A split second after the faint snapping sound has registered in my brain I have whipped an arrow out of my quiver and fitted it into my bow, whirling around to face my assailant. Eyes darting from side to side, finger twitching, ready to release, expecting capitol loyalists to come crashing out of the brush at any second.

"Where are you?" I demand, "Show yourself!"

Silence.

I start to think that maybe I have imagined the sound and although there is no one to see my actions, I feel a familiar sense shame creeping up on me. I've always been quick on the draw, but since the rebellion a moth in flight could set me off. I lower my bow slightly, feeling foolish.

And then I hear the voice. "Easy there, Catnip."

My bow snaps back into place. Gale. His tall, lean frame emerges from the trees as if he is appearing from thin air. Of course, only Gale could sneak up on me the woods in my current state of hyper-alertness. Gale moves through trees like a shadow. My eyes widen in surprise and then quickly narrow. Images of fire and destruction flash before my eyes, I see Prim, innocent, sweet Prim, enveloped in flames and I want to let the arrow fly straight into his heart.

"Are you going to shoot me?" he asks hollowly. "Because I wouldn't blame you if you did."

I lock eyes with him, feeling the rage pulsating throughout my body, Prim's screams echoing in my ears. But I can't do it. With a great effort I fling my bow away because I honestly don't trust myself not to shoot to kill. I've done it before.

Gale breathes a dramatic sigh of relief and cracks a self-satisfied smile, "And Peeta was worried about what I'd do to you!"

"Peeta?" I hiss angrily, "You saw Peeta?"

"Yeah, well I wasn't so happy about it myself—"

"Not what I meant."

"You got him doing your gardening now, huh?" his voice is dripping with sarcasm. "He was out there trimming your bushes when I came by. I suppose he does good work, as long as you can be sure he's not going to come after you with the pruning shears or—"

Whack!

My fist collides with Gale's nose sending a satisfying trickle of blood down his smug face.

"Leave Peeta out of this!"

"Damn it, Katniss!" yelps Gale, touching his nose tenderly. "Seriously!"

"What are you doing here Gale?" I demand, choosing to ignore his attempts to staunch the bleeding in his nose. It has been seven years since the rebellion ended, seven years since he ran away to a fancy new job in District 2. We haven't spoken since, a fact that pains me more than I would admit to anyone, least of all Gale.

"Well?" I prod, thumping myself down angrily on a tree stump.

The smirk has dropped from Gale's face. Good, I think, he's finally had some sense knocked into him. He slides to the ground opposite me, leaning up against a towering, moss-covered tree.

"I suppose I deserved that," he says in a small voice. "You never did put up with any nonsense. Guess that's one of the only things that hasn't changed, right?"

I feel slightly placated by his response, but I refuse to let him sidestep my question. "Seven years Gale, seven years. Not a phone call, not a letter, not even that weird electronic communication thing Beetee rigged up. And now you stalk me out here in the woods with no warning. What is wrong with you!"

"I don't—"

"Do you know what I've been going through? Do you have any idea?"

"Katniss I—"

"And Peeta! You think hijacking is some sort of joke?"

"God, no! I'm sorry, I—"

I'm on my feet again, adrenaline coursing through my veins. All the anger that has been welling up in me the past years combined with a sense of—what?—longing? Longing for that easy, mutually reliant friendship that we once had before the games stole what little youth and innocence was left to us? Gale is up now too and he is glaring at me, our flushed, angry faces inches apart.

I continue to rant, "You inconsiderate, dirty bastard! You selfish, unfeeling—"

"Well if you'd let me get a word in edgewise!" he shouts at the top of his lungs, sending a flock of birds fleeing into the air out of a nearby tree.

I wind up to clock him again, but he's too quick. Gale's got me in a headlock.

"Will you listen to me!" he hisses through gritted teeth, perspiring under the effort of restraining me. I'm flailing out with my legs trying to kick him anywhere I can, but it's no use. Gale's too strong.

"Let go of me Gale!" I shout. "I'm going to kill you!"

"Is that supposed to make me want to let go?"

I struggle for a few more minutes yelling every obscenity I can think of, which is a lot considering Haymitch is one of my few companions these days, until I finally run out of fight. I can tell Gale's tired too and as I aim one last good kick at his kneecap, the absurdity of the situation dawns on me.

Against my will I let out a giggle.

"What was that?" grunts Gale.

I snap my mouth shut, determined to maintain my dignity, but I can't stop. I erupt into full out, raucous laughter. I feel Gale's grip on me loosen and we both fall to the ground in gut-wrenching peals of laughter. It's a long time before we can recover ourselves, and when we finally do, I'm feeling a lot less murderous. We lean up against the tree trunk, our shoulders lightly brushing.

"I didn't mean to say that stuff about Peeta. It's just, when I saw him outside your house I was so jealous, you know," Gale admits. "I was jealous because he had the courage to come back and because…because… oh hell, I don't know, because you chose him I guess…" He trails off and I suddenly become very interested in the dirt by my feet.

"And you know the worst part?" he continues indignantly, "Peeta didn't even try to stop me coming out here to find you. Didn't act jealous at all."

I can tell this really irks Gale.

"He just wanted to make sure I didn't upset you. The guy's a bloody saint! How do you put up with it?"

I smile at Gale's exasperation because I've felt it too on so many occasions. Peeta's goodness—a constant reminder of my own shortcomings—sometimes drives me insane. Gale and I are far too alike.

My next declaration succeeds in breaking the levity of the conversation, as I knew it would. "I put up with it because I love him, Gale," I say simply. "I love him even though I know I don't deserve him."

