1. A Letter to Katniss
The front door closes with a gentle thump as Peeta makes his way into the house. Katniss takes both the mugs of coffee, intending to meet Peeta at the counter. He walks into the kitchen, rifling through the mail he just retrieved from the mailbox. Normally, they receive almost no mail, but today is an exception. Peeta's carrying quite the stack of papers.
"That's a rare sight," Katniss comments, taking a sip of her coffee as Peeta sits down at the bar. She sets his mug of black coffee down in front of him. "And it's not even your birthday."
Peeta gives a faint smile. The amount of mail he gets from strangers on his birthday... "Don't get too excited. Most of it's from the government," Peeta says. But his finger stops on a small letter. The name written across the front gives him pause. "Wait, Katniss, there's something here for you."
He pulls the letter from the stack and holds it out to Katniss. He's so distracted by the bright pink letter beneath that he doesn't look at the return address on Katniss's letter. If he had, he might have given Katniss more preparation.
Since he didn't, Katniss almost spits out her hot mouthful of coffee when she sees who sent her this letter. Immediately, her finger slides under the flap, ripping open the envelope. She nearly gives herself a paper cut, but it's not as if she's paying attention.
With shaking fingers, Katniss removes the stationery from within the envelope. Her heart gives a slight pause. "Commander Gale Hawthorne" is written in embossed typeface across the top of the card in blue ink. Her finger brushes over the name, one that she used to say a lot, and a strange constricting feeling is sent through her chest.
She takes a deep breath and gently flips the front up to read. Written in Gale's distinctive writing is:
Dear Catnip,
You know I've never been much of a writer. I've always believed in the power of action over words. I thought words were a cowardly man's weapon, and I don't know if I've ever been more correct about anything in my life. I never deemed it necessary to be a good writer, considering I never thought it was an important skill. But now I understand the importance of words to say what my mouth cannot.
I suppose that's where I'll start. I don't know where else I would. I'll just start by getting it down on paper: I'm a coward, Katniss. I'm such a coward that I can't even look you in the eyes and say these things. I'm sitting at my desk right now, writing them to you, several years after they should've been said. I'm using a coward's weapon behind the safety of my bullet proof vest. I don't know what could be more pathetic. And for that, I'm really, honestly sorry.
That's really where I'm getting at with this. I'm sorry. I don't know if I can say it enough. I'm sorry to every corner of my black, damned soul. I'm sorry for everything. I loved Prim like my own sister- and honestly still do. And there's no doubt in my mind right now that her death was my fault. My own heartless hands created that bomb as a way to kill the enemy, and I was playing by a set of rules that knew no moral boundaries. I honestly didn't care who got in the way; I didn't care who I took down in my wake. It didn't matter. Because I'd fallen to Snow's level.
The war changed me. No, that gives me too much credit. That makes it sound like it was the war who's at fault, not me. And it is my fault after all. So, let me reword that: I changed during the war. Over all those years, I had so much anger and hate pent up against the Capitol that when I was finally given the chance to throw it all back in their faces, I didn't hold back. I went mad. I wanted them to suffer like we had. Like I said, I had sunk down to their level. I became a heartless monster, just as they wanted me to.
I lost all humanity. I didn't care what toll I took on others as long as the Capitol suffered. And I became this man. The man I've become is one I'm not proud of. So, once again, I'm sorry.
I don't think I can get down on paper how sorry I am. It's killing me, it really is, and it's not as if I don't deserve it. I'm sorry I killed Prim. I'm going to detest myself for it until the day I die. I will regret the day I helped Beetee create that design. I'm sorry it took me so long to write this letter. And I'm sorry I broke your heart. For that, I'm eternally sorry. I loved you like I've never loved anyone else, and I ruined your entire life. And like the selfish person I am, I sometimes try to convince myself that none of this is my fault, and that I can wander back into your life somehow, but that's just a dream that I ruined with my own hands. You deserve more than a person who's lost their mind (Once again, I'm giving myself too much credit. That sounds humble, pathetic, self-sacrificing). You should live a life full of love, compassion, and safety. That's something I took from you, and you can never fully gain that back.
