Chapter 23: Neutral Ground
"Cato?"
No response.
Fear stirs deep in my stomach as I take another tentative step closer. "Cato?" I ask again.
His eyes are closed as he lies in a heap on the ground. Shakily, I raise my hand up, pressing two fingers against his neck. His pulse is thready at best, but it's there. I can practically hear the voices of Haymitch and my district yelling at me to leave him, but I can't. Blood loss or poison, they're both terrible ways to die, and I just can't let that happen. Not after the risk I just took. I don't let myself think about the why.
I stay crouched on the ground in front of him, staring. He suddenly snaps his head up, and I jolt backwards.
"Twelve?" he coughs out, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, and a sense of urgency takes over me.
"Yes. Can you move?" I ask, grabbing the sword and sticking it in my belt.
"Of course," he says. It's not convincing when he tries and falls back into the tree.
He starts coughing again, and I don't have time to be careful around him anymore. I stand up and grab his arm to pull him up. He tries to yank it back, but the attempt is weak and my grip is strong.
"You need help, Cato."
"No." More coughing. "No, I don't."
I ignore the comment and pull the large arm around my shoulder. He staggers a little, pulling me to the side, but the tree stops us from toppling over. He's not completely unconscious because he's standing on his own, but he's definitely out of it. I don't have time to think about where to go, so I head to the only place where I know there's shelter: the cave.
We move slowly because the ground is still slippery and Cato can barely hold his own weight. He mumbles barely coherent protests the whole way, but he doesn't try to pull away from me. Or if he does, it's too weak for me to feel it. I can feel his blood beginning to soak my clothes and I have to stop from gagging. He'll bleed out soon, and so I pull him along faster. I'm exhausted. Cato is probably twice my weight, and he isn't helping much. I don't slow down though, and I don't relax until we break the tree line and I see the caves.
I drag him inside, and try to place him down gently, but he's too heavy and ends up collapsing. I wince, but he can't see me because he's unconscious again. For a second I panic about the maggots invading all of his wounds, but then I remember that the ground is made of rock not dirt. My pulse thrums loudly in my ears as I frantically search over him, trying to decide what to do. His skin is still blue, but I can't see the veins yet, and so I know I have some time before the poison kills him. His shirt, on the other hand, sticks to his chest, nearly black with blood.
I crouch next to him, slicing the shirt open with one of my knives. I gag at the sight. Red sticks to every inch of skin, but I can't focus on anything but the gaping wound in his side—three perfectly symmetrical gashes with blood rushing out. The muscle shifts in the openings and bile rises in my throat. The boy hit a major blood vessel, and if I don't close it, Cato will die. And there's only one way to do that in here.
I rush out of the cave, back in minutes with enough twigs to start a fire. When it's lit, I stick one of my knives into the flame, praying that it will work quickly. Tearing a piece of cloth from the bottom of my shirt, I wipe up the blood from Cato's chest, but red liquid continues to leak from his side. I try to keep pressure on Cato's wound as the blade heats, ignoring the warm liquid coating my hands. I've never done this before, and my heart lodges in my throat when I pull the glowing knife from the fire. I could kill him, but he'll die if I don't try. After only a second of hesitation, I take the knife and press it into the wound, hoping that I've managed to stem the flow from the blood vessel. I gag and pull it back after a few seconds, and then repeat the action. My eyes flicker to his face, but it remains impassive. I'm thankful that he's so out of it, because I can't even begin to imagine how painful this must be.
The air smells of burnt flesh when I'm done, the wound is a large black mark on Cato's skin. I kneel back in relief when it stays closed and no blood spills out. He's alive—for now. I still have the poison to worry about, and there's a good chance the wound will get infected. But I can worry about that if it comes to it. The poison is more important at the moment.
There's the sound of beeping from outside and I'm on my feet in seconds. I'm careless when I step out of the cave and grab the parachute, but I barely notice. All I can think about is making sure he doesn't die—making sure that this wasn't all for nothing. I ignore the large 2 on the side and pop it open when I'm back beside Cato. It's not like he can do this himself. Inside is a small bottle, a blanket, and a canister filled with clear goo. It's basically a survival kit, and for the first time, I realize just how badly the Capitol wants someone like Cato to win. I open the lid of the bottle, the sickly sweet scent reaching my nose right away. I place it on the ground, and pull out the little slip of paper.
