(Disclaimer: I don't own anything and I hate everything. Trust me, it would have been better if I quit when I said I would. Title/ subtitle combo from "Putting Holes in Happiness".)


Bury all your dead...

... up in my cemetery head

Ashes.

They stick at the back of my throat, in the pores of my skin, long after I'd spent the few minutes allotted for a shower frantically trying to throw them up and scrub them off.

I wonder if mother and Prim can feel them too, choking them days and weeks after they escaped the burning of Twelve. For me, seeing the aftermath today was enough.

(Even though I am the one supposed to be strong for both of them, aren't I?)

Now is not a good time to ask, with both of them sound asleep, Prim still unconsciously clutching Buttercup to her chest.

Only I am awake again, restless and suffocated in our tiny quarters.

I slip out of the bed and pad to the door on socked feet, careful not to disturb them.

The corridor is still cramped and underground, but at least it stretches to a distance, lit by dim emergency lamps.

I move along a row off identical doors like a ghost, until I hear a sound coming from behind, catching up to me. Startled, I dart into the nearest perpendicular corridor, and peer back around the corner.

A large figure is approaching with soundless footsteps, quietly murmuring to a bundle clasped in its arms.

I'd know the silhouette everywhere.

Gale, carrying his baby sister. She must have nightmares too.

I duck back behind the wall, and soon hear the almost imperceptible clicks of doors opening and closing, only a few compartments over from ours. The refugees from Twelve must be arranged alphabetically, with hardly any names left between the Everdeens and the Hawthornes.

Then the clicking sounds repeat once more, and my breathing quickens. I don't hear anything, but I feel his presence even before he rounds my corner.

Of course Gale noticed me here.

"Hey," he whispers.

"Hey," I murmur back, face hidden behind loose hair. "Still worried about how I'm handling it?"

Gale leans against the wall, a few feet away from me. "Shouldn't I be?"

I let out a long breath. "I can handle it," I say firmly, mostly to reassure myself, and twist my bracelet around my arm. Not like I really believed it nowadays. "I didn't mean it like that. I just… don't know what to tell you. Or how to."

"Yeah, I figured."

It used to be easy. So easy. He used to be the only person I could tell everything to, without thinking, without filtering, without pretending. And vice versa.

Where have those two people gone?

To ashes and underground.

I already miss them.

There's only one person I miss more, alive as I finally found out today, but beyond reach.

Until I can help him, I have to make do with what I got.

I finally look up, at Gale. Only one half of his face is really visible in the dim glow, the one with the burn mark from Twelve still fresh and angry. Suddenly, I'm torn between wanting to run my fingers over it, and wanting to run far away from the reminder.

"I haven't asked you either," I say softly. "Or Prim and mom."

"You've been through your own hell, Katniss. You don't have to handle everything." Gale runs his hand through his hair, messing it even more. It's getting longer, a few black strands fall forward to shadow the burn scar. For a moment, I'm glad he hadn't gotten the buzzcut most men from Thirteen and even our refugees-turned-soldiers seem to have. He looks more like I remember him, like my boy from the woods. He's no longer wearing the sling I'd seen on the hovercraft, but his arm still moves stiffly. The Capitol has touched all of us, imprinted us with pain.

"But still…"

"They'll manage. And I'm sure they wouldn't want you to worry about them on top of everything else. We survived. Unlike so many… You've seen it yourself now. Damn it." He shakes his head roughly. "Maybe I could have reached more people if I ran just a bit faster, figured out what they are gonna do just a bit sooner… Maybe if I'd managed to gather more people, they'd have spotted us through the smoke and blasted everyone. I'll never know. It's not like I'll ever stop thinking about it." He turns away, leaning back and lightly knocking his head against the wall. "Not helping, am I? Sorry."

A shiver runs through me, even though the air is still and kept at the same lukewarm temperature. I almost wish I hadn't brought it up. Almost wish I could still let him tell me everything he wants, share the weight and share my own burdens in return. But my mind feels like a lake covered with thin ice, I'm barely sliding on the surface as it is. One fall, and everything would collapse into prickling shards and drag me down.

Standing too long in one place is not safe either, so I stumble on.

"It's not your fault," I say, automatically. It isn't, of course it isn't. But now I know he'll never really believe it, just like I would never believe the attack wasn't mine. "At least you got them out." The shiver grows stronger and I ball my hands into fists. "I didn't get Peeta out of the Arena. Nobody did. You know that's what I wanted, right?"

He turns back to face me. "Couldn't unsee that, Catnip. I get it's horrible for you, though. If I could-"

I grit my teeth and cut across him. "You have no idea! You weren't there, you can't know how-"

"Absolutely not. Not like a person I care about a whole damn lot was taken to the Capitol, and I couldn't get her out and help her, and just had to look at what they were doing to her on a screen. Twice." He started whisper-shouting, but his voice breaks by the end, the last word barely a breath.

"Oh." Most of my anger trickles out with the sigh. I have tried reversing our positions in my head once, but not like this. Maybe he had felt the same, the same urge to scrunch the distance in his fists until it disappears, to reach me, to help me, to get me out, just like I'd want to do now to save Peeta. But I can't help him, he is alone and I'm not, do I even deserve still having someone who understands?

Peeta would say I do, but I'm not so sure.

Gale inches closer and makes an odd movement with his hands, aimless and desperate, as if he wanted to reach for me but thought better of it. "I thought you were dead, Catnip," he says very softly, and rams his hands into his pockets. "When the screen went black. And then they blasted everything, and it was all I could do to make sure the survivors make it a few more days, but not like I could stop thinking about you, not for a second. And then the hovercrafts from Thirteen came to get us, and thenyou were there, alive, and it was like a fucking miracle. And I know they've hurt you too much and that you want him back more than anything, but I'm not going to tell you I'm not glad they got you out. I don't know, maybe I'm totally wrong and you think about it differently by now, but I know how it is to want to help someone you can't reach."

I've crossed my arms across my stomach and I'm hugging myself, tightly, but it's not enough. Gale pauses and eyes me warily, like he doesn't know how to approach me anymore. I don't know myself, but I'm somehow relieved. It's not exactly the same, it can't possibly be, but I don't have anything to try and fail to explain after all.

"I know I can't tell you to let me help you deal," he continues, "but I'm still here for you, okay?"

"I… I'm glad you are." The words are out before I can stop them, and ring hollow but true. Getting Gale back is still a good thing, better than I could have hoped for. He bites his lip like he'd said to much, or wanted to prevent himself to say something more, but keeps looking into my eyes, trying to read how I really feel.

I hold his gaze. His eyes hold little more than sadness that equals my own, but it's still comforting to see a living, understanding reflection. A spark in the field of ashes that is our home now; in the ashes that covered everything we've ever known, our former selves included.

I still have Gale by my side. Anything else would be… unthinkable. Desperately, I reach for whatever is left of us.

The step forward feels like betrayal but I take it, aching for contact, for a refuge from the aching loneliness. Warm hands and strong heartbeat. When I close my eyes, how different can it be?

I rise onto tiptoes to hide my face in the crook of his neck, nudging his unbuttoned collar aside with my nose to breathe him in. Gale's arms come up to cradle my head and lower back, pressing my whole body against his.

The feeling is still familiar, both painfully and pleasantly so, and I welcome the reminder that my body is still alive, that my mind can still find a little comfort.

Perhaps not enough to block out everything that we've done, what has been done to us, what we'll still have to do before this war is through with us, but enough for now.

I'm still full of icy fear, but I bury myself in his embrace and breathe.