Gale's expression sobers, but he doesn't look surprised or even upset really, just resigned. "I know," he replies heavily, "Guess I've known for a long time."

We're both silent for what seems like ages. I tuck my knees up, resting my head on them and listening to the wind stirring through the leaves. I feel Gale's eyes trained on me and I realize that I'm no longer angry. In fact, I feel a little guilty even, because after all, Gale's been through hell, too. We all have.

"I missed you," I say feebly, willing the words to convey the depth of what I truly feel. I think he understands because when he smiles at me I can see a hint of my Gale. Gale the hunter, Gale catching berries in his mouth and poking fun at Effie Trinket, Gale adding his name in for the games time and time again to provide for his family, Gale who I could always depend on.

"Missed you, too, Catnip."

We stand up and I fold myself into his arms. Gale's embrace is different from Peeta's. Peeta's is warm and comforting and it smells of flour and cinnamon, while Gale's is upright and strong with a scent of pine and earth. It's a volatile kind of embrace. I wonder if it's how Peeta feels when he hold me, if he feels that I'm liable to rocket away at any moment. I wonder, because Gale and I are cut from the same cloth—both temperamental, guarded, explosive.

"Remember that question you asked me? Before you tried to kill me, that is?" says Gale, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes," I say with a little laugh.

"Well, I'm here because I needed to set things right with us, just this once."

"Gale…" I begin, knowing full well what he is going to say.

"Shh, no, listen Katniss!" he says with some urgency, putting a finger to my lips. "I need to say this. I need to tell you that…I'm sorry." His face contorts in a funny sort of way that I've never seen from him before. "I'm so sorry," he says again. His voice cracks a little, but he pulls himself back together. "You know since that day I've been trying to make amends for…for all those things in the war. The nut. Those traps I made…the bombs."

I know what he says is true. They've made Gale a general under Paylor's new regime and I've seen him on television from time to time, speaking out about the dangers of nuclear weapons. Condemning the arms race between the Capitol and Thirteen that almost brought Panem to the brink of total annihilation and calling for greater checks and balances in the government that will prevent things from ever escalating so far again.

"I think of her all the time too, you know," he tells me, still pointedly avoiding my eyes. "And I know that you may never find it in your heart to forgive me, and I don't blame you. I haven't really forgiven myself, and I know you haven't forgiven yourself either. But I just thought that after all this time you deserved an explanation, an apology. That's all," he concludes. I can tell by the way his jaw is clenched and how he is staring ahead so resolutely that he is trying not to cry.

I know I should say something, but my mind is so full of Prim that I can hardly make sense of anything else. A small voice in the back of my head whispers that Prim would forgive him. Prim wouldn't freeze him out, wouldn't let anger and hurt and pride stop her from doing what she knows is right. But I'm not Prim.

The best I can do is reach out and squeeze his hand, an action which startles him into looking at me full in the eyes. It's a feeble gesture, but I think it's enough for Gale, because he understands my nature—he has my nature. And then, despite our nature, we both let the tears come coursing down our olive, Seam cheeks.

After we have cried ourselves out, I pull Gale to his feet. It's getting late and I know Peeta will be worried about me.

"You look terrible," I tell Gale, picking a twig out of his hair.

"What? With my camera ready face?" he jokes, recalling Fulvia Cardew's infatuation with him. I elbow him in the ribs in response.

"Can't you make your eyes less puffy Katniss? Peeta's going to kill me."

When we return to the Victor's Village the sun is sinking low in the sky, reflecting that orange that Peeta likes best. He is reading on the front porch and when he sees me he jumps up and crosses the lawn to meet us. I can feel him searching my face with his clear, blue eyes, surveying for damage. He must feel reassured that no permanent harm has been done because he extends a hand to Gale. "It's good to see you again Gale."

"Er, you too," says Gale gruffly, shaking Peeta's hand firmly, but not quite meeting his eye.

"Hey, you ok?" asks Peeta, noticing the dried blood around Gale's nose. "I can get you some ice if you want—".

"No!" says Gale, a little too quickly. "I mean, no, no thank you."

"We had a little scuffle," I admit, trying to look innocent.

Peeta just looks at Gale bemusedly and raises his eyebrows at me. Gale scowls at his feet, his ears turning a deep shade of crimson. He clears his throat embarrassedly. "Um, Katniss won."

Peeta indulges himself in a small smile, but I know he won't goad Gale about it. "That's why I never cross her," he quips, kissing my temple fondly.

When I say goodbye I feel a knot in the pit of my stomach, because I know that I'm saying goodbye forever. We can't exist side by side anymore, Gale and I. It would be like leaving a fire burning next to a pile of dynamite. I've worked so hard to put the pieces of my life back together that I know I have to let him go. And he knows it too, deep down.

As Gale makes his way down the garden walk, Peeta takes my hand in his and we go into the house. A pot of stew is simmering on the stove and he has set the table. I collapse into him, burying my face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him. Peeta strokes my hair rhythmically and he doesn't ask me anything about the afternoon's events. One of the many great things about Peeta is that he not only knows the right things to say, but he also knows when to say nothing at all. Haymitch's words, spoken so long ago, ring in my ears: "You know, you could live a thousand lifetimes and still not deserve him."

Since I don't have a way with words the way Peeta does, I decide to let actions speak for themselves. I reach up to kiss Peeta long and slow and deep.

"Wow," he says looking slightly dazed as we pull apart, "Can Gale come visit everyday?"

I grin as Peeta pecks me once more on the lips and pulls me into the kitchen, our kitchen. "Let's eat!" he says, passing me a cheese bun. We dig in and I can't help but think, this must be the closest thing to happiness I've felt in ages. I hope somewhere, somehow, Gale will find it too.