BEFORE
The day is bright and cool when I rise from my bed, dressing and slipping quietly from our little house so as not to wake my family. The street is filled with men and women off to start the morning shift in the coal mines . I nod to a few of them in greeting, knowing that I'm looking into the eyes of my own reflection if I make it through my last reaping. It is only days away now, looming on the horizon like a gathering storm. Two futures lay ahead of me, and one only marginally more desirable than the other.
The fence is silent as it usually is, void of the hum of electricity that indicates it is live. Pushing the wire up, I slide through the loose section, brushing the dirt off my clothes on the other side. I retrieve my bow from its hiding spot and continue up the hill to our place, grabbing a handful of berries from the surrounding bushes before settling in to wait for Katniss.
From my perch on the rock ledge I see her as soon as she breaks the tree line just a few minutes later. Her braid isn't visible but I know it's there, tucked up under that hunting cap, and her bow is clenched in her small hand like it's a part of her.
"Hey, Catnip," I greet her with a grin as she comes up over the hill.
"Hi Gale." The frown that normally creases her brow disappears behind a smile as wide as my own. I love her smile, all the more because I'm one of the only few people who ever gets to see it. She hops up to sit on the rock beside me, balancing her bow in her lap.
"What do you want to do today?" I ask her, dropping some of the berries into her cupped hand.
With her free hand she caresses the wood of her bow, worn smooth where her fingers wrap around it. She squints her eyes against the sun, looking up at the trees, gaging the wind. She's restless, eager, and I know what she'll suggest even before she speaks. "Let's hunt."
My grin widens and I scoop my own bow off the rock beside me. "I was hoping you'd say that."
We pad soundlessly through the woods, not speaking, comfortable in the easy silence we find together. It's easy out here, free, the only place we can be ourselves. We move like two parts of the same machine, scanning the trees and the ground automatically, each never interfering with the other.
Suddenly Katniss stops, poised like a cat that's sighted its prey. I can't see what she's seen so I pause too, watching her, so as not to alert whatever it is to our presence. She slides an arrow out of her quiver with practiced, easy movements, as if she were born with her bow in her hand. When she draws, the string grazes her lip in a way that is almost sensual as she sights along the shaft of the arrow. I watch her small breasts rise and fall with her slow, even breaths, admire the recoil of her arm and the arch of her back as she releases. A smile touches her lips when she sees the arrow hit her target, and I feel my own mouth unconsciously mirror hers.
I never used to feel this way about her. When we met, she was just a surly little girl with skinny arms in her daddy's jacket. Why would I pay any attention to her at all?
There are plenty of pretty girls in Twelve, girls with smooth, soft skin that flushes under my fingers, corn silk hair, warm, rounded breasts and full, curving hips. Merchant girls who pretend to be proper but are really anything but, and Seam girls who eye me with hungry eyes, girls that I've taken to the slag heap and that I've flirted with and that I've had every which way from Sunday.
Katniss is different. There aren't any girls like her. She's not pretty, at least not in the way that those other girls are, not soft or delicate or feminine. She's hard and strong and tough, with small breasts and narrow hips. She rarely smiles, and never outside the woods, and she doesn't flirt. But one day a few months ago, it hit me that despite all that, she's still the only one I really want.
I can't believe it took me so long to notice, or maybe to realize that I was noticing. But now that I have, I can't stop.
She moves forward to check her kill and I follow. She's taken down a nice big rabbit, the head of the arrow sunk deep into its eye. A perfect shot, none of the meat spoiled. I'm pretty good, but nothing like that. I'll be the first to admit it; she kicks my ass at hunting.
"Nice one," I comment, and she grins, yanking the arrow from the kill and cleaning it on some moss.
She stuffs the rabbit into her game bag and we move on. We bag a couple more squirrels, and our snares turn up a couple more rabbits. "Pretty good take," she comments as we split up the haul. "We should be able to make some good trades and still stock up. Just in case."
Just in case. In case one- or both- of us is reaped. My smile twists into a grimace. "Good plan. Wouldn't want to leave our families with nothing if the Capitol kills us off," I retort.
