Crippled - 74th Hunger Games fan fiction

Aftermath

"Otto..."

Closer.

"Otto..."

Closer now. So close he could feel his hot, alcohol stained breath on his skin. So close -

"Otto!"

                                                                                   ***

"Otto!"

It's Vick's voice that jolts me to consciousness. I can hear her, feel her fingers, which are gripping at mine, shaking.

"Please Otto, you have to wake up now." her voice is desperate, choking. Tear stains smear her dirty face.

"I'm awake," I mutter, forcing my eyes open. I blink, my heart thudding, and she sits back on her haunches, her breathing slowing.

"What happened?"

She swallows. "I don't know. One minute we were at the lake - the next we're here. I woke up, and you were passed out on top of me."

I take a shuddering breath, and attempt to sit up slowly.

"Yeah," I rub a hand across my face. "I remember bringing you here and then just -" I break off; freeze, fear threading through my veins.

There's a silence, and she regards me slowly.

"You had a nightmare," she whispers.

"I know," I have to look away as I feel the sharp prick of tears swimming in my eyes. She gazes at me, but doesn't enquire further. She knows.

"You saved me, Otto," she says quietly. I catch those deep, thoughtful eyes.

"I guess."

She reaches forward and hugs me. Just laps her arms around my neck, buries her head in my skin.

I don't know what to do; how to feel. I just hold her there. Her warm breath on my skin, although it's sweeter, manages to remind me of him. I want to tear apart, but then again I don't. I don't want to lose her.

Her lips  flurry in soft motion over my skin as she whispers.

"Thank you."

                                                                               ***

A parachute. It weaves, streams and spirals towards us, spinning delicatley through the soft air. I smile, and exchange a weary grin with Vixen. Our burns have calmed now although they still hurt. We managed to travel a little today and I'd wager we're a fair distance from the careers. Sunset is settling on the horizon.

"It's for us." I state the obvious, my whisper retching, splitting the elegant silence which hangs between us. I reach for the large bundle, my hands fumbling unsteadily at the cloth package. My fingers tremuously manage to unweave the knots which hold our parachute together, sending supplies sprawling onto the dancing grass. My digits follow them, stroking the grass as I gather the objects.

"Food," I murmur, satisfaction splaying my stomach. I count the fresh rolls which I collect. Ten. Five each.

Good. We only had the meagre ration peppergrass remaining.