A/N: Oh my god, I love this story. As most of you have, I just finished reading Mockingjay. I wouldn't say I hated it-actually, I loved it. But I felt like the last book focused more on the ideal of rebellion than romance, you know? And-SPOILER-it really pissed me off that she chose Peeta.
"District Seven. Primary production: lumber," announces the cool, female voice. District Seven… only three more stops. What was it Beetee had asked me to do in Ten? I had completely forgotten…
The man sitting across from me unfurls his newspaper noisily, and my eyes rest on the front page. "Fifteenth Anniversary of the Victory of the Mockingjay War!" boasts the headline.
Fifteen years. It'd been fifteen years since the Capitol fell, since the rebels prevailed, since I'd become an engineer in Two. Fifteen years since I'd seen Twelve. I'd heard it'd grown back considerably since, and the thought made me smile. Did they have a new hob? Did the shrubbery, the forest grow back? Maybe some of my snares had even remained there, untouched, preserved, as if waiting for me to return. No, probably not. Katniss had probably gotten to them first. Katniss… my thoughts took a darker turn.
Fifteen years since she'd married Peeta. Since I'd let her walk away from me. My fingers tightened around the newspaper, crunching the paper and snapping me out of my reverie. I looked around the train. The man I'm sitting across from catches my eye for a second, then coughs into his fist and looks away awkwardly. Scanning the compartment, I come to the conclusion that most of them have been watching me, and are now pretending to be pre-occupied with other activities. One woman across the aisle uses her make-up mirror to look at me. Her mirror shines the mirror in my eyes, annoying me greatly.
I slam my paper down on my lap. The woman flinches and drops her make-up in surprise, then looks guiltily my way. I feel a flash of satisfaction, but this quickly turns into anxiety as the cool, emotionless, female voice announces "District Eight. Primary production: textiles."
My blood freezes. District Eight, another place that brings back so many memories. I remember the hospital, the run-down old building teeming with little kids, elderly, the sickly, and the morning. Oh, god… when that place went down… the fire, the fury I felt….
I feel a little tap on my knee, and I look up. What the hell? The kid standing in front of me can't be much more than six, and he's tapping on my knee impatiently. I'm really not in the mood to talk to some random little kid that wants an autograph from an old war veteran. I was only thirty-three, almost thirty four, and I hated those people that treat me like some mentally-unstable war hero that spent his days sitting little kids on my knee and giving them advice on how to live their lives. "What?" I snap. I know I'm probably not setting the best example, but I'm too irritated to care.
Just then, the train comes to a smooth stop, and the voice says "District Nine: Primary Production: Fine Craft." The doors slide open, and I look over. Hopefully, the annoying little kid gets off this stop. No such luck. His pudgy little finger is still hammering my knee like a goddamn miniature jackhammer.
"Look, kid," I say, flicking his hand off my knee with the edge of my newspaper. "You want some advice from a 'hero'?"
He nods eagerly.
" Don't fall in love."
He's still looking at me curiously, so I figure the best way to make him go away is to keep talking. "All it does," I continue. "Is drive you insane! Oh, it starts slow. It always does. You don't know, you just can't tell if it's there or not. But then, it's inside of you, it's eating at your insides, it's killing you. It makes you do crazy, stupid things. Now, it's inside your head, inside your soul. It's consuming you.
"And then, you can't think about anything else. You want it, you need it, but you can't tell her. No, you can't do anything, because you know you're no good for her, and then she's all over some other goddamn guy, and then they're kissing, and you know you can stop it. But you don't, because you know what she wants. And all you want is what she wants.
"So she walks away with this—this stupid son of a bitch, this—this—person—and they get married, and they have kids, and all you can think about is his goddamn arm around her, her head on his shoulder, the sweet words on his lips, and it Rips! You! Apart!" I roar.
By now, I'm breathing heavily, the kid is gone, and I'm holding a ripped up newspaper in my hands. I sigh, and crumple the destroyed newspaper into a neglected little ball and toss it somewhere behind me. I feel eyes on me, so I look up.
