This is an expansion requested by TxDorA on AO3. This reader had the amazing desire to read about how Peeta and Gale interacted with each other during the period of Catching Fire. I found myself fascinated by the exploration of this notion and I must thank this person for this excellent opportunity to delve into this previously unexplored nook in canon.
Disclaimer:The Hunger Games and all the characters in this fic are the property of Susanne Collins.
Enjoy!
It was odd entering Haymitch's home and being affronted by anything other than the revulsion-inducing stench of decay, digested-then-regurgitated meals mixed with alcohol and seldom-if-ever-washed male body odors.
The home had been the beneficiary of the Hawthorne matriarch's much needed attention for a couple of months now and the seventeen-year-old still felt somewhat astonished at the metamorphosis of the place every time he set foot in it.
"Well, you gonna stand there and gawk like an idiot, or you gonna get the heck outta my way so I can get out of these soaked through clothes and into a shower? I swear, if you make me run one more lap around this godforsaken district, I'm going to figure out at what point your psychotic mind actually let's you sleep, sneak into your house and smother you."
Releasing a genuinely amused scoff, the teenager moved away from the door to allow the middle-aged Victor access to his home, inwardly only half disbelieving the mortal threat. "Those fuzzy feelings of adoration are mutual, Haymitch."
The recovering chronic alcoholic narrowed his steel eyes in unveiled spite at the younger male; the sentiment mixed with no undo measure of exhaustion tingeing his tenor, "Why are you here, anyway? You've got your own house, ain't ya? If you're looking for company, boy are you barking up the wrong tree. 'Cause, after the little torturefest you put us through today, I'd sooner get a knife in you as continue to look at you."
He knew the chortle that escaped him at that statement would only serve to further enrage his mentor, but the blonde honestly couldn't help it. The man was hilarious when he was this ornery and the ill temper was all but omnipresent now that he was sober. All the same, he took a cautionary step away when the older man straightened into a pugnacious posture. Lifting both palms in clear sign of subordination, he blurted out in a huffed, half-laughed breath, "I'm here to speak to Hazelle a moment, Haymitch. I'll be out of your hair before you're out of your shower… promise." He punctuated the assertion with one of his most winning grins, well aware it would do nothing to appease the older man, but wagering it couldn't hurt to be congenial at the moment either.
The further narrowing of his mentor's eyes as the man ruminated his remark, had the teenager seriously considering the wisdom of coming to see his housekeeper that day. Both the older Victor and Katniss had been cursing him out by the end of their workouts already. He'd met his quota of unabashedly-allotted Seam antagonism for the day.
Thankfully, the older man didn't charge him, choosing instead to turn his head in the general direction of the staircase while hollering at the top of his lungs with no attempt to disguise his contempt, "Hazelle! Would you please be so kind as to get out here and speak to this boy so he can get his butt off my property!"
With that, he all but dragged his way up the stairs, shrugging his sweat-drenched undershirt up over his head as he ascended.
He was mid-motion in this endeavor when the person he'd been calling for appeared as if out of nowhere smack dab in his field of vision, nearly causing him a coronary infraction. "For God's sake, woman! Don't sneak up on a Victor like that! You're likely to find yourself at the bottom of these stairs the really hard way!"
Doing a far better job at maintaining aplomb than the openly guffawing teenager at the bottom of the staircase, the Seam woman simply moved past the bare-chested man, continuing her descent down the stairs. She didn't even bother turning her head as she shot back over her shoulder flippantly, "Just leave those filthy clothes anywhere, Haymitch. I'll take 'em with me when I go… have 'em back to you next week."
She received a grumbled, garbled; indiscernible sound that the blonde she was meeting figured was supposed to be an assent as her only response.
"You're really remarkable to put up with him, you know." Peeta's inflection held unmistakable admiration.
The Hawthorne matriarch waved a hand in a dismissive gesture, humor lighting the soft gray of her eyes, "I raised three boys that beat that man in the pigheadedness department by leaps- four if you count my Jasper. He was never really much of an adult, even when he was full-grown." She then took on a more serious expression, "Something on your mind you wanted to say to me?"
The baker's son couldn't narrow down what exactly it was about the fortitude in this woman's mien that ever-so-slightly frayed his usually steel resolve. But, he found himself bringing a hand up to rub the opposing arm subconsciously- a habit he'd often indulged when he was much younger and far less well-adjusted- as the right wording of his request flitted through the periphery of his mind. He wished he could find that confidence he'd had when he'd first entered the house, "Um, yeah, I was hoping you could ask your son to come out and teach us about trapping."
At the way the Seam woman's brows raised in a cross between interest and surprise, the teen quickly explained, "Look, Katniss hasn't been able to get out to the Seam in weeks because she's too exhausted from what we're doing here or just plain too beat down. I know your son's working ridiculous hours in the mines. Everyone in the mine's working obscene hours. My dad told me. She's pretty stressed and I know she misses her best friend. You heard yourself; Haymitch is a minute from murdering me. If Gale comes out, it would be a good distraction for all of us and we can gain some very useful insight from him at the same time. Everyone benefits."
