The Capitol was perfect. Not like it used to be, filled with superficial beauty, but in a newer, cleaner way that whispered of everyone that worked so hard to build it up. The nighttime skyline glittered with lanterns, meant to remember all those who had died in the Hunger Games. The slim brunette leaning slinkily against the window sill imagined that she saw faces in the lights; the little girl she'd sung to sleep in the arena, the man who had given her the rope string she still played with when things were rough. In a lantern slung on the tallest building, she pictured a petite blonde, smiling and holding a hissing cat.
"Mrs. Mellark?" She jumped at the voice, turning away from the fantasies outside her window. Dead, she told herself. Not real. "It's time to begin the procession towards the ceremony." She smiled softly. Paylor had insisted that she and Peeta had come for the tenth anniversary of the fall of the old regime. Ten years. Ten years since she had been the Mockingjay, ten years since her husband had hated her.
"Thank-you." She liked to hear these servant's voices while they bustled around, preparing her. It was another reminder that it all was over. Gone were the days when traitors would lose their tongues.
Her hunting boots clicked against the cold, stone floor. She plucked the string on her bow absent-mindedly, imagining the forest brush beneath her feet. Despite her misgivings, she'd allowed herself to be stuffed into the costume she'd already worn for too long, in her opinion. Peeta had stiffened at the look, but she'd squeezed his hand and insisted on going through with it. She owed that to all the people that she'd watched die.
Unfamiliarly heavy footsteps vibrated through the hallway. Instinctively, she loaded her bow, stringing an arrow through it perfectly. She was back in the arena, surrounded on all sides by murderers. He heart quaked in her chest while she fought to bring herself back, but she was an animal, a predator, at that moment.
"Katniss?" Her bow clattered to the floor, and she did nothing to pick it up. Familiar grey eyes watched her fearfully, waiting for some kind of reaction. Maybe it was her, but did she detect a hint of longing in them? He had aged, stress tracing canyons across his brow, but she could recognize him in a second. The raven hair, the well-built frame. She flitted back to a memory, picturing his hunting tools in his hand. Her mouth went dry with regret as she remembered what he had become right before she left. A monster, a puppet in the game of death. The images of the petite blonde girl from before filled her vision.
"Gale," she rasped, crossing her arms.
"You haven't… You look just like you did when-before…" She winced at his voice, bracing herself for a wave of memories.
"You don't," she said bluntly. He chuckled.
"I know. I've been thinking a lot."
"Maybe too much."
"Maybe." Unspoken accusations hung in the air. He killed her, she left him, he broke her.
"Peeta told me to call you, but I didn't," she admitted. "He knows that I miss you." He raised a questioning eyebrow, and she felt an intense need to justify the admission. (She didn't know why. He killed her sister; she didn't need to justify anything to him.) "Not you. But the person you used to be. Before… all of this." It's his turn to wince when she calls him out in the things he's done. Long ago, he might have told her that he needed her, and that he regretted it, but it felt too intimate then. He only ever wanted her to be happy, and feeding her pointless could-be's wouldn't do that.
"Did you know what you were doing? What might happen when you gave them that bomb." He sighed, running a hand over his face. She fought to meet his eyes, stepping closer to him, stepping back into the past familiarity they had.
"I had an idea." He loved her too much to answer dishonestly. "I didn't know… I didn't realize it would be her."
"If it wasn't her, it would be my mother!," she spat at him. "Does it matter who it was? You became a killer!" He stopped himself from pointing out that she did too, that everyone did during the war.
"I'm sorry." He tried to steer her off the path. He can't bear to hear her scream at him. "I don't want to fight with you, Catnip." It slipped out before he could stop it, and her glare intensified. The muscles in her jaw jumped. They both know that he lost the right to call her 'Catnip' long ago. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Katniss. How's… How's Peeta?" She could see the pain etched across his face as he asked about her husband, the post he wanted so badly to fill.
"He's good. He wants a child."
"Do you?"
"I don't know. I told him I don't. I'm scared. Of the people like you." He nodded. "Who knows when something will go wrong? One mistake can lead to the worst things."
"You'd be a good mother," he whispered. "You were to Prim." She shook her head sadly.
"I've changed. I couldn't love a child like that anymore. I'm numb now, Gale. Finally. It's just me and Peeta." He cocked his head to the right.
"I don't know. People say that having a kid changes their whole perception on things." He didn't know why he wanted to side with Peeta. Maybe he just knew what it was like to disagree with Katniss, and thought he could use help? Maybe he knew that a kid really would make her happy.
"I just don't want a baby!," she snapped, turning away from her childhood friend. Reluctantly, he relented, changing the subject to the one thing that he could affect in her life.
"Do you still hunt? In the forest, I mean."
"Yes. Peeta tries to, too. But he can't." She laughed as she thought of her husband hopping through the forest, crunching every leaf and stick as he went. "He's too loud."
"So, somethings never change." She smiled at him awkwardly, cordially, for the first time since he gave her the arrow she used to kill Coin. "Don't let yourself be numb, Katniss," he says softly after a few moments of silence.
"You should have thought of that when you killed her." He didn't bother disputing the claim.
"Katniss? We've been looking for you everywhere!" Peeta poked his head around the corner, crossing the corridor to his wife. "Why haven't you come-oh." He smiled tightly at Gale, who nodded respectfully in return. Peeta's arms wrapped around Katniss' waist, taunting Gale, rubbing in his mistake. He looked away. Peeta was better for her, he knew. He whispered something in her ear, and she giggled back, taking his hand.
"Goodbye, Gale," she said one last time. He smiled and raised a hand. He'd lost his chance. She was numb to him.