#ah133

It was morning and the dew sat heavy in the grass. March was like this in Twelve; it came in fits and starts, dumping rain and snow with short periods of sun, a preview of what was to come, if they were lucky -- a temperate spring, a mild summer. But the people of Twelve were often not lucky, and the route Slate was taking Cress to the Hob this morning showed that more than anything he could have said or written or even photographs. He was seeing his home in a new light, and it was not a pretty one. Falling-down shacks, houses that were crammed with people, kids spilling out the doors onto the porches, the sound of a baby crying that seemed to echo through the valley. The trees caught the sound, the hills screamed it back.

"Guess that used to be me," Slate said, nodding towards the house the crying was coming from. "Around here families kind of melt into each other. You know, you do what you can for your own, and if you have any left over, you give a little bit to the neighbors. People look harsh, but they're good."

He liked her room much better than his hotel room, but he still didn't dare stay over. It certainly wasn't because of the room. Was it maybe the house? The other people in the house? The neighbourhood? No, none of that rang true. The problem--as it always had been--was himself, how he constantly felt like he was intruding on something private and hallowed, even though the Odairs had been nothing but warm and welcoming. The way they functioned as a family was foreign to him, so far removed from what he learnt from his own, from what he was used to, that he couldn't help feeling like he didn't belong even just for the duration of his short stay. There was so much love in the house. He hardly knew how to contextualise it.

So, he didn't dare stay over, but he spent every minute he could with her, and this afternoon found him in her room once again. They had just returned from the beach, his skin still felt warm from the sun--or was it just from her presence? The sound of the twins laughing from the porch filtered in through the open windows. It reminded him of his own brothers, of how he would never hear one of them laugh again, of how the other hadn't been laughing very much at all lately.

There was so much love in the house. He hardly knew how to be around it.

He caught himself eventually, realising that he had been sitting there on her bed staring off at a spot on the ceiling for--well, he didn't know for how long. Silently, his arm reached out to her, wanting to pull her closer.

He wanted to go inside already but he couldn't. His nerves were beginning to get bad and his hands trembled with anxiety. He wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to see his brother laying in a casket. So instead of going inside, Mason leaned against the wall outside and took in a few deep breaths, trying to keep himself calm.

She had told Cade where to meet her and when to discuss the details of the 'thing.' She didn't consider it to be stealing or like some kind of heist. It was a rightful reclamation of property, assisted by an unwilling but well-paid ally. Or what she hoped would be an ally. She had already ordered large portions of food from the restaurant, not caring about money in the least, now that was a railroad mogul on top of a Victor. Money was not an object to her, but it was to Cade, and the least she could do was feed him well. "It's good to see you," she said when Cade approached the table, and she actually meant it, if only from relief that he'd shown up.

"You feeling scared?" Slate asked, a bit abruptly. They were walking along a dirt road, heading back to their home base after getting some food and speaking with some locals in the nearest settlement. He had been thinking a lot about his and Cat's conversation about fear. It had him unsettled still. He felt more scared out here than he had before, in the Capitol or in Twelve, but he didn't know if he was feeling enough fear, or if he felt it correctly. He also felt proud and excited -- was that right?

"It really is a beautiful night in Free Eleven," Slate said, leaning back against the edge of the bed as Nano put away the radio equipment. They'd grown a lot more comfortable out here as the weeks had gone on. They were staying in a house with a woman whose children had been killed by Peacekeepers, whose husband had died of a heart condition, and who was now a Vox sympathizer. She'd let them set up the radio stuff for a few days, though they moved around consistently.

"When do you want to head out, go to the Cache family compound, I mean house?" They'd been talking about it for a few days, needed to nail down exactly when they'd try to find transport out of the district.

District Eleven was good. It was filled with complicated people and complicated things, and the smoke in the air troubled him, wondering if they were doing the right thing with all of this -- but it was mostly good. He and Alder were riding in the back of a truck together at the moment, headed across the border so that Alder could go back to Seven for a bit and Slate could visit Twelve. They'd part ways at the next town, but for now, they were sitting amongst a bunch of burlap sacks, waiting for the Peacekeepers to stop them -- which hopefully wouldn't happen on this route -- and search the truck, at which point he and Alder would hide under the sacks. It wasn't perfect, but the drivers had guns. If anything happened, hopefully they'd be quicker draws than the Peacekeepers.

"Kind of peaceful if you don't think about the imminent fear of arrest," he said.