The entire compartment is staring at me in odd, wide-eyed expressions. The man across from me looks at me from over a newspaper. The woman has ditched her make-up mirror, and instead, had turned around and ogles me.
"District Eleven. Primary Production: Agriculture," announces the mechanical voice helpfully. District Eleven? I must have missed the stop for District Ten. Damn it. I'd have to take the Capitol-bound train from Twelve.
A shiver suddenly went through my body. Twelve? Was I really in twelve? I contemplate skipping this stop and taking the express from the Capitol, but Thirteen could possibly bring back worse memories than Twelve. Besides, I was curious as to what my birthplace looked like. Fifteenth Anniversary—what better time to stop by and give Blondie a piece of my mind?
Making my mind, I stood up just as the doors slid open. I strode purposefully out onto the deserted platform. Even now, fifteen years later, Twelve still wasn't a destination most people went to.
"Arman!" squealed a young lady with curly orange hair and black tattoos to her husband. "I want a picture over here!"
Correction: A place most people, except tourists, went. Damn, I hate tourists.
"Excuse me, sir?" says the man to me.
I continue walking, pretending I didn't hear him.
"Sir?" repeats the man.
I subtly increase my pace.
The Capitol man runs up in front of me and cuts me off. "Sir— Oh my god!" he exclaims, his hands pressed comically to his cheeks. "You're—you're Gale Hawthorne!"
I smile wanly at him. "No, sir, I think you're mistaken," I say. "Now, if you'd just move over a little…"
"Orelia! Come here!" he calls, ignoring me completely.
She skips over to me, stands up on the balls of her feet to stick her nose in my face, and then wraps her hands around me enthusiastically. "I am, your, like, biggest fan!" she squeals.
"'Kay, great," I mutter, patting her back awkwardly.
"No really! I am," she says, looking at me earnestly. "I have to tell everyone I know!" she says, reaching for her phone.
"Wait! No!" I say, grabbing her wrist.
She gapes at my hand on her wrist, then back up at me.
"You can't tell—anyone," I say. "I…" I look around secretively. " I'm on a mission."
She puts her palms on her face. "No way!" she says.
"Shhh!" I say.
"No way," she whispers.
"Way," I whisper back, nodding convincingly, still holding her wrist. "And it's super top secret. So don't say anything, alright?"
She nods, stars in her eyes.
"Okay," I whisper. "I'm gonna go now, alright?"
She nods again, and I walk away as fast as I can.
It's not until I'm walking along the paved paths of Twelve until I realize that I'm completely lost here. Fifteen years really does a lot to change a place. And a person, I add. Speaking of which, wasn't that Greasy Sae? I walk a little faster, catching up to her in a couple of long strides.
"Sae?" I ask.
She turns around. "I ain't got no—" she yells, brandishing her cane wildly. Then, she frowns and leans forward. "Gale…?" she mutters, squinting at me. "Gale!" she says joyfully, her yellow and cracked teeth making an appearance. "We knew you'd come 'round. Oh, but you've got' en thin. What 'ave you been feeding yourself with?" she demands, jabbing my chest with the tip of her cane. "Come 'ere. I got a good wild dog stew brewing up…"
"No, no, that's really ok," I say quickly. "Could you just tell me where… where she lives now?"
She leans forward, leaning on her cane. "Who?"
I sigh. Greasy Sae must have lost some of her brain cells with age. "Katniss," I say.
"Ahh…" she says wisely. "Right 'round the bend. Right where their old place was, aye? Don't you forget to pay us at the hob a visit now, 'right?"
"'Course, Sae," I say, already walking distractedly away.
It's a nice place, it really is. It's made out of polished wood, and sit among thick bushes of primrose. Primrose… no doubt that was Peeta's idea. What do I do? Just knock on the door? What the hell would I say? 'Hey, Katniss, it's Gale. Sorry I haven't talked to you in fifteen years. So what's up?'? I'm debating going up to the doorstep when footsteps start up behind me.