Katniss shoots me a sideways glance. "I don't know why you bother," she says, meaning my bitterness. I know she thinks my raging about the Capitol is pointless, but I can't help it. I hate them. Besides, who knows what I might blurt out in public if I didn't have the chance to let off steam in the woods? Wouldn't want any of the Peacekeepers to hear the things I have to say, oh no... Better to let it out here in the woods , where there's no one to hear me but Katniss and the birds.
"I can't believe that you of all people don't understand," I throw back at her.
"I do," she insists. "I just think you're wasting your breath. There's nothing we can do about it besides try to stay alive."
There are some things we could do, run away, for instance. I wonder what it would be like, just her and me, alone in the woods, free to just be whatever we want. I think about that all the time, even though I know it's not possible. When I'm alone, I think about it altogether too much.
I sigh. "Let's just go."
We stash our gear and slide under the fence, Katniss' lithe form passing much more easily than mine under the gap. On the other side, she looks up at me, and I feel a flash of heat as her eyes meet mine. I wish, not for the first time, that I could take her in my arms and feel her taut little body against me, her lips on mine. Every day that we get closer to the reaping, I think about telling her how I feel. Maybe after, when I'm not feeling the pressure of the Capitol's axe pressing against my throat. Who knows what will happen? Both of our names are in the pot so many times, with all the tesserae we've had to take.
I wonder if she's ever thought of me that way before, if she's thought about what it would be like to run away together; to be more than just hunting partners, like I have. Probably not. She's so oblivious, and never thinks about anything that's not going to help her make it to her next meal. It's one of the things I like about her, just one more thing that sets her apart from those other girls.
Either way, I've missed my chance; her smile is already gone. The tension is back in her limbs and her face is closed off and guarded once more. Back to the real world.
We make our rounds in the Hob, trading for as much as we can while still saving a good portion of our take for ourselves. We've got some salt saved at home that we traded for the last time we took down a deer, and I'm hoping we can salt and dry some of the meat so that it'll last longer. Again, just in case.
We walk together back home to the Seam in silence. When we reach her house, she turns away to go up the front steps without a second glance. "Bye Gale," she says over her shoulder. "Say hi to Hazelle for me."
"See you tomorrow, Catnip," I answer. And just like that, I'm on my own again. If we make it through the reaping next week, maybe I'll tell her how I feel. And then maybe one day, if the odds are in my favor, she'll be mine.
AFTER
I lie awake in our assigned compartment in the bunker, listening to the soft breathing of my family sleeping around me. Wrapped in the blanket that came in the pack from the Supply Station, I toss and turn on my thin mattress, trying to get comfortable without jostling my brothers who are laid out beside me. Finally I just give up and stare up at the ceiling, Peeta's words playing over and over again in my mind.
"And you… in Thirteen… dead by morning!"
Seven little words from the mouth of a madman and a splash of blood on Capitol tiles that threw all of this into motion, sent Katniss spiraling down into despair and sent us scurrying underground like rabbits.
They all believed him. Katniss, Odair, Haymitch, even Coin and Boggs, they all just believed him with barely a question. I'd have been inclined to disagree, given Peeta's mental state but I was overruled. Good thing too, because I barely had time to get Prim and her stupid cat before the doors closed and the bombs began to fall.
I wonder if Katniss is sleeping, how she's coping after seeing that. If it's weighing heavily on my mind, who knows what it's doing to her? I want to go to her and comfort her but I have no idea how. Things used to be so easy between us. She used to be herself with me, someone she couldn't be with anyone else. But this person, this version of Katniss that came back from her second Arena without Peeta, she's not my Catnip. I don't know her and she doesn't know me. I don't know what to say to her, what to do, how to comfort her when I'm certain that she longs for another set of arms.
I'm staring blankly up at the ceiling when a shadow, barely visible in the darkness, slips past our compartment. It's Katniss, stalking quietly like a cat up and down the rows. She tiptoes past us, over to where Finnick Odair is nervously making knots by the dim light of his compartment. He looks half crazed as he fumbles with the rope, and I can't help but think that his madness makes him a better companion for Katniss right now.
Jealousy surges up inside me, and I know it's not fair but I can't help it. There was a time when she never confided in anyone but me, and even then barely said anything at all. I guess that time is gone.
The next day when they pull us out of the lineup to leave the bunker and take us to film some propos, I see them together again as he drops a sugar cube into her steaming mug of coffee. She catches me watching them and I look away hastily, trying to keep my unhappiness from showing on my face.
