to watch…" she asks both of us with a leer.

"Go fuck Mr. Pixels, Jo," I mutter. "Rory can have my front row seat."

She gives me a cocky salute. "Will do, Soldier Katniss. What about you, our valiant virgin? Care to have your porn cherry popped?"

Again, Peeta chokes. He works through it, though, and manages a smile. "No, thank you. I'm good, actually."

"Oh?" Johanna gives me an expectant look. "Well, I'll believe that when I hear it being groaned in the halls by Miss Heart-of-Stone, here." She licks her lips, rolls her head to the side, closes her eyes and groans, "Oh, Peeta… so good… yes, right there…!"

I'm going to kill her. Slamming my hand down on the table, I bark, "Jo! Go away. Piss off. Be gone. Fu—"

The squeal of the mess hall door swinging open cuts off the march of synonyms.

"Katniss, Peeta, Johanna," Beetee greets blandly as if hadn't heard the last five seconds of our conversation. He heads straight for the goop dispenser and prepares a bowl for himself.

Johanna gives me a wide smile and an eyebrow wiggle just to keep me twitching with the need to smack her.

Beetee remarks, "Peeta, when you're ready, Finnick's waiting for you at the broadcast deck."

"Got it," he answers and, with a resigned sigh, starts eating faster.

I bite back a smile; I'm pretty sure he's holding his breath.

"And I've got some data for you, Katniss," Beetee continues, dispassionately addressing the gruel in his bowl.

"Yeah? Weather algorithms?" It's a weird little hobby of mine, trying to crack the Matrix weather codes. As if I could ever be some kind of weather-wielding superhero or something. God. I'm such a dork.

"No. Agent."

Johanna's playful smirk freezes on her face. I have to clear my throat out loud before I can ask, "Who—?"

Beetee answers solemnly. "Clove. Aboard the District Two."

"Did she make it out?" I don't know why I bother to hope. The answer is always the same.

Beetee shakes his head. "No. Agent got her."

Peeta sets his spoon down. I pick mine up as if eating will somehow make me too busy to be furious on her behalf. We'd gone through the academy together. We'd hated each other, yes, but Clove had been a damn good infiltrator and fighter.

Goddamn agents.

"Has anyone?" Peeta asks. "Survived an encounter with an agent?"

"Only if they run their pert little asses off," Johanna informs him.

"So… what are you doing with data on them?" Peeta inquires awkwardly.

Beetee answers for me. "Katniss is attempting to infer the algorithms that govern their code. The security encryption is very elaborate and constantly adapting. The more data we have, the more accurate our equations will be. With luck, we'll eventually be able to weaponize it for use inside the Matrix."

God what I wouldn't give to just fucking erase those agents from every computer language in the known universe.

I refuse to let myself look at Peeta when he next asks, "How do you come across data on agents for this?"

"Every time someone reenters the Matrix and comes into contact with an agent, their ship's operator gets a data stream on the agent for as long as the fight lasts."

"And how long is that, typically?"

"Typically?" Beetee echoes. "About fourteen seconds. Give or take."

Give or take. We give. They take.

I push my bowl away.

"I'm ready to look at that data whenever you are, Beetee," I offer.

He nods.

Beneath the table, Peeta's hand seeks out mine. I close my eyes and return the comforting squeeze of his fingers, wondering how much longer this war can go on, wondering who else will be sacrificed to it before the end.

Notes: So, in my Matrix headcanon, learning to manipulate the Matrix code plays a much bigger role in this universe than, say, looking badass and kicking butt. I can't say much more without spoilERing you, but... um... yeah.

Also, the Lady in the Red Dress (as well as the training program she's featured in) is from the movie. Mr. Sexy Sandalwood, though, is my creation because, hey EQUAL OPPORTUNITY. Heh.