A/N: Hello! It's been so long. I recently got a couple messages asking me to write more Galeniss, and then I watched the Mockingjay Part II trailers, and I decided I'd better just sit down and write a happy ending for my two favorites :) Might as well patch my heart up before it gets broken again by dumb reality again. Besides, we Galeniss fans need to stick together. There are so few Galeniss fics in comparison to Everlark fics that I must do my part to contribute.
This scene takes place during the bombings of District 13 in Mockingjay, right after Prim tells Katniss that President Snow will do whatever it takes to break her. I'm intending for this to be a multi chapter story, but I don't have anything more written so it might take me a while between updates. Also, i'm jumping into Katniss's head for once, which was strange, and I tried to write her as Collins wrote her in Mockingjay... I tried, anyway.
Anyway, on we go.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games. Things would've ended completely differently if I was in charge.
Whatever it takes to break you.
Sometime during the third or fourth black out, after several more bombs have been dropped, I start to dissolve away into darkness myself. Prim's words keep echoing around in my head. Break me. Break me. Break me. When my eyes are closed, I can see President's Snow's face floating in the semidarkness. He's laughing, eyes and lips as red as blood, taunting me. How clever he must feel, knowing he can blow me to bits with a bomb and cleave my heart in half too.
But the pain I experience is deeper than the grief I feel for Peeta. This incident is a reminder that Snow can take anyone away from me at any time. My pain is layered and layered, sensations stacked atop one another—the hardest, most durable of my emotions wrapped around the outside to protect what lies beneath.
My mind is sucked back to Prim's proposition.
And I must ask myself, What will break me?
To break me, Snow must reach my core. He must send an arrow deep into my flesh and wedge it in my center. He must tear the tenderness from within my heart and hold it in his own hands. There are glimmers of things that still bring me feelings of pleasantness, maybe even of joy, even now. Even here in 13. In order to break me, these things must be ripped away.
Undoubtedly, President Snow has a strong card to play with Peeta in his clutch. I feel the grief filling my stomach and throat again at the mere thought of the torture that awaits Peeta. The blood splattered on the tile, the agonized screams. I have to force those thoughts out of my head, as they cut deep into my stomach and make me shake with fear. But Peeta, Peeta, even he must know there stronger, more solid things on which my life is founded.
There are very few people in my life that touch my heart. It's a survival tactic—for me, there is no safety in numbers. Instead, I operate under the mindset that it is easiest to protect a pack that is as small and efficient as possible. My mother and Prim, thrust on me by nature, loved through my entire life. Peeta, who I had to care about out of necessity and to whom I now feel attached. These three are obligations. There is one person, though, one solitary person, who I chose.
I begin to imagine a theoretical situation in which Gale and Peeta are switched.
My terror at the mere imagination immediately drags up memories of Gale's shattered form hanging senseless at the whipping post, nightmares of a bullet in his brain, imaginings of President Snow slowly sucking the life out of him. It's more than grief that rises up inside me – it's icy cold terror. There's something final about the way it fills me. Like the way winter's last frost strangles the first brave flower buds of spring.
I slip out of my designated bunk when I absolutely can't stand it anymore. I have to move or else I'll disappear into the darkness. Prim is sound asleep with Buttercup curled up next to her, and she doesn't even stir as I leave her. It's so dark with the power out that I can't see where I'm stepping, but I keep moving anyway.
Throughout the bunker, there are a few battery-operated lanterns still on to light the way in the event of an additional emergency. People are huddled around these lights, their faces made angular and aggressive by the shadows. We were told to remain in silence even after the thunder of the first few bombs settled, but hushed conversations have broken out between bunkmates who have not yet fallen asleep.
The quiet voices hide the sounds of my feet as I make my way along the perimeter of the bunker where it is darkest. The people I walk by stare at me. They're wondering why the Mockingjay feels she is important enough to be walking around right now.
To avoid their stares, I turn my gaze upward. I can barely make out the painted numbers above the bunks.
38. 39. 40.
I keep moving, my eyes glued on the bunk numbers, and no one stops me. Someone managed to smuggle cards down here, and a group of men have begun to play card games, lying flat on their stomachs behind a row of bunks to avoid being noticed.
Finally, I find 47.
Hazelle and Posy are curled up on the top bunk. Vick and Rory are in another bed next to them. Gale's tall figure is crammed and folded into the bottom bunk. The rest of his family is asleep, or at least pretending to be, but Gale's eyes are wide open, staring into the bottom of the bunk above him. I try to be as silent as I possibly can as I kneel down next to him.
"Gale," I whisper. I'm shaking uncontrollably.
I startle him, and he sits up instantly. There's barely enough room on the bottom bunk for him to sit up straight. Without much thought, I force my way in next to him, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"Catnip?" he asks.
I don't know what to say.
"What are you doing?" he asks. He looks worried, probably because I've curled myself up into a ball and lost the ability to speak.
My brain is working overtime, trying to figure out what it is I want to say to him. The images flash across my mind again— Gale's lacerated back, the look in his eyes as he disappears into the jaws of the Capitol. I tense unconsciously.
"Hey," Gale says, sitting up straighter. He touches my arm. "Easy. Easy. What's wrong?"
"That was stupid of you," I mutter. It's the first thing to force its way out of my mouth.
Gale lets out a breath that is somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "What was?"
"Going after Prim earlier," I say. "It was incredibly stupid of you."
He sighs again, crossing his arms across his chest. "With Peeta's warning, I had time. I wasn't going to go against my instincts and come down here without checking."