Outside, I can finally take a deep breath, the first one I've been able to take since we were locked into the bunker, and hear Katniss do the same at my side. I guess there are at least a few things that we still have in common. She reaches up and caresses the leaves like a mother, the empty ghost of a smile touching her face. The expression is more like relief than happiness. It doesn't free her like it used to, but at least the shadow hanging over her lightens.
Our group pauses at the edge of the first crater, peering down into the depths. Even though I know that bombs fell here just days previous, it's still shocking to see the evidence, and I feel my anger boil up like lava when Boggs tells us that anyone on the first ten levels would have been killed if we hadn't gotten into the bunker in time.
"Can you rebuild it?" I ask him, fighting the acid that rises in the back of my throat.
"Not anytime soon," he answers.
We pass through the fence, leaving the trees behind. Here the ground is riddled with holes and there is rubble everywhere.
Haymitch speaks up. "How much of an edge did the boy's warning give you?"
"About ten minutes before our own systems would've detected the missiles," Boggs says.
"But it did help, right?" Katniss asks, her voice tense. I don't have to hear the answer to know that it did. Ten minutes… ten minutes later and Prim and I wouldn't have made it to the bunker. I see Katniss' eyes flicker to me and away and I know she's thinking the same thing. Without Peeta's warning, Prim and I would have been dust.
I know that one day, if he ever gets out of the Capitol, I'll need to thank him. Somehow, he battled through whatever madness was gripping him, whatever torture they've put him through and paid with his blood, maybe even his life, to warn us, but knowing that only makes me angrier. I don't want to owe him anything, and the list is ever growing. A list of things I owe Peeta, and a list of punishments I owe to Snow.
So much death. Our home destroyed, nothing left but ashes and bodies and dust, all thanks to the Capitol.
I have wanted this war for so long, wished for it. A way to fight our way out from under the Capitol's control. Some days I wished I had a chance to kill every single last one of them, for making us live in poverty, for taking Katniss away and making her a killer, for burning our district and killing all those innocent people.
And now that we're in it, every single blow that the Capitol deals to the resistance adds fuel to my rage. I still want this war, even with all the casualties, because one way or another, we'll be free of them in the end. Either we'll be free, or we'll be dead, and even dead is better than how it was before.
A flash of color catches my eye amongst the dull greys of the shattered earth. "What's that?" I ask, pointing.
We approach cautiously, not knowing what to expect, but it's just a bunch of red and pink roses, of all things, with long stems, and a smell too powerful to be natural. Everyone slows down to look. Why would Snow dump a bunch of roses on Thirteen?
Katniss gasps for breath like something's just hit her in the stomach, grasping at my arm with claw-like hands. "Don't touch them! They're for me!" Her voice sounds frantic and half-mad too, like whatever they've done to Peeta is spilling over into her across the distances. They're still connected, even now.
I don't know what the significance of the flowers is, but obviously they've been left with the intent to unhinge her, and it's working. I still know Katniss well enough to see that she is coming apart at the seams. Is this about Peeta? Or something else? The thought – an altogether too familiar one for me these days - is like a knife in my gut.
The film crew tries to get Katniss to do the propos, but I can see that they're fighting a losing battle before they even begin. Her hands are shaking and her eyes are wild as she talks to Cressida, struggling to get out her lines. For her part, Cressida does what she can to help her- she's one of the few rebels from the Capitol that I can stand- but it's no good.
Even though I see it coming, it still surprises me when brave, hard, stoic Katniss, the strongest person I know, who didn't shed a tear in public when she faced her death in two different areas, begins to weep. My heart breaks.
"Cut," Cressida says softly.
"What's wrong with her?" Plutarch asks, perplexed. The rest of the group stands stunned around her.
And it's Odair who answers- of course- "She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta." The air goes out of all of us like a deflating balloon. I've suspected this all along, I think most of us have, but somehow she managed to fool herself that he was just a prisoner, that maybe he would get out okay. Maybe I should have told her, I don't know. But I was worried that this could break her, and I guess I was right.
This has been coming all along, since Peeta's first confession of love in their first games, no before that, since their first reaping. With him gone, for brief moments I can forget what I saw them become in the Games, and I can fool myself into thinking that maybe she does love me after all. When I'm alone, I remember everything that lies between us, the things she's done for me, that I've done for her, that we've been through together, and I can almost feel her in my arms like that day in the woods that first time I felt her lips on mine.