Needs to drink all. Wait a few hours and apply the gel.- D
I swallow heavily when I read over the note a second time, my eyes focusing on the letter at the end. Demetrius sent this. Demetrius is asking me to save his brother. I could ignore it, pay him back for what he took from me. I think about it. It feels wrong. We're all just trying to survive. Besides, I already saved Cato's life, what would be the point in killing him now?
I shake Cato's shoulder, trying not to jostle him too much, but it's hard because he won't wake up. I can feel myself panicking, but then his eyes open a little. They're glazed over, but he's awake and that's all I need.
"You need to drink this."
He just blinks at me, and then his eyes start sliding shut again. There's no time for this.
"Sorry," I mumble, before opening his mouth and pouring the liquid down.
He starts sputtering, and for a second I'm afraid he's going to spit it out. It's pure instinct, the way I reach my hand out to cover his mouth so that he can't spit it up. And then I'm terrified that he's going to choke. But he doesn't spit any of it up, and a few seconds later he's gasping, but no longer gurgling the liquid. I sigh in relief, and this time, I let him slip back into unconsciousness.
The adrenaline within my body wears off rapidly, and I'm just about ready to pass out too. But I can't. Not with Cato out of commission. So I stomp out the fire and lean back against a wall, and try not to think about everything that just happened.
It becomes harder to ignore as the hours tick by. The thoughts refuse to leave my head. I killed another person—another tribute who probably didn't want to be here any more than I do. Stop it. Nothing good can come from thinking like this. It'll just pull me down and keep me there, and then I'll never go home.
But I can't think about that either because I'm afraid of what they'll think of me. Having been in the arena for so long, I now understand what Katniss meant when she said that being more than mediocre with a weapon wouldn't matter. I guess the funny thing about surviving is that it's based on so many things, not just skill. No matter how much you train, it all comes down to one thing: you have to want it. Really want it. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes. And the thing is, you never really know if someone—if you—are capable of that until something forces you to find out. And I've been forced.
Four. The number of people I've killed. The number of times I've proven just how badly I want to survive. The number of times I've shown what I'm capable of.
The idea scares me, and I search for anything to distract me from the line of thought. It comes in the form of the Capitol anthem. I step out of the cave to watch the faces. It's just the boy I killed—a boy from Ten.
I make my way back inside, not pleased with what I find. I don't know how I missed it before, but Cato is shaking on the floor, and when I crawl over, I can see sweat building on his brow. I frown, trying to find the reason for it. The only thing I find is a small puncture in the back of his neck, the rim dark. My first thought is of Zeppina, and her dead partner with the same mark and the same poisoning, but then I shake my head and move on because there isn't time to think about that.
He's burning up but he's shivering. The note said to wait a few hours before applying the goo, but I'm too worried to wait any longer. Picking up a generous amount, I start spreading the gel over the various cuts that litter Cato's body. His stomach, his chest, his temple—they're everywhere. Thankfully most of them aren't that bad. None of them seem infected, but that wouldn't happen so fast, and so I'm still confused as to what's making him so sick. But then I remember the gel Haymitch sent me, the pain as it burned the rash off of my skin. Maybe this is the same: the liquid from the bottle washing the poison out of his system. I can only hope though, because I have no idea how to cure kennelspur poisoning.
Even with the blanket, Cato doesn't stop shivering. I decide to light the fire again, despite the risk. Despite the fact that I don't understand why I'm doing any of this. Maybe I'm finally losing it, I think to myself as I get the flame going. Being alone for days in this place has made me lose my mind. There's no other explanation. Not for what came over me—the surge of anger and fear—and not for my actions now. Yes, I must be crazy. It's the only explanation. At least the only one I'm willing to admit to.
I remember telling Peeta that anger isn't the only thing in the arena that can cause people to do irrational things. I had no idea how right that was.
I move away from Cato and the fire, and settle back against the wall. I check on him every hour or so, just to make sure that he hasn't died, which is pointless, because I would hear a cannon. Eventually, I get too tired to do that, and sleep pulls me under despite how much I try to resist.
I wake in a panic later. Everything is the same as it was before, though, and so I decide it's okay to let myself relax a little. It's what I do until the sun rises the next morning: nap, check on Cato, and repeat.
When the next afternoon rolls around, I'm still in the same position. I sit with my back against the hard rock wall, my knees pulled to my chest as I keep watch. My knife stays within my reach, just in case. I still don't know where any of the other tributes are, and with Cato still injured, I can't afford to be caught off guard.