"Gale?" says Peeta.
I turn around. He's holding a bag of bread with both hands. The boy with the bread. How ironic. "Peeta." I can't hide the note of disappointment in my words.
"You need to get out of here," says Peeta, his ears turning red.
"This isn't your property. I'm not doing anything wrong," I say reasonably.
Peeta walks up so close to me that the bread presses against both of our chests. He looks up at me defiantly. "What do you want, Gale?" he demands. "It's done. It's over. She chose me, alright?"
"Things change," I mutter, looking away from him.
A wild light goes into his eyes. "Get the hell out!" he says, raising his voice slightly. "Just leave! You deserted her, you left her, you hurt her!"
My gaze snaps back to him. "Yeah," I say. "And why do you think I did? Huh?" I say.
"Because you don't care about her," he says coldly.
I laugh, throwing my head back. "'Because I don't care about her,'" I repeat mockingly. "She was my best friend, since I was a kid. And what did you do? Throw her some bread?"
"She doesn't love you!" he yells.
"Are you two close?" I ask softly.
He blinks. "What?"
"Do you guys share everything? Do you know all there is about who she is? What she's done?"
I can tell he's taken back by my sudden change of mood, and that he's deciding how to answer my question. "Yes," he says. "We are." He nods. "We are," he repeats, as if trying to convince himself.
I nod thoughtfully. "I just want to see her," I say.
"No!"
"Not talk to her—I just want to see her."
"Listen, Gale," he says through his teeth. "She picked me!"
I fix him with a stare for a moment. "No, she didn't," I say quietly.
Peeta cocks his head slightly and looks at me. He's debating whether or not to yell at me or question my sanity. "Yes, she did," he says, puzzled. "We're married. We have a house. We have kids."
I look over at the yard. The little blonde boy with Katniss' stunning gray eyes. The petite girl with Katniss' beautiful hair and Peeta's eyes.
"What you don't know," I say in the same soft voice, still looking over at the kids, "What she didn't tell you, is that she came to me, first." I glance over at Peeta. His gaze is fixed on me, listening to me, but not making any judgments. That was Peeta—level-headed at the most heated times. I look back over at the little kids frolicking in the tall grass. The girl has a primrose in her hair.
"The night after she killed snow, she came to me," I continue. "She was sobbing, her sister—she—" I pause. I don't have the same way of words that Peeta does, and even translating this memory into accurate words is hard for me. Peeta nods, urging me onward.
"She put her arms around me," I say. I shut my eyes. "She said, she said 'Hold me, Gale. I need you—it just hurts. It hurts so bad….' So I put my hands on her waist, and my lips are on her forehead. But then she, she kisses me on the lips. It was, hard, fast—almost desperate, maybe. Yeah… desperate….
"And I'm kissing her back, I can't help it, but then I pull back. And I say, I say something like, 'I can't do this. Not if you're only going to leave.' And she says, 'I'm not. I'll never leave you again. The two of us, we need each other. Always have, always will.' And then we're kissing, and I'm so happy. I feel—I feel like this is everything I've wanted for so long, you know? And in that moment, I can see us. Living together, like you guys are now—" I gesture with my hands over at the kids playing in the field.
"But then, then she leans on my chest, and she whispers in my ear, 'You're the best one for me.' And then, then something inside me breaks. And I take her hands off mine, and hold them there. She's looking up at me, confused. 'Gale?' she says, confused. I push her back, because suddenly, I can't stand her for another second on me, and she slams against the wall, gasping. 'Gale!' she says, and her hand's on her shoulder. 'Gale, what-?' she says, walking toward me again. And I yell, 'I don't love you!' And I get the hell out of there, and I never look back."
"Until now," murmurs Peeta. Then he looks up at me, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. "But you love her," he says, confused.
I nod, not saying anything.
"Then why—?"
"Because! Look at it!"
Peeta steps back, surprised by the sudden venom in my voice. "Look… at what?" he asks