And then when we're together, she's different than she used to be. She's a piece of a different machine now, and there's a part that's missing, a part she needs. And that part is Snow's plaything, being broken into smaller and smaller pieces every day.
Even though it hurts, I open my arms to her automatically, at the same time that Odair takes a step towards her. Even Cressida reaches out a hand to comfort her, but she ignores us all and turns to step into Haymitch's arms. He holds her like a father holds his daughter, and his eyes, looking at nothing over her shoulder, are cold and hard as stone.
She's babbling and crying and starting to get hysterical when one of the Capitol people steps forward and shoots a sedative into her arm. Then Odair starts to shake and soon, he's losing it too, and they sedate him as well. Together Boggs and I carry Finnick back inside while Haymitch carries Katniss, the crew trailing behind. They're all at a loss, and the way they're talking about her- The Mockingjay, the symbol- not a poor broken girl who's not even eighteen and who's gone through more in a few years than most of these people will in their entire lives, makes me want to hit something.
"Can you walk?" Boggs asks Odair, who is still awake, but barely sane. He nods shakily.
"I'll take it from here," Boggs says, and Odair lets go of me and lets Boggs guide him through the doors into the hospital, following Haymitch and Katniss.
The crew and I wait helplessly in the hall for the others to return. It's a few minutes before Haymitch comes out, followed by Boggs, who shuts the door quietly behind him.
I push myself away from the wall I've been leaning against. "So what now?" I ask.
"We need to get Peeta out," Haymitch says. "Katniss is worse than useless with him in Snow's hands."
"Is that even possible?" I ask.
Boggs looks at Plutarch. "You're our inside man. Any ideas?"
Plutarch nods. "I've got people on the inside who can help us arrange a covert operation. I think it will be possible, but it will be extremely dangerous. My spies run the risk of being exposed, and there's a good chance people will die."
"Is it worth the risk?" Boggs asks.
"Without The Mockingjay, we don't have a rebellion," Plutarch says. "I don't think we have a choice."
My hands curl themselves into fists so tight that my knuckles go white. If I hear one more person call Katniss "The Mockingjay", I think I'm going to lose it.
"Besides," Haymitch says, "think of what having both Peeta and Katniss in Thirteen would do for the cause. The fact that they're both still alive at all is a rebellion in itself. And while we're at it, we can get Annie out for Finnick too. Kill two birds with one stone."
Boggs nods curtly. "So we're in agreement?" Everyone nods. "Right. I'll go make the arrangements."
"Do you think Coin will agree?" Haymitch asks him.
He smiles grimly. "I'll make sure she does." He marches off briskly down the hall, speaking into his comunicuff as he goes. Plutarch disappears to, leaving to go contact his people in the Capitol.
Some hours later, we assemble with the soldiers in the Airborne Division. Boggs tells us all about the mission, and asks for volunteers, and without a second thought, I raise my hand and step up to join him. It's a rash decision, and I wonder if it's the right one almost as soon I've made it, but it's too late to back out now.
A few more men raise their hands to volunteer, but he ignores Haymitch as if he can't see him. I think it's a smart move; even though they could use whoever they can get, Haymitch has been on televisions across the country for the past twenty five years. He'd be recognized. Besides that, he's not exactly in peak physical condition.
Boggs tells those of us who volunteered that we depart in two hours. I start to head back to compartment 47 to let my mother know before I remember that they were in the process of moving us when we went up to the surface. Our family compartment was below the first ten levels so I figure that's a safe place to start.
When I walk in the door, my mother looks up from her seat at the little table. Her hands, ages older than the rest of her from years of laundering the districts clothing in the harsh lye soap we used to make in the Seam, are working on a pair of small grey pants -Posy's, I assume by the size- with a needle and thread clenched between her thumb and forefinger.
"Where are the kids?" I ask her.
Her eyes go back to the fabric. "They resumed their schedule as soon as everyone was out of the bunker."
I laugh. "They didn't waste a minute did they?" I'm glad that they're not there. It will be hard enough to leave without Posy's tears, Vick's reasoning why I shouldn't go, or Rory trying to convince me to let him come with me. This is for me to do, and I don't want them worrying, or for Rory to be angry that I wouldn't let him go. Someone needs to look after them if I don't come back.
