001. Evidence
She hadn't been expecting to find Gale sitting at her kitchen table when she slipped quietly through the door. "Where you been, Katnip?" his voice was rough, the low rumble he gets whenever he's tired.
"I was visiting Haymitch. Got late, fell asleep on his couch for a bit." She paused to study the boy. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to see how you were doing, maybe ask if you wanted to go hunting."
"At this hour?" She pulled her coat from her shoulders and hung it on the hook beside the door before moving to join him at the table.
"Well there were still a few hours of daylight left when I dropped by."
Oh. She cringed, "Sorry, Gale. I just went to give Haymitch something and I guess I lost track of the time. He's got that irritating habit of making me forget why I ever went over in the first place."
"I noticed." His voice was cold as he stood from the table.
"Gale! Wait," she called. "Where are you going? I'm sorry!"
"Y'know, Katnip," he nodded towards her, "you really shouldn't let your boyfriend leave such a telling mark on you. Especially if you two are still trying to convince everyone that you're madly in love with the baker boy."
Her hand shot to her neck as he ducked out the door without another word.
Oh. Right. She knew there was a reason she'd thrown her coat on for the short walk across the street. She rubbed the bite mark lightly, in thought. She was going to kill Haymitch tomorrow.
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002. I'm Here
It's late when she slips through the door and into his front hall. The house is quiet save for a soft... something... that occasionally breaks the stillness. It's not really a whimper or a moan or a sob. And yet it's just as much all three as it is none of them.
She silently picks her way through the messy house towards the source of the sound. She tries not to think about how well she knows the lay of the trash at this point.
The house is dark and she can barely make out his rumpled form on the couch. He doesn't stir as she approaches, or even as she coaxes the knife from his tight grip. It's when she's slipping the empty bottle from the loose fingers of his other hand, that he finally stirs.
Gray eyes meet gray eyes. She slides the bottle the rest of the way out of his grip, but his hand tightens at the last minute. "It's empty," she whispers softly. "Let me get you another one."
"No." His free hand reaches out for her arm and she goes to him. And then they're nothing but an entanglement of limbs on a couch. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. Prim was having a bad night." the 'too' at the end goes unspoken, even though they both hear it.
His hand is moving slowly up and down her back, as if to remind himself he's not alone. She accepts it and watches his face from her position on his chest. His own eyes are staring into the darkness above him. "I'm here now," she whispers. "I'm here."
Sometimes they do this. This weird thing. She needs him during the day. He needs her at night. Sometimes she needs his steady presence to remind her to keep on. Sometimes he needs her silent company to remind him he's not alone. Not anymore, at least. It's something he's still getting used to. "I'm here," she whispers one last time before they both slip silently from consciousness.
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003.1 Funeral
It wasn't anything special. Not by any standards. She'd never really gotten a chance to properly deal with anything since the fallout. And after a month of being back in 12, and her never leaving her house, he decided it was time to step up once again and save the girl.
They stood on a grassy knoll just outside the old fence, he a few paces behind her. He watched as the gentle spring breeze blew her bangs around her face. She was staring fixedly at the old doll in her hands, fingers tracing the the pattern on it's cloth dress gently. He shifted his hips and leaned more heavily on the shovel at his side, pulling his light coat up against the creeping fingers of winter that had yet to relinquish it's grip.
Eventually she lowered the doll into the small hole he'd dug, placing her gently on the bed of flowers they'd collected. Turning to him, her gray eyes met his silently, she was ready. Digging the matches out of his pocket with a soft sigh, he approached her. She watched quietly as he lit a match and lowered it into the pit.
Her eyes didn't leave the scene until the last ember had faded slowly from existence. It was darker now. Somewhere along the line dusk had settled in. They walked back the village in silence, were about halfway home when she spoke. "She never got to see it," her voice was soft. "What?" he asked after it was apparent she wasn't going to elaborate. "What she was fighting for," she turned to him. "Peace." He blinked at her, there wasn't much else to do, and drew her into his side with an arm around her shoulder.
He didn't have any words of comfort to add, because what could he say anyway? He of all people knew that talk was cheap when it came to losing all the family you had. As she leaned into his embrace though, he wondered if maybe they hadn't lost all the family they had.
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003.2 Funeral
The crown was placed delicately on her head as she stared with dead eyes into the screaming faces. No, not dead. Not yet. Shell-shocked. A dull haze that only he could see as her gray eyes swept across the sea of faces before her. Before landing on his. He never intended to hold it, but once her gaze met his he found he couldn't possibly look away. Not now. Not yet. She still needed him. And the hardest part was only beginning.
The shell-shocked look faded into a dull confusion. They're on the train now. Headed home. She hasn't met his eye since the crowning. Sat through all the interviews in a daze. This is the first time she's had any chance to actually sit and think since she "won".
Because it's not winning, is it? Not really. It's more like losing if you really think about it. But no does until they've "won". Until they realize that now they have to live with the memories and the punishments. Because there are punishments for being the winner. Just ask him or Finnick, or Johanna or Cashmere, or any other number of the lucky "winners". He wonders how long it'll take for the punishments to start for her.
