THG: CF: Nights on the Train: District 11

Everything is tense after we've been drug back on the train by the Peacekeepers who were angry that we got away from them and hid to have our secret conversation. Katniss is still shaky and upset. Effie is seething—not only at our mistreatment but at the fact that our itinerary has been thrown to the wind. Haymitch, of course, goes straight to the liquor. He starts to pour a glass but then just drinks from the bottle. Katniss tuts at him.
“Don't start with me, sweetheart,” he retorts.
“I'm sorry,” she says, turning to me, “I really am.”
“This is exactly what I was talking about, or trying to talk about,” I point out, “If we could ever have talked.”
“I've told you talking isn't something I'm good at,” she retorts.
“Clearly!”
“Come on, come on,” Effie waves her hands between us, “Let's just all calm down.”
She is the unfortunate recipient of three different types of angry look.
She smooths herself down, “Obviously we're not going to get to eat the meal that was scheduled, maybe we should go to the dining car and sort out what we're going to do in ten tomorrow to prevent this happening again. Might I suggest just reading the cards?” She offers, “I mean it's not to say that wasn't a lovely thing that you said, Peeta, I just--”
“No, Effie, I know. Certain things have been made much clearer to me. I apologize for going off script.”
“It's alright,” she walks over, I've no idea how she manages to do this so well in the heels she wears, and takes my hands, “It was very eloquent, and you meant well.”
“Let's just drop it,” Haymitch says, “What's done is done.”
“I didn't mean for it to happen,” Katniss repeats. Her voice is damp.
“We've been over this already, sweetheart,” Haymitch says, but he has softer edges now, “Let's not hash it out again. Everyone knows what's at stake now. Effie's right, and you know how often I agree with her so make the most of it. We should get to the food.”
“I'm not hungry,” she mutters, and disappears towards her room.
Effie starts to say something but Haymitch waves his hand at her and she makes a “hum” noise and then messes with the back of her wig instead.
“It's okay, Effie,” I say, “Let's just give her a half hour or so then I'll take her something.”

I knock on her door with my head, given I'm holding a tray and trying to balance on one foot or the other proved tricky. It had taken long enough to argue against one of the attendants coming with me I don't need to show they were right and spill everything everywhere.
“What?” Katniss asks, it's confusion more than anything else—the noise must sound really odd.
“It's me,” I tell her, “I bring food.”
“I'm not hungry. I said that earlier.”
“It'll keep. Please?”
She opens the door and then steps to the side to let me in. She hasn't changed out of the outfit that she was wearing in eleven. Her hair is still loose about her shoulders but she looks more rumpled. She's thrown a few things about the room but it's more half-hearted than I would have expected from her. I set the tray down on the desk that's right by the door.
“It's mostly fruit,” I tell her, “Though there is a sandwich and some soup,” I point to the two items that are in covered bowls, “in case you are actually hungry and just being stubborn.”
She sits down on the edge of her bed, “I...just don't know if I can actually eat,” she says, looking at the wall on the opposite side of the room. Then she looks at the floor, “I keep seeing that man and there were those other shots, what if Rue's family..?”
“It's not our fault,” I tell her, trying to convince myself as I say the words, leaning against the desk, “The Peacekeepers are the ones who shot him and it doesn't do any good to wonder...”
“I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about Snow,” she says, leaning forward.
“And I'm sorry I've been so angry with you,” I tell her.
“You have every right,” she shakes her head, leaning back, “I'm despicable.”
I cross the room and sit down next to her, “No, you're not.”
“I am,” she looks away, “I can't...” she shakes her head again, “You were right about it all. That's what made it worse. You're right to be mad. You were right. I should talk. We do need to talk about things. I just...I don't know how. You're so nice and I've been so awful to you. I hate myself, but I just...I don't know how to do it. This is more than 'what's your favorite color?', Peeta. I know that. I just...” she sighs, “I'm repeating myself.”
“It's okay,” I tell her, “and I'm sorry if I've been pushing you in any way.”