Though I don't think he intends it, his words sting. I am obligated to keep Prim safe as her sister– how could I have sat still, waiting idly for her to wander in when I should have known she'd go back for that stupid cat. I try to force the feelings of self-hatred out of the way. As long as Gale is by my side, I can rely on him to think of what I let slide through. That's what hunting partners do, right? Rely on each other? But the horrors of the Games have turned my mind into a sieve. Important things are starting to slip through.
My throat tightens. I cannot let Gale slip through. I cannot let Prim slip through.
I rest my head against Gale's shoulder. "Thank you," I whisper into the cloth of his sleeve.
Gale isn't good at receiving thanks. His selflessness, he chalks up to debts he has worked up. For everything he has done for me, he has an explanation. It's always repayment for some incident long buried and taken care of. But what have I done for him lately? He loves and loves and gives and gives, and I take.
"Thank you," I repeat it again. "And I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" Gale asks quietly.
It's a good question. What exactly am I apologizing for? There are a thousand things.
"I'm just sorry," I say. I wonder if sorry begins to mean less the more I say it.
Gale leans back against the wall behind us, making it easier for me to keep my head on his shoulder. "Look, Catnip, there's no way you could have known Prim would go back to your compartment. There's a lot of shit on your mind, it's fine—"
"You could have died," I say forcefully. My heart twinges.
"Could have," he says, "but didn't."
"By sheer luck."
"By Peeta's warning," Gale clarifies. "Peeta gave us time. Without his warning, we would've all been blown up. Thank Peeta, if you want to thank anyone."
There's a second of silence. Someone lying a couple beds over coughs, breaking up the quietness.
I know why Gale brings Peeta up. Gale is proud, jealous. But he's not unreasonable. Anyone who grew up in the Seam knows to give credit where credit is due. We owe our lives to Peeta for his risk, and Gale knows that, no matter how much the two of them are at odds. Besides, I think he acknowledges Peeta for my sake. He thinks I might like him better if he elevates Peeta.
He's wrong. I like him better, anyway.
I'm surprised at how quickly the thought comes—I like him better anyway. It settles into my mind like I've already built a spot for it. And how comforting it is to have it in there. All of the sudden, in the middle of a bomb threat, in the middle of a bunker full of darkness, a moment of peace buds inside of me. I sit with my head resting on Gale's shoulder, and all I hear is his heartbeat, even and steady. I feel right; I feel safe.
"Thank you anyway," I say. I shut my eyes, and the light from the lanterns scattered about the bunker burns star-like patterns on the back of my eyelids. "For everything."
It gets a weight off my chest. I can only hope that Gale understands what I cannot express. I hope he understand that I'm sorry for all of it. Everything. All he has been through. Sorry that he was alone during the Games to take care of two starving families. Sorry that I lied. Sorry that I even pretended with Peeta. Sorry that he is thin from loving and loving and loving. Sorry that he feels so alone.
Gale breathes slowly next to me. "No problem, Catnip."
His words are scattered as another bomb drops far above us. The lanterns are flicked off, and the whole room shakes. All around us, people wake with a start and huddle in their bunks, staring at the roof, fearing it might give a sign of stress. Almost instinctively, Gale throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest.
There is silence after the initial shock, and thankfully no bombs follow.
My panic is fresh now. Suddenly, I am years and years back. People are huddled around the mine entrance. I am twelve years old, and my father's body never resurfaces from the depths. I wonder if Gale is thinking about that day, too.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I almost wonder why sirens aren't going off now. It takes me almost a minute to pull myself back to reality.
When it is silent again, and the lanterns are turned back on for light, I sit up again. Gale lifts his arm to take it from my shoulders, but I stop him. We sit side by side like we would on cold winter mornings before our Sunday hunting trips.
I break the silence with a whisper. "Prim said that Snow would do anything it takes to break me, and that's why he's doing this to Peeta."
Gale cringes, but he's back to normal a second later. "She's wise for a twelve year old," he comments.
I wrap my arms around my knees. "But I think there's something wrong with Snow's plan."
"And what's that?"
My throat is so tight with nerves that I can hardly bring myself to put my feelings into words. I've never been good at emotions in general, but this is too important to conceal. Too important to my sanity and too important to Gale's survival.
"I think… I think he chose the wrong man," I say. I'm embarrassed, wrapped up here in Gale's arms. "If he wants to break me, he chose the wrong man to torture."
I feel Gale's realization in the way he's sitting. His hand on my shoulder turns so gentle, like the flutter of a moth's wing. His tension deflates with a quiet sigh, and he turns his face to bury his lips in my hair.
He is speechless.
As if they are trying to protect Gale from having to respond, two more bombs drop above us in quick succession. We are once again dropped into complete darkness. The tension returns to Gale's grip—once again, we are five years younger, but this time we are five years less afraid because we are together.
More bombs are thundering above us. The lights are swinging back and forth throughout the bunker.
I grab the hand that Gale is resting on his leg. He takes hold of mine tightly, protectively. This is his response. This is his promise.
And here is mine. "I won't lose you," I say. My words are quick.
Gale's lips move against my forehead. "You won't."
"You have to promise me you won't get blown up," I say. After all of our years, this is still our greatest fear. The son cannot die like the father.
There's a second of silence. No bombs and no words. Gale holds my hand in his. "I promise," he says. "Anything for you."
A/N Part II: As always, thank you for reading. There was a lot of introspection up there. I know that's not the most riveting thing to read, but I couldn't find a way around it. Will be plenty of Galeniss in the future, don't worry. Please let me know what you thought of it! I really do appreciate that you read all the way down here :D