For the most part the cave is silent. The only sounds are the rustling of the brush from the wind outside and the crackling of the fire. The cave is warm thanks to the flame that I've kept going since yesterday, almost to the point of being uncomfortable. The weather pattern has switched to the colder season, thankfully. It means air is cooler and less humid than it's been since entering the arena, but I'm still sweating. Despite the heat and the danger it brings, I keep the fire going. Cato finally stopped shivering early this morning, and I don't want to take any risks. He needs to recover. I can't do this on my own.
I don't know if I want to. The thought comes unbidden to my mind, but I can't deny it. Especially not after how I reacted when I stumbled upon Cato and those other tributes. The longer I'm in the arena, the more I'm unable to comprehend how anyone manages to survive this on their own. If I can get another person out of this arena, then I'm going to try my best, regardless of who it is. My self-preservation instincts protest the idea, but looking at Cato's sleeping form, I'm able to shut the objections out. Sure, Cato's arrogant, impulsive, and angry on a good day—capable of being a jerk pretty much all of time—but in some weird way, it's been nice having him around, even if it's just so I don't have to be alone. It's difficult to admit even to myself, and I know I won't be saying any of this to him anytime soon—even if it is the truth.
Despite my attempts to convince myself otherwise, I know it's not because I've lost my mind. I already know what the real reason is. I already know that it's because of the Games and what they do to people. Before the arena, I would have dismissed Cato completely: his District Two breeding too repulsive to deal with and his personality not much better. And I would have never questioned my dismissal. But that's different now. Now, my mind craves something to hold onto, some type of human connection, and Cato just so happens to be the person I've latched onto.
It could be worse, I tell myself. Having spent so much time with Mace and Nerissa, I know that there are far worse people out there. Cato isn't as bad as he seemed originally, especially for a Career. There have been some hints of a person underneath the shell of brutality. Still, the thought of coming to rely on him in any way at all makes me nervous, but I can't pretend it isn't there anymore. What reason would I have had to save him then? If some small part of me didn't think that I need him, if not only for winning, I wouldn't have ever risked my life for him. It's not something I ever wanted, or could have even imagined when I saw him on the Reaping, but I just have to accept it now. My actions prove to me, and all of Panem, that I've already made my decision. I try not to think about how others see this. I just have to trust that I'm not making the same mistake that Amelia did.
With a sigh, I turn my gaze to the boy occupying my thoughts. Scanning over his face quickly, I determine that he's doing much better than he was a few hours ago. He's no longer shaking, and his face shows no traces of pain. It's also lost its blue tint, which is a huge relief. I never paid much attention to how he looked other than noticing his overwhelming presence, but looking at him now, I can see why the people in the Capitol are going crazy for him. He's attractive, one of the best looking out of the tributes, which is saying something considering how good-looking some of them are. His face is handsome, and decidedly less hard in his sleep.
Heat rises to my cheeks when I realize that I'm staring at him, and I look away quickly. I don't want to think about how this looks on camera. It makes my blood rush even quicker.
I remember how girls my age used to look at the boys from Twelve. Most of them were daydreaming about one guy or another, giggling and blushing whenever they saw them. A lot of the girls liked Gale. He's strong and attractive just like Cato. His personality isn't much better, though, just less murderous. It makes me think that girls at home would go crazy for Cato if he weren't from District Two. Some of them probably still would. I don't know how anyone can worry about romance with everything that goes on, though. It amazes me even more that Katniss and Peeta made it out of the arena alive with something so distracting between them.
Even with how embarrassed I am, I catalogue the changes I see on Cato's sleeping form. It leaves me once again marveling over the medicine that the sponsors sent. There are very few redeeming traits of the Capitol, but this is one of them. If they could get stuff that's even a quarter as powerful to the districts… I can't even imagine how many lives that would save. It wouldn't even make their list of minor priorities though. Snow would rather us starve to death or die from some curable sickness than save someone from an outlying district.
Anger flares in me at the thought of the president, but I stamp it down. I have other things to worry about at the moment, like the boy who's waking up.
Cato opens his eyes slowly before they suddenly snap open, his hand shooting out and reaching to the side. I assume it's for his sword, which is currently sitting beside me, out of his reach for precisely this reason. He grunts in pain at the action and whips his head in my direction, apparently sensing another presence. Even through the fire, I can tell that his eyes are a little glossed over as he struggles to survey his surroundings. His gaze lands on me after a moment, a mixture of emotion—something that looks surprisingly similar to relief—overcoming his features.