Quirking one end of her lip upward, which caused a few wrinkles to appear just below her all-too-knowing gray eyes, giving her semblance an almost prescient quality, the overall effect actuality managing to rattle the teen impossibly further, the Hawthorne woman gave a noncommittal shrug to one shoulder, "I can ask. Never hurt no one to ask, right? You'll know right soon enough if he agreed." She then walked away in the direction of the kitchen, needing to get started on Haymitch's supper.
Swallowing hard while turning to make his way home, the baker's youngest couldn't help musing if it should be considered a fatal character flaw that Seam women had this uncanny ability to cow him.
It wasn't as if he slept in, but getting a knock at his door at six in the morning wasn't expected.
For that matter, no knocking at his door was really commonplace.
His brothers didn't knock. As far as he was concerned, this was their house as much as it was his, after all. And Rye was the only one of the three that had the propensity to stroll around naked, anyway.
Haymitch didn't believe in social graces, so he let himself in whenever he felt the urge to belittle someone or the yearn for human company. The few times Katniss came around, she'd let herself in, as well. He figured she'd picked up the habit from their mentor, but that was always during the day- not in the wee hours of the morning.
For this reason, he was more than a little shocked to hear the violent rapping on his door as he finished off the baking he'd been preparing to walk over to the Everdeens for their Sunday breakfast.
Quickly wiping his hands on the towel by the sink, he left his kitchen and dashed for the door. If the urgency to the way his caller was knocking was any kind of tell, there must have been some kind of emergency. His thoughts instantly turned to his pregnant sister-in-law and the rest of his family. What could have happened?
This mindset was certainly not helpful once he jerked open his front door to learn the identity of his visitor.
'Well, at least it's not someone here to tell me something awful about my family', he thought bitterly, locking icy azure eyes with the equally unyielding steel of the Seam hunter's.
"Ma said you guys might want to learn some snares and tracking as part of all the training you're doing to go back to the arena."
The unvoiced question, 'Why are you here instead of there, then?' was distinctly etched in the expected furrowing of the younger teen's brows, so he added in the same clipped tone, "Ma was really adamant that I come here first."
Expression morphing to that of resigned understanding (if there was one thing he was accustomed to dealing with, it was the manipulations of women, after all); the blonde opened the door wider in welcome to his unexpected guest. Once the older boy was inside, he closed the door and started back for his kitchen.
"You came at a good time. I'm getting breakfast ready for the Everdeens, you like banana nut bread?" The seventeen-year-old didn't look up from pulling a tray out of his oven. If he had, he'd noticed the ebony was still standing awkwardly in his foyer.
"No, thank you. I'd really just rather get started on whatever you had in mind for today…"
Huffing out a breath of frustration, Peeta sat down the tray, walking to the kitchen's threshold so the older boy could register exactly how unimpressed he was with that statement. "The only thing I had a mind to do today, Gale, was bake some breakfast for my neighbors, maybe paint some and then go see my folks. It's Sunday. I've done nothing but run, jump, climb, lift, throw and strategize all week. It was supposed to be my day off, but you're here and we're going to make the most of it. So, have some bread. If you have some problem accepting it out of that ridiculous Seam issue with charity or pride or whatever nonsense you people revere above your own proper nutrition, consider it payment for teaching us about snares. I couldn't possibly care less. If you don't want to take it because it's coming from me? Then, that's just plain stupid, because every loaf of bread you've traded for with my dad in the last eight years likely passed through my hands at some point. I'm the only one my brothers who actually liked baking it. Come have some breakfast. You need the energy. If the last five minutes is any kind of indication, it's going to be a long day."
Conflicted by whether he should capitulate to the younger teen's unflappable logic or hold firm to his admittedly, as of yet, unwarranted aversion to the boy, the Seam hunter crossed his arms across his chest. He momentarily scrutinized his would-be rival for the affections of his at-present best friend, before huffing out a resentful breath and moving toward the kitchen.
Regardless of his well-publicized stubbornness, he was not having this kid label him so much a petulant child as to deny a mere hospitality, especially after he'd obviously worded his little speech in a way that would inevitably mark him as one were he to deny. Katniss had mentioned the teenager's gift for attaining what he desired through turning a phrase in passing before, but personally being at the receiving end of said dexterity was quite the different experience from learning about it second-hand.
He'd never been a fan of being manipulated.
He made his chagrin at the situation apparent in the violence he used to pull out one of the seventeen-year-old's kitchen table chairs and all butt collapsing into it in a belligerent heap. He brought both hands up to interlock fingers on the table before him, leveling a challenging glare at his host.