“I need pushing,” she says, “I'm stubborn like you say. I know it. I...” she puts her hands to her head and runs them backwards and forwards across her scalp, “want to be...I don't know how this works.”
“It's okay,” I say again, “You can do this. You survived the Hunger Games you can survive making friends.”
She laughs, “So you say, but you have no proof. I mean it's started with questions about colors, what next foods?”
“That would be a start.”
She shakes her head, “I did like that lamb stew we got.”
“I knew that already.”
“I know...” she sighs. She gets up and goes to the desk pulls out the chair, sits down and starts examining the food that I brought. She dips the sandwich into the soup and takes a bite, “I told you I'm no good at this.”
“Well, then, ask me things,” I tell her, “I'll show you how painless it is.”
“Oh, really?” Her eyes glint then, “You shouldn't say things like that.”
“I said it earlier, Katniss. We need to know each other. We need to be able to be friends. At least if we're friends we'll have some sort of positive rapport on camera. It'll help, especially with what's at stake. I don't want to put your family at risk.”
“What about your family?” she asks.
“Of course, I don't want to put them at risk, either.” That's complicated though, some times...
“I thought you said this was painless,” she teases.
I pull myself back a little way onto the bed, “Then ask your questions, milady.”
She pops a grape into her mouth and muses for a moment, “When you talked about what your mother said--”
“You really are going for it, aren't you?”
“You brought this on yourself, Baker's Boy.”
“Fair point,” I bow to her slightly, “Do continue.”
She eats another grape, “What did you like most in school?”
“I thought you were aski--”
“I can change my mind. I'm the questioner,” she goes back to the sandwich and soup, “So, what did you like most in school?”
“Being outside,” I answer, “We could run around.”
She laughs, “Somehow I thought you would have liked school more.”
“I didn't say that I didn't like school as far as the work part. I just liked being outside more. There was so much more color than in the drab classrooms, and we were in the fresh air. We could run around.”
“But not the woods?”
“I don't know the woods the way you do. They've always been full of danger for me, and I think we've established it's not the place for me as far as being able to hunt, which is the main reason to go out there.”
“I was so terrible to you...”
“You're fleet of foot. I am not and it wasn't helping.”
“You were hurt!” she shakes her head, “You couldn't help it.”
“I don't think it would have mattered. I've never had reason to learn. You don't have to learn to be quiet hauling hundred pound sacks around a bakery, and now...now I don't know that I'll ever have the ability.”
“Well, you don't have to worry there,” she says, softly, “We don't have to sneak through any woods on the Victory Tour. Everything's out in the open,” then she comes back over and sits next to me on the bed. She puts her hand cautiously onto my left knee, “and...” she says, as though something might bite her, “this is the other reason I...I had such a hard time. I...I feel so guilty. I cost you, your leg. It's my fault.”
“Katniss...”
She looks away again.
“No, come on.” I can't help but laugh a little and that does make her turn back though she has an angry look on her face again.
“I'm being serious!”
“I know you are,” I point out, “I just...that's part of why I got so frustrated about the whole bread thing and things blew up on that day, because here you were constantly going on about the bread and me dropping food off and things like you owed me for the food and here I was bringing those things because they were some tiny, tiny way that I could possibly hope to repay you for the fact that I'm alive. I'm alive, Katniss. Like I said in that interview the leg is a small price to be alive. It has it's moments of frustration, but there is no way I could ever be angry about that, so please don't feel guilty, okay?”
She gets up abruptly, turning away and looking towards the window covered in shades, “Please go.”
“I...”
“Just go, okay? I'm tired. I want to sleep.”
I find it hard not to sigh at that. I thought things were going well and now she's effectively pushing me out of the room, I want to protest, to angrily point out that this is exactly the opposite of what we're supposed to be doing but as I close the door she turns towards the bed and I see that she's crying and I realize that's why she wants me to leave. So, I just say, “I'll see you at breakfast,” and close the door.
“Thanks,” she answers, “Good night.”