"Briar?"
The use of my real name catches me off guard for a moment, as does the quiet, confused tone of his voice. I wasn't even sure he knew my name, seeing as he hasn't addressed me as anything other than "Twelve." He must still be pretty out of it if he's using it now.
He continues to stare at me, like he's not sure I'm actually here, and I realize that I have yet to reply to him. I send him a small nod and say, "Yeah, it's me."
Slowly, he sits up. His brow furrows, and I can tell that he's trying to remain emotionless, to not show any pain. Maybe he's not as out of it as I thought. Either that or his training is that deeply ingrained. I go with the second one. I mentally applaud him on his effort to remain impassive because I got a firsthand look at how bad is injuries are. I stuck a burning knife into his skin to keep him from bleeding out. Even if he's not sick anymore, I'm sure the pain from all his wounds is still there and going strong. Even Capitol medicine doesn't work that fast.
"How long was I asleep?" His voice is rough from lack of use. I really need to get more water.
"About a day and a half."
"Where are we?" he asks as he looks around the small area.
"A cave," I tell him. "Off the side of the forest. It's not far, but our options were limited. It was hard enough to get you this far."
I internally curse myself for speaking so quickly. I'm already jumping to defend myself because precedent tells me that he has a problem with pretty much everything I do. But he doesn't even yell me for my lack of caution. It's even more surprising considering there's a fire burning not five feet from him. He should be berating me for how reckless I am, but instead he turns his body to look at me straight on. I can see the intensity on his face through the flickering light of the fire. I stay silent, waiting for him to speak. He does after a moment.
"What happened?" he asks, his voice gaining back some of its usual authority. It's somewhat of relief, but I still feel nervous.
I swallow, trying to think of a way to explain that won't make him angry. I don't know if he'll take too kindly to knowing that he actually needed my help after all. This is different than skinning an animal or picking some berries. Saving his life or not, I know Cato isn't fond of looking weak, and needing help from someone from District Twelve…
"You were poisoned by something. There's a small puncture wound in your neck, but it was before I found you," I say. I don't tell him that I think Zeppina is to thank for it.
He shakes his head slightly, glancing down at his arm. "It was a dart of some sort." He shakes his head and continues before I have a chance to comment. "But what happened after that? How did you find me?"
"You don't remember?" I ask.
He remains silent for a moment, looking unsure of whether or not he should answer, but after a minute he answers with a shake of his head and a short, "No."
"Anything? It's just blank after you got poisoned?"
"Yes," he bites back. "Now what happened?"
I assumed he was asking about how we ended up here in the cave, but does he really have no idea what happened? It makes me feel extremely lucky that this turned out as well as it did. He could have killed me and apparently wouldn't have even remembered doing it.
"I was hiding out, and I heard fighting. I was going to leave, but uh, I noticed it was you. You looked like you could use some help," I say tentatively. "I know you can handle yourself," I jump to say when he opens his mouth to argue, "but you seemed out of it, thanks to the poison and whatnot. You were fighting with the boy from Four, and his partner was there, but you didn't notice."
He scowls at that and falls silent, clearly not liking the situation. I'm sure he's afraid of coming off weak to the sponsors and the people from his district. I don't think he did. He held up well against the guy, despite being unable to walk straight, but I know that makes no difference to him. He's made it pretty clear that they don't tolerate any sort of weakness, and not being invincible is definitely viewed as one. I don't think there's anything wrong with getting some help, especially considering the circumstances, but Cato's proved time and time again that he doesn't think the way I do.
When he seems to get over whatever internal dialogue he's having with himself, he turns his gaze back to me and says, "That doesn't explain how we ended up here. What else?"
I roll my eyes at his demanding tone but continue. "His partner was sneaking up on you, so I, uh, I helped."
"Helped?" he asks with an arch of his eyebrows.
I nod. "Yeah, I helped you. Does that come as such a surprise? You were cornered and didn't even know it. Maybe you could have beaten Four, but Ten had a spear and was too close. He would have gotten you before you ever realized what happened. So I got him out of the way."
He looks slightly taken aback by my comment, his brows furrowing and his mouth setting itself into a firm line. "You got him out of the way," he says slowly, like he can't comprehend the idea. I merely nod. "He's dead?" Another nod. "What about Murrow?" He clarifies when he notices my confused look, "The kid from Four."