Using every iota of reticence permeating his being to keep from outright rolling his eyes at the older boy at his table (he was sure that would cause him to snap and he was in no mood to explain to Katniss how he'd come to blows with her best friend), Peeta sighed in exasperation. He gracelessly placed an entire loaf along with a decanter of milk before the older teen, then turned back to finish wrapping the remaining loaves for delivery to his neighbors.
Gale stared down at the teen's offering in unabashed awe, which was almost instantly tinged with guilt. This much food could tie over his entire family for a whole day. He couldn't bring himself to touch any of it.
Momentarily lifting his eyes from his undertaking, the baker's son noted the discord of emotions warping his guest's features as he stared at the food. Not to mention, the fact that he'd yet to eat any of it. Nonchalantly going back to what he'd been doing as not to alert the older teen to his knowledge of his discomfort, he shot over his shoulder in as aloofly an inflection as he could manage, "By the way, I'll be sending you home with some of this for your brothers and sister. I don't know if they like it, but I always did when I was younger…"
The nineteen-year-old regarded the younger boy suspiciously. That wasn't conspicuous, whatsoever. The blonde really underestimated his intellect. How the kid had been able to read his thread of thought so astutely, however, was a complete mystery. And, if the offer to feed his family was genuine, that only made this boy an even further vexatious quagmire. He was finding it exceedingly difficult to maintain his initial level of animosity the longer he stayed in the younger teen's presence. He found he wasn't comfortable with that.
"Why am I here, Mellark?"
Without turning, the blonde shrugged a shoulder, stating with obvious sarcasm, "I'll be darned if I know. My guess would be that you find your mother as intimidating as the rest of us-" He was stifled abruptly by the sound of the Seam hunter's fist making vicious contact with the wooden table.
"I'm not in the mood, Peeta. Why am I here?" The threat in the nineteen-year-old's voice was evident.
Movements seizing entirely, the younger teenager turned fully to face him, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest. His countenance radiated nothing except confidence and determination, which his tenor chorused perfectly, "You're here because she needs her best friend. She needs a physical reminder that there is someone here in Twelve besides her baby sister and mother that needs her to fight her way out of that nightmare and make it back alive. Mrs. Everdeen won't be eternal and Prim will eventually grow up, fall in love and get married. That's why Katniss needs a visual reminder that there is a future for her beyond them- a future of her own. One way or another, I'm going to give my everything trying to get her back here, but if she doesn't fight to get back herself, nothing I do will matter."
Gale was not usually very talkative, but once the other boy had finished his brief dissertation, speech was completely lost to him. Did the baker's son really intend for him to lure Katniss right from under him? How could he be this magnanimous? How could anyone?
He found himself unable to hold the younger boy's stare and instead focused on the bread before him. Reaching out to tear a piece out of the loaf, he spoke with something other the open enmity for the first time since arriving, "She'll be pissed if she ever gets wind that you're trying to mess with her head like this, you know. She doesn't like being lied to."
Releasing a chortle from deep in his throat, the younger man countered, "Yeah, I can accept her being angry at me as long as she lives to register the emotion. And, as for not liking to be lied to? She can join the club… not that she's a hypocrite for complaining about me doing it to her or anything." Peeta still snickered briefly after speaking, the phrase 'poetic justice', playing prominently in the forefront of his thoughts.
The raven-haired teenager couldn't help the way one end of his lip quirked up at the other's mirth. He was finding the younger teen's easy manner almost contagious. He really wanted to dislike the kid, but was finding it a near impossibility at this point. The blonde was just so… good.
Once Gale had finished the entire loaf and pitcher of milk- he'd had no inkling he wanted to finish all that, but couldn't stop himself once he'd begun, it was just too good- Peeta cleared the table, washing the dishes in the sink. Then, they made their way over together to the Everdeen residence together, Peeta holding the baked goods for their breakfast.
As they walked the short distance, the Seam hunter broke the surprisingly comfortable silence, "Can you imagine how shocked she'll be when she sees us both standing there?"
Peeta answered in a bemused scoff, "I think she'll be more confused than shocked, actually. I don't think she's capable of understanding how we could possibly coexist without killing each other over her. She's not very good at reading people."
Upon making it to the door and knocking, the nineteen-year-old turned questioning steel eyes on the shorter teen, getting out one last question, "So you're really willing to give her up?"
The baker's son turned indelible, determined azure pools to lock with his.
"I love her, Gale. I can never give her up." He then turned back to glare at the door as they heard the sound of steps approach from the other side.
"I love her far too much to leave the odds of her surviving what's coming to the likes of her."
FIN
A/N: This turned out to be the longest reader request I've ever written (not counting Warm Welcomes and Cold Shoulders itself, of course). The concept of this simply captivated me. Once again, I apologize for the poor editing in these. They're done very fast, usually during my lunch breaks at
I hope TxDorA and all others who read this enjoyed. If you did…
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