I hope somehow you understand how ungodly sorry I am. I hope my words don't sound apathetic and uncaring on paper like this. I wish I had the courage to face you, so that your last image of me isn't a coward who wrote you a letter, but really, I deserve as much.
I hope you have a life that is full of love and security and beauty. I pray that you can be whole again like you were before we met.
Love forever and always,
Gale Hawthorne
It takes most of Katniss's willpower not to crumple the letter in her fist. But she can't unread what she's read. So instead she lets her hand creep to her mouth, holding it there.
She could hear him in that letter. It was like he was talking to her. In her head, it wasn't her own voice but his that read the words. She could imagine him, in a government uniform, sitting at a solid mahogany desk, bent over this paper, writing slowly and carefully, choosing every word with equal care. And it occurs to Katniss that she wouldn't have imagined all that if she didn't miss him.
Katniss lets out a strangled sob. Peeta drops the stack of letters he was holding and nearly upsets his coffee. He is instantly at her side, one hand on her shoulder. "Katniss, what's wrong?" he asks frantically. "Is everything all right?"
Katniss starts to shake a little. She lowers the letter, crumpling it a little, and turns around so quickly she spills some of her coffee on the tiled floor. She knocks into Peeta in her haste to get to the desk. "I need some paper."
"Katniss, what's going on?" Peeta asks, concerned.
"I have a letter to write," Katniss says in a strangled voice. "I need to write it now."
Katniss clatters around in a desperate search for a pen. In her moment of distraction, though it's an invasion of her privacy, Peeta glances at the envelope that's lying on the bar in front of him. He sees the return address, and he understands. Without another word on the matter, Peeta leaves the room.
Two Days Later...
Gale can hardly keep his eyes open. It's late, he just got out of work, and he wants nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep until morning. He stifles a yawn, taking the stairs up to his apartment two at a time. He reads the front of the letter on top of his mail stack idly, trying to give his mind something to do. Another letter from his anonymous fan girl, it appears. That'll give him a laugh in the morning when he reads it. They always do.
Gale reaches his apartment and unlocks the door without even looking at his hand. He yawns again and starts flipping through the stack of mail as he makes his way into his apartment.
Bills. Paylor. Bills. Formal request from District Four.
All important, but they can wait until morning. Stifling another yawn behind his hand, Gale is seconds from dropping the mail on the counter and falling into bed fully clothed when he reaches the last letter.
And he stops in his tracks. Actually stops. Perhaps he stopped breathing, too, because the room spins a little. There's no way this is real. He almost wants to forget that it happened and walk off to bed, blaming hallucinations on his lack of sleep, but there's that other part of him that desperately wants this to be real. He wants the letter to be from her, and he wants it to be in good spirits.
Before he really knows what he's doing, Gale has the top of the envelope ripped open. He slides the very top of the enclosed letter out of the flap and sees the edge of a piece of notebook paper. Typical Katniss.
Somehow, he finds it within himself to laugh. The momentary feeling of friendship fuels his courage, and he pulls the letter the rest of the way out. Very slowly, he unfolds the paper and takes a deep breath.
A million thoughts rush through his tired, aching head at once. What if she wrote back angrily, saying that she'll hate him forever? What if her response is insincere and hateful? God, he got his hopes up for no reason... But she wouldn't be so heartless as to write back, raise his hopes, and smash them with words of rage and never-forgive-yous. She wouldn't do that to him, would she?
Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows she might. She's capable of it.
Grief and desperation do make people do crazy things...
But Gale swallows up his doubts and tells himself she'd never write back if she didn't have something relevant to say. He lets his eyes fall on the words written in quick, hasty handwriting:
Dear Gale,
First and foremost, your letter made me realize something incredibly important that I might not have discovered otherwise: I miss you. I really, really miss having you around, Gale. When I read the letter, I could literally hear you in it. For those few seconds, I had you back- the way you were before- and it made me realize how much I really, truly missed you, Gale.
With that said, I discovered something else as a result of that. I discovered that forgiveness is a hard thing to give. It's a hard thing to give because it means you have to give up something that was once important to you in order to have something else that you love. It forces you to weigh what's more important to you. And I've never been good at that- makings choices based on emotions. You know that. I've always made decisions based strictly on survival. And forgiveness isn't a decision I can make based on survival.