"I don't know. I only heard one cannon. But by the looks of it, you got him pretty good in the side. There was a lot of blood in a little amount of time, so unless he gets some medicine, I doubt he'll last much longer."
I internally cringe at my words. They sound so careless. I'm talking about him the same way I'd talk about a piece of meat that's gone bad in the butcher's shop—like he's expiring instead of dying. Like he's not a human being. It's amazing how quickly these Games can get to you. When I think about it like that, the person I was before the Games starts to bubble up to the surface. Somewhere inside me is the girl who came into these Games petrified of what she might see, a girl who would have protested the violence and everything the Capitol is trying to turn the tributes into. But she's quickly becoming overshadowed by the girl who realizes that fear drives people to do terrible, awful things—things that will haunt them for the rest of their life, even if they know that there was no other way. So I allow myself only a second of remorse for my callous words before I push the guilt away.
The expression on Cato's face at my words is not one of regret like I feel, but rather one of complete and utter confusion. I don't know what's so unclear about what I've said, but he seems unable to understand it. Maybe the poison is still affecting him.
The silence is beginning to make me uncomfortable, especially when Cato turns his confused gaze to me. His face morphs into something much more intense, and the cave suddenly feels too small. I can't seem to tear my own eyes away though, no matter how much I try to force myself to. My stomach clenches uncomfortably with the growing tension. Cato searches my face for something, and I'm helpless to do anything but stare back.
Finally he speaks, his voice still confused, but softer than I've ever heard it. "Why?" he asks.
My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "Why what?"
"Why did you save me?" he asks. "You could have gotten yourself killed, and I don't think it's a secret that we don't get along."
"So what? You're my partner, aren't you? I wasn't just going to leave you there to die," I say. I hope more than anything that he drops the conversation with that, but I'm in no such luck.
"The rule change. You could win more for your district without me. And it's not like they couldn't use it. Why come back?"
I ignore the comment about my district because I know that it's not meant to offend me. For all intents and purposes, he's right. "I helped you because as I just told you, you're my—"
"Don't say it's because I'm your partner," he practically growls. "You didn't help me. You saved my life."
I open my mouth to say something, but no noise comes out. My mind's blank and the air catches in my throat. Mainly because I'm surprised he admitted it out loud, for everyone to hear. Yes, I saved his life. I risked my life to save him. Why? Because I didn't want him to die. I don't want him to die. I don't want to be alone. Even though I think the words, I don't dare speak them. An incomprehensible fear comes over me when I think of admitting that to him, so I just stare back, floundering for some sort of answer.
Cato speaks again before I have time to struggle my way through an explanation. "After everything… You hate me. Ever since I volunteered and you learned who I was. Why would you save me?"
It's the quietness of his tone, and the way he looks away from me as he speaks—staring into the fire as if it holds all the answers to his questions—that has my chest tightening painfully and emotion lodging itself in my throat. For once Cato doesn't sound like the brutal killing machine that I once believed him to be, nor the arrogant Career I've come to know. Now he sounds like the boy he is, the boy he maybe could have been without the Games. I realize that he's genuinely confused by my actions, that he can't comprehend why I would go out of my way to help him merely because of who he is, because of who he's related to. He's been taught that anger is the only necessary emotion in the Games, that any other type of attachment is dangerous—yet I've somehow managed to push past it in order to save him. For a moment, I actually hurt for the boy in front of me, because the Capitol has made humanity unrecognizable to him.
It's the uncomfortable tightness I feel that drives me to tell him the truth. I lock eyes with him, trying to convey the sincerity of what I'm about to say.
"I don't hate you, Cato," I say quietly. "And I didn't want you to die."
The silence that falls between us is suffocating. I don't breathe until he speaks again.
"That doesn't make any sense, though. You made it pretty clear that—"
"I'm allowed to change my mind, aren't I? Things have changed."
"What things?"
It's a good question. What things, exactly? I know that they have, but why? Why am I suddenly saving the life of a Career, someone connected to Amelia's death? Why would I risk it in the arena?
That's exactly why. The arena. The Games.
I can't look him in the eye, so I turn my gaze to the flickering light as I speak. "I don't hate you or your brother, Cato. Coming into the Games I did … or at least I thought I did. But being here, it changes things. I hated your brother for what he did to my sister. And I hated you because of it. I doubt I'll ever forgive him, but being in the arena… I can at least understand why he did it. And I can't fault him for it, especially when I'm doing the same thing to other people. And I just…I've realized something that I didn't—couldn't—have understood before."
