A/N Katniss is seventy-five years old, and Peeta died seven months ago. Sitting at home, reflecting, she decides to go visit Gale. This is IN NO WAY a Gale/Katniss romantic relationship story, okay? It's not like Peeta dies and Katniss goes to hook up with Option #2. She just wants to visit her old friend. I had to clarify. Kay. Done.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games and the amazing characters in it. That lovely right belongs to Suzanne Collins.
The Forgiving Type
Sometimes, the colors seem too dull. I'll be picking a primrose from the bushes along my house, and think, 'Shouldn't this be a brighter yellow?'
I can't decide whether I'm going senile, or whether the way I see things is just a reflection of the way I sometimes feel. Some days, I'll wake up and it's like somebody laid a blanket over the world. It's just not the same, nothing feels right. And it's difficult to describe, but everything is… dull. My senses are numbed.
It's been like this for seven months. Since I've been alone.
He told me not to mourn him, because he claimed he was truly getting off better than I was. But how do you not mourn?
Today, I woke up, and it was different. I felt better. The smell of summer was in the air—the sun that starts to warm your skin, the slush on the streets. Do you know what I would have called this day fifty-eight years ago?
Reaping day. Today would be reaping day.
Sitting on the counter is a bowl of blackberries I set out last night, and in the patch of early sun streaming from the kitchen window, I am struck with an old memory. So old that it doesn't even feel like the same lifetime.
"Oh! I almost forgot! Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds—"
And the blackberry soared high, and I leaned in to catch it with my mouth.
"Be ever in your favor!"
We laughed.
...
I still remember District 2 in clear detail. It seems like the majority of my life was crammed into the space between when I was reaped and when I came back to District 12 after the rebellion was over. Into that tiny space of time that barely spanned two years. Since then, my days have bypassed weeks and months and stretched right into years. Fifty-eight years, to be exact. But I still remember it like it was yesterday.
I stare at the scrap of paper they gave to me in District 2's Justice building. Gale Hawthorne: 1212 Overidge. The bustling square slowly morphs into quiet streets lined with homes.
Overidge road is only about ten blocks away, on a street lined with shady trees and their swaying purple leaves. My eyes find house 1212, and my jaw nearly drops.
It's enormous. At least three times bigger than my house in the Victor's Village of 12. I double check to make sure I have the right house.
I slowly climb the steps and cross the porch. Which is also enormous. And I ring the doorbell.
When he opens the door, I don't recognize him at first. Because I'm expecting the dark hair, the tall stature. The only thing I recognize about him is his eyes. A little more sunken in a wrinkled face, but they're still his eyes.
"Hey, Gale," I say.
For a moment, we just stand there.
"Hey, Catnip," he replies.
I don't know what to say. Suddenly, being here seems stupid. I say the first thing that comes to mind.
"You have a really big house," I get out.
He laughs, surprised. "Yeah, I guess so. They basically gave it to me when I took that job… a long time ago. And they didn't take it back."
"Well, you must've been important," I say. I don't even realize I've walked into his house until he gestures to a chair.
Instead of sitting, I walk over to the fireplace. There's only one picture on it, in a silver frame. It's Gale, and a blond woman.
"Who's this?" I ask, still looking at the picture.
"Marie," he says. I look over at him and see the ring on his finger. "She's in District 8 right now, actually."
I sit in a chair near the fireplace. "Why?"
"Visiting her brother," he says.
"And you're here?"
"They called me back in yesterday, for one of their yearly district meetings, so I stayed back." He rolls his eyes. "I told them if they call me back in again next year, I may just die in that Justice building, but they're not letting me out yet."
I chuckle, and my eyes scan the rest of the room. I'm not believing that Gale actually lives here. I didn't know anything about his life. I didn't picture this big house, and Marie. I don't know what I was picturing, but I'm glad.
"So what about you?" he asks, because I've stopped talking. "Where's Peeta?"
I look at my hands.
"Oh," he says, after my silence. "I'm sorry, Katniss."
I shake my head. "Don't be," I say. "It was seven months ago."
"Well, that doesn't make a difference," he says. "The rebellion was fifty-eight years ago and I still remember it like it was just yesterday."
He's right.
We sit in silence for a few minutes.
"So why did you come?" he asks finally.
"I don't know," I say, struggling to explain it. I just… I'm just alone in 12. And I haven't seen anybody in… forever. The last person I saw was my daughter, and that was nearly four months ago. And she's still part of my new life. I just kind of realized today that… everyone's leaving me. Haymitch is gone, my mother's gone, and my kid's aren't gone, but they're pretty far away anyways. I remembered you, and realized that I hadn't even written you a letter in years."
He nods. "I guess I kind of see where you're coming from, actually. But I have Marie. And… oh, I guess you don't know this." He chuckles. "I have a daughter."
"Really?" I say, and he raises his eyebrows. "I didn't know!"
And we fall into easy conversation. We trade the memories of our years and we can smile for each other, because we don't have many sad memories to share. They're all happy. Our lives have been happy, and it feels so bizarre to have such a conversation.
What happened after the rebellion has not been fixed. It never will be. But we've accepted that, and that's what makes the difference.
"How old are you, Katniss?" Gale asks.
"Seventy-five," I say. Am I seventy-five? Because some days, it feels like I've lived a lifetime five times longer than that. And some days, it feels like I could be sixteen again.
"Why, Katniss," Gale says. "You're as old as the Hunger Games themselves."
And I have to smile.
Gale opens the door for me as the sky is starts to darken. I turn to Gale, and after a moment's hesitation, I hug him.
"Thanks, Gale," I whisper.
He pulls back, and smiles at me. "Bye, Katniss."
...
I used to think I couldn't care less what happened to him, in the days when I was trying to start my new life. When he sent me a letter when I was in District 12 and I was trying to forget everyone I ever knew except for Peeta and Haymitch, I stuffed it in a drawer and never looked at it again until five years later.
Maybe it was unfair. But I'm not the forgiving type. As it turns out, I tend to come around after fifty or so years. That's really not all it was though. When I saw him, I realized that somewhere along the line we morphed back into friends. I realized I didn't deserve it, to have somebody like that to rely on.
It seems like whenever I've fallen down, there's always been somebody to pick me back up.
I remember when I was twelve years old, and found myself alone for the first time in my life. Fallen down. And what happened then?
I met Gale. And he was there to pick me back up.