Star Crossed Killers

5: The Arrival

Haymitch is lying in his own vomit as Peeta and I stand there, taking in the scene, wondering what to do. We're both greener than after dinner now, and my stomach is churning lava as Peeta and silently converse, coming to an unspoken agreement. After years of hunting together, we can practically read each other's thoughts. Peeta and I each take one of Haymitch's vomit soaked arms and bring him to his feet.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks, looking around the room vacantly. "Smells like shit." He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.

"Let's get you back to your room," says Peeta. "Clean you up a bit." Damn it Peeta, clean him up? I bite my tongue and we half-lead half-carry Haymitch back to his compartment.

We finally manage to get him into the bathtub and I turn a cold shower on. Haymitch groans in response.

"It's okay," Peeta says to me. "I'll take it from here."

"Peeta, you don't have to," I say. If I didn't know him so well, I might think he is trying to get on Haymitch's good side. To be his favorite when the games begin. But that's not Peeta. He's just trying to be chivalrous, ever the gentleman.

Peeta kisses me lightly on the cheek, keeping his vomit smeared hands far away from me. I would reprimand him for kissing me in front of Haymitch, but I have no doubt our mentor will remember absolutely none of this tomorrow.

"Good night, Katniss," he says in a sing song voice. He's teasing me. We both know I'm not staying if he's not making me.

"Good night, Peeta," I say, grateful as I scamper out of the room and into my shower, washing myself for the third time today.

The train stops as I'm getting out of the shower. Most likely picking up fuel. I look out the window and nibble on one of Mr. Mellark's cookies. I spot a patch of dandelions on the train tracks, the moon casting them in a silvery glow like a spotlight. I think back to the dandelions that made me walk up to Peeta so many moons ago.

After talking to Peeta that afternoon, my stomach was swirling with anxious energy. I was nervous to take him out to the woods, but also excited. I loved the woods, but without my father, they were too empty. Too silent.

Instead of heading straight home, I dragged Prim out to the Meadow, and as I expected, yellow flowers dotted the field. We spent all afternoon picking dandelions, and that night we finished off Peeta's bread and dandelion salad.

For the next couple days, I continued to pick flowers and herbs that grew in the meadow, but by Sunday, we were hungry again. I had told Peeta to meet me in the Meadow at dawn. I got there and he was already waiting.

"You go here often?" he asked, looking a little pale, like he was nervous.

"Haven't in a while," I replied vaguely. Peeta nodded like he understood. He wasn't stupid, so he could probably figure out what I meant, why I hadn't been hunting in "a while."

We crawled under the fence, and I tentatively led him to the hollow tree where my father's bow was hidden.

I taught him how to walk quietly, so as not to scare the animals. It took him so long to master that skill, longer than anything else I taught him, but now he's almost as silent as me. Almost.

We gathered greens and I made him perch behind a tree until a rabbit came in our path. I shot it, right through the eye. I was so proud of myself. I'd shot rabbits before, but my father had always been there the whole time, guiding me.