"What?".
"He let Amelia die as herself, and sometimes, in here, I think that's better," I say, finally gathering the courage to meet Cato's gaze again. I'm glad it's dark so he can't see how glassy my eyes have become. "Had she gone further, if she was really going to win, she would have had to kill someone, and that's just… it wasn't her. Sometimes I wish it was, because then maybe she'd still be alive, but then I remember what she was like and…. Your brother didn't force her to become a killer, to become something she wasn't. He didn't make her beg for life, and he didn't draw out her death. He gave her what little mercy there is in the arena, and I can't hate either of you for that."
I shift awkwardly in the silence that falls around us. Cato's gaze on me is unyielding and impossible to read. I feel vulnerable. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. It was too personal. This is just going to make everything worse. Now he's going to think that I—
"Thank you," he says.
I stare unblinkingly at the boy before me, my brain unable to process what just happened. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the words weren't in my head. It leaves me floundering for a response, my mind not comprehending this unexpected turn of events. In all the scenarios I imagined, I never expected Cato to thank me. I had assumed his arrogance would get in the way. But he's proving my assumptions wrong, like he's been slowly doing throughout the entire arena. Maybe there is a human in there after all.
Instead of speaking, I opt to give him a small nod in response. I don't trust my voice after talking about Amelia, and I can tell that showing gratitude is rare and uncomfortable for Cato, and so I don't drag the conversation out. His shoulders sag in relief, and I know that I've made the right decision for both of us.
The sound of beeping draws both of our attention away from the charged atmosphere. Neither of us moves for a moment as the sound drifts into the cave. Cato glances at me with a raised eyebrow before looking himself over, indicating his current state.
"I'll get it," I say as I roll my eyes and stand up, grabbing the knife from beside me. There's no malice in my act though. I'm just glad whatever that weird emotional moment we just had has passed.
I scan the area over quickly when I reach the mouth of cave. It'd be a shame to make it this far only to die by some sneak attack while I try to get a sponsor gift. Satisfied that there's no one lying in wait, I grab the parachute with a large two on it and return to the rocky shelter.
I almost toss the container over to Cato, before realizing that he's too bundled up and probably still too tired to catch it. The thought of throwing it and hitting him in the head when he fails to catch it makes me snicker lightly as I hand the canister over.
"What?" he asks with a raised brow as he takes it from me.
I snicker again, and shake my head. "Nothing."
Cato makes a small noise in the back of his throat, but doesn't ask again. I settle back into my spot as he pops the lid open, the savory smell intermingling with the scent of the fire. They've sent him food, that much I can tell. It makes me all the more aware of how long it's been since I've eaten anything of real substance, and I shift uncomfortably with the hunger pains in my stomach.
"Did all of this come from sponsors?" Cato asks, effectively snapping me out of my hunger-induced distraction.
"Yup," I say jerking my head towards the medicine that rests a little ways away from him. "I guess they really didn't want you to die."
Cato chooses to ignore that comment, and instead glances towards the medicine. His eyes narrow slightly at the sight of it. "That's high grade stuff. That bad?" he asks in a gruff voice. His dissatisfaction is practically tangible.
Heat rushes to my cheeks when images from earlier flash through my mind. I try to shove the embarrassment away. He's going to learn about it sooner or later.
I prefer later.
"The poison was bad. It was from a kennelspur flower. Most of the cuts were shallow except for one from the trident. It cut through some of the muscle. It bled… a lot," I tell him, trying to keep my voice steady. I'm doing a terrible job.
Cato sends me a strange look before moving the blanket off of himself.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking the injuries. What does it look like I'm doing?"
I flounder for a moment, the heat in the cave only making the burn in my cheeks worse. It makes me thankful for the darkness. "Oh," is all I manage to say after a moment.
I sit and watch silently as Cato begins to inspect his wounds, my stomach twisting with anxiety as I wait for him to notice.
He makes a move to turn to his side, a painful grunt falling from his lips. He glances down towards his stomach with a frown, inspecting the source of the pain.
I can't help but look over the injury. It's red and jagged, but it looks enormously better than it did yesterday when I finished sealing it. I'm filled with mild relief. Cato, on the other hand, looks to be filled with a mixture of emotions as he glances over the numerous small cuts and the large wound on his side. After a moment he turns to me, a smirk twitching at his lips.
"Your work?"