She shakes her head. "How was the shoot?"
"Awful. Katniss had a breakdown," I answer. I slump down across from her at the table, picking at the skin around my fingernails. Her hand on mine stills my fidgeting. I look up at her.
She wears the smile I love so well, that smile that is both tough and warm at the same time. "She'll be okay," she says shortly.
I shake my head. "I don't know if she will this time. You didn't see what they did to Peeta. We… Mom, they're going to go rescue him."
Her grey Seam eyes study my face carefully. "Are you going with them?" she asks mildly.
"Yes" I say. "But…" I stop myself, not wanting to continue. I'm ashamed of my doubts and of the selfish thoughts running through my head.
My mother returns to her sewing. "But why should you go and risk your life to rescue the man that the woman you love, loves?"
Despite myself, a short bark of laughter escapes my lips. I've never told anyone besides Katniss how I feel about her, but of course my mother knows. "Yeah, I guess."
"Well, son," she says, working the cloth swiftly, "I could tell you that it's not your job to go rescue him. That you have a family here to look after, and that he's not your responsibility." She ties a swift, practiced knot in the thread and nips the end off with her teeth. "But you and I both know you're going to go anyway, and we both know why."
"Because I'm hopelessly in love with Katniss and I'll do whatever the hell I think would make her love me back?" My mouth twists in a humorless parody of a smile.
"Language, Gale," she chides me automatically. "And no. You're going to go because you're a good man, just like your father was, and you can't stand by and let Peeta be tortured when there's something you can do to stop it."
I laugh now, and this time it's at least a little genuine. "Wow, Mom, you make me sound an awful lot better than I am."
She stands, shaking the garment out and goes to fold it into one of the little drawers. She comes up behind me, resting one hand on each of my shoulders, and bends to press a kiss to the top of my head. "I never lie," she says shortly, "and this is no exception. I know what you'll do, and I'll be afraid for you every second that you're away, but I'm proud of you, too."
Tears spring unbidden to my eyes and I catch her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips. "Tell the kids I said goodbye, okay?"
I can feel her smile against my hair. "I'll tell them you said 'See you soon.'"
I change into my uniform and then leave the compartment before the kids get back. There's one more stop I need to make, before I go. Just in case.
When I get there, Haymitch is already at Katniss' bedside. "Soldier Gale Hawthorne," he greets me flatly. I ignore him, sitting carefully on the bed beside her right hip.
She is still unconscious, sleeping off the powerful sedative they gave her. Her hair is still in its braid but tangled and mussed, and even in sleep, there is that little crease, right between her eye brows, that tells me she's worried. Even knocked out she still can't relax, still can't let it all go. This is the depth of the effect that Snow has had on her.
I hate him with a passion that terrifies me. For what he's done to my Catnip, for what he's done to Peeta, for what he's doing to us all. So much blood on that man's hands.
Looking down at Katniss, I memorize everything about her. The girl who used to be my Catnip - no, not mine, never mine, I remind myself- with that smooth olive skin, so like my own that we could be siblings, that dark, straight hair woven into its customary braid. I wonder what it would look like if she left it loose about her shoulders, still wavy from the plaits. I wonder if she will wear it down when she marries Peeta one day, if we're able to get him home.
"Why are you doing this?" Haymitch says, interrupting my reverie. His voice holds none of the scorn that I expect; if anything, he sounds curious. "Are you hoping that you'll die over there and you won't have to watch her love him anymore? Or maybe you think your good deed will make her love you back?"
"No," I answer, my mother's words running through my head, surprised to find that they're true. "I'm going because what Snow is doing to Peeta is wrong, and if I get a chance to get him out of there and bloody Snow's nose at the same time… well then all the better."
Haymitch grunts. "You're a better man than I am, kid. What'd this girl do to deserve all you decent men chasing after her?"
I raise my eyebrows at him. "I think you know. I think you know exactly why we love her." And as I turn back to Katniss, I think I hear him mutter "I wish I didn't."
I reach towards her, caressing the ridge of her cheekbone with my thumb. This may be the last time I'll touch her. "Bye Catnip," I whisper, "I'm going to bring him back for you. Let's hope the odds are in our favor this time."