He had gone back to his room. Preferring to drink in peace now that the Games were over and he needn't be sober anymore. It was dark when wandered back out into the main cart. He wasn't surprised to find her still staring blankly out the window. Wasn't sure she'd even moved since he'd confined himself to his room several hours ago. He refilled the empty glass and, grabbing the rest of the bottle, ventured over to where she was sitting.
The confusion had faded from her eyes. In it's place, a soft sadness. She barely acknowledged him when he joined her, and they sat in silence for awhile.
"I killed him." Her voice was soft, rough with disuse. She hadn't actually killed him. Not really. But once you step out of the arena as the last living soul, you know you've killed them all. You know all that blood is on your hands. Another punishment for being the "winner".
He wordlessly offered her the glass. He had no words of comfort. There were none. He knew this much from experience. Her fingers curled around it, but she didn't bring it to her lips. "How do you live with it?"
He felt a wry smile pull at his lips, "you don't."
Because you didn't really, and as he watched the last bit of sadness give way, he knew she understood. Her dead eyes met his before she brought the glass to her lips.
All the real winners die in the arena. While the ones who lose were propped up like heroes, paraded around like kings and queens, dead only on the inside.
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004. Puppy Love
He's seen her around town before, making trades in the Hob, dragging her haul from door to door of her regular customers. He noticed the older boy who trailed sullenly behind her. They never smiled. But they were Seam kids, what was there to smile about? He watched as the boy fell slowly in love with the girl and the girl continued on, oblivious.
Once he caught the youngest baker's boy watching forlornly as she ducked across the road, headed for the field and fence that mark her freedom.
He watched silently as both boys' faces crumbled when she bravely made her way to the stage in place of her sister.
And he didn't remember any of this until after he'd dragged her through the Games, returned her home safe and sound and to the best of his abilities, and then watched her meet one boy's eyes while grasping the other's hand.
She was going to make this as difficult as possible, wasn't she?
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005. Gloves
They're Cinna's, She lied. Because she knew deep down he hated the man just as much as he hated the boy. Gale never could accept that sometimes he just wasn't what she needed.
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006. Blackboard
He caught her standing outside the school one day, lost in her thoughts. No doubt thinking about how it was just barely a year ago when she was in there with them.
He remembers what it was like, coming back afterwards. He didn't miss any of it, his old life, not after they took everything away from him. He couldn't think about going back after that. He couldn't think about anything that happened before the Games. It was too painful. So they were thoughts he only invited in when he was lost between the blur of the alcohol and unconsciousness.
She shook herself from her thoughts, spying him as she turned to continue her journey to wherever. Slowing her pace, she waited for him to fall into step with her.
"Thinking about the good ol' days?" His voice came out softer than he intended and she merely smiled. They continued their walk in silence. They paused outside the Hob and he took a moment to study her. "You ever miss it?" She seemed to think it over for a moment before meeting his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.
"Nah," she moved past him, preparing to slip into the old building. "One grumpy old teacher is more than enough for me."
He couldn't help letting out a soft chuckle before following her inside, "y'know, teachers' attitudes are usually reflective of their students."
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007. Muse
He knew he had something special the moment she nearly pinned his hand to the table. It was only an inkling idea then, a maybe we can win this one. maybe I can save this one.
When she put those berries in her mouth, full well knowing the Capitol would have to call her bluff, he knew what he had to do. for her. for them. for us.
And when he pulled her out of the second arena, fire and retribution licking at their heels, he knew she would be resistant. I've used you no differently than them, please forgive me.
But when she looked him in the eye and said, voice strong and steady, I'm going to be the Mockingjay, he knew his work was not in vain.
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008. Magic
They fell apart after returning to District 12. Broken into a million pieces. Shattered on the floor. The days went by in a blur, neither of them seemed to take any notice.
And then their light came home. And suddenly the days slowed down. Shifted into focus. Slowly filled the cracks.
"Do you remember they way we were?" She asks him one night. The second half goes unspoken. Before Peeta came back. They're sitting in his kitchen, the boy still at the bakery, perhaps already on his way home. He'll know where to find her, them, when he returns home to an empty house. Or maybe he already knows. He was good at understanding them like that.
He smiles wryly, toying with the empty glass before him. A mess, he thinks. Instead he simply says, "yeah."
"How did he ever manage..." she pauses, staring at her own glass. "to fix us?"
He's stronger than both me and you, he thinks. Instead he just says, "Magic."
Because maybe it was.
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009. Clean
They demanded he stop drinking when he first met them. And so he did.
She demanded his home be kept neat. And so it was.
And when he stopped by one night on a whim and found her passed out in a pile of trash and vomit he pulled himself together long enough to bathe her and move her to the bed.
Because it was their duty to keep each other clean.
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010. Secret
"You and me. That's who he plans on coming home," She says as they sit at his table.
"Well, then the joke's on him," he replies.
But it's not entirely true. Because he doesn't plan on saving the boy. Not if it means losing her. He'll do all in his power to get them all out of this alive, but what he can't tell her, not yet, is that the joke's on her.
Because she's who he plans on coming home. Even if he and the boy don't.