The heat rushes back to my cheeks, but I try to play it off. There's no reason to feel uncomfortable. I just did it to save his life, dammit. "Yeah, that was, uh… that one was the worst."
"I hope you didn't look too long," he says. "Taking advantage of me in my weakened state." And just like that my embarrassment is gone. Who knew he could joke.
I roll my eyes at him, and send him an unamused look. "Oh yeah, not looking at your chest was definitely my first priority when I was cauterizing your wound so that you didn't bleed to death."
"Cauterizing?" he asks, glancing back down at the wound. "Where the hell did you learn how to do that?"
"Strictly speaking?... I've never actually done it," I answer, my cheeks getting red again. I don't even know why I'm embarrassed this time. "I saw it done once in Twelve, after a miner cut his leg open."
"You've never done it before? And you've only seen it once?" he asks incredulously.
"Well, no, I haven't but I didn't have much of a choice. He cut open a major blood vessel. It was either that or let you bleed out."
"You're lucky you didn't set the wound on fire with no experience," he responds.
I didn't even know that could happen, so maybe I am lucky. Not that I'm about to tell him that.
"Don't you mean you're lucky?"
I close my mouth quickly, unsure of how he'll respond to my comment. He raises an eyebrow, and I think I see his lips twitch slightly, but I can't be sure. It's probably just a flicker of the fire. But then I know it's not because Cato just chuckles at my discomfort and goes back to his food. He inspects it for a moment before pulling a spoon out and eating it. Soup it is then.
The gnawing in my stomach returns, and I shift in an effort to quell to pain and the sounds. I need to get food, but I can't leave Cato here alone. He seems like he's doing better, but he was half dead no more than twelve hours ago. If he really was feeling better, we would be on the move right now.
"When was the last time you ate?"
I glance up at Cato, my brows furrowing slightly.
"Why?" I ask, briefly wondering if he can read my mind.
"Because I can hear your stomach growling over the fire. Here," he says, extending his arm out to me.
"What is it?" I ask, glancing suspiciously at the contents in his hand.
He rolls his eyes. "It's just bread."
"I'm fine," I say before I have time to think it through. I should really just take the food.
"Seriously? I didn't think you were in the habit of passing up food."
I narrow my eyes slightly, but I'm too hungry to really be offended by the comment. Besides, he's not wrong.
I get up and grab the bread from him. "Thanks," I say as I collapse back onto the ground.
I feel like I've landed in an alternate universe. Cato being nice. Us actually getting along. It's too weird. Not that I would trade it for what we had before. At least right now, I'm not afraid he's going to kill me.
"Where's my sword?" Cato asks, breaking the silence.
"You dropped it. I took it. I didn't want to accidently get stabbed," I say, only half joking.
He stares at me for a second, and then says, "Can I have it back?"
"Are you sure… I mean, are you okay?" I only ask because he can't seem to keep his eyes open for more than a couple seconds.
He grunts as he shifts to look at me and I raise an eyebrow in his direction. "Is there still an extra shirt in the backpack?" he asks. His refusal to answer my last question is answer enough. My embarrassment is a little distracting too, because I should have given him the shirt before. It's not like he was just going to wander around the arena shirtless.
"Uh, yeah." I ignore the burning in my cheeks and grab the shirt, and the sword catches my eye when I move to stand. I grab it, too, handing them both to him.
"In case any more giant spiders decide to pay us a visit," I say when he gives me a strange look. I'm serious too, because it's not like leaving him defenseless is a good idea.
"Thanks," he says.
It's just as weird the second time.
"You should get some more sleep," I say. He doesn't respond but I think that's because he's already asleep.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
So Briar decided to help him? WHAT? Is she crazy? madly in love? None of the above? Who knows...
Mely-the-Mockingjay: Mabel and Mr. Fairbain are two people who are very important to Briar, so their reactions will be shown... eventually.
FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: No, everything is not fine, but that's sort of the point of the Hunger Games (manic laughter)
SylviaHunterOfArtemis: People are dying rather quickly, but whatcha gonna do?
SecretsWithSouls00: Cato is definitely confusing. I'm sure Briar would agree with you on that one. Can't deny that he could be helpful though.
WhiteEevee: Capitol medicine is harsh, just like them. Briar did start to fall apart a little. So the question is, will she continue to spiral?
ThatGirl: Haha, well he seems okay for now, but I don't think anyone is really thinking about love at the moment.
Hope you guys enjoyed it!