But that's the other funny part about forgiveness: once you realize that you need to forgive someone, the rest just falls into place. That's what your letter did to me, Gale. It made me think like that. I just kept thinking about you, and I saw you in the back of my mind, and I thought about what made us such good friends for all those years. And I knew I needed you back. But, most importantly, I knew I needed to forgive you.
I also thought a lot about Prim while I was reading your letter. I thought I'd gotten over her death, but I realized the wound was still raw when you mentioned her name. And how long has it been since the war? A year, two, three even? The wound was still raw. It didn't occur to me until today that it's because I haven't let her go yet. I've been holding onto the guilt and pain ever since the war. It's sort of like after my dad died, and I was heading down that really scary track. It was you that pulled me out then too.
And that takes us back to you. Here's what I've discovered: In hating and blaming you, I was really just being the world's worst hypocrite. Who was I to hate you for something you had only the littlest involvement in when I did things that were much, much worse? You only designed the bomb. You didn't build it, and you sure as hell didn't authorize the dropping. The war did things to all of us, Gale, not only you. It sent me into a very dark place as well. I'm not proud of who I've become either, but I think I'm starting to figure myself out.
Anyway, forgiveness is a hard thing, but that doesn't mean it's impossible to give. So, please, know that I forgive for whatever you think I blame you for. And, also, forgive me as well. I don't want us to go the rest of our lives hating each other. I'm really sorry for everything I said and did during and after the war, but I'm mostly sorry for blaming you for something you didn't do. You deserve this apology.
I miss you so badly, Gale. Write back please?
Love always,
Katniss
PS: Who do I think I'm kidding? Obviously pen doesn't erase, so I'll just tack this on as a post script: I need to talk to you. I need to see you. Like, face to face. I want to see you again. So, please call me or something. I can't stand not seeing you any longer.
Gale's heart starts to pound so hard that he can't hear anything over it. Excitement leaks into his veins along with an emotion he hasn't truly felt in a long time— happiness. For the first time since the war, Gale Hawthorne feels happy. It fills him from his core to his extremities like wildfire.
All in a matter of seconds, Gale drops the letter and throws himself at a drawer in his kitchen. He tosses random, useless crap out of it, shoves around papers, and finds things he genuinely doesn't remember owning until, at the very bottom, he finds the tiny scrap he was looking for. A single phone number.
Gale remembers getting that letter from Plutarch after the war. He stuck this little piece of paper in the envelope. "Katniss's phone number- in case you ever want it." All the wounds were still raw then, and it killed Gale to get that in the mail. But he'd kept it because he had that awful glimmer of hope in the back of his mind that something like this would happen. And now it has.
Gale's shaking hand closes around his cellphone. For several seconds, he holds it there, just breathing. His heart is beating like a hummingbird on raw caffeine. His fingers hover over the buttons. Doubt and belief battle in his head, and, ultimately, Gale's fingers seem to move of their own accord, punching in the numbers.
When his brain registers what he's done, it fills him with a ravaging excitement that should almost be considered terror. He can feel his heart beating in his throat. Every ring makes his stomach lurch. Every second of waiting makes him give up a little more.
That's when Gale remembers the time difference between District 2 and District 12. Considering it's late at night here, it should be bright and early in—
"Hello?"
Her voice. Katniss's voice. She's tired, barely awake.
The only thing Gale finds appropriate to say is, "Catnip?"
"Gale!" she says. He can hear the smile. The happiness. The shock. Behind his closed eyes, he can see her smiling face. "The next train to District 12 is tomorrow at 2 o'clock. Can you be on it?"
His mind goes first to work. Will Paylor let him off like this? He doubts it. Less than 24 hours' notice, not a legitimate excuse, too much work piled up. And of course she'll wonder why he wants to go to District 12... And he'll tell her he's going home. He's going home to fix some things he should have mended a long time ago.
Without hesitation, Gale replies, "Of course."
A/N: I'm strangely upset with myself for making this slightly Everlark, but what can you do? As always, reviews are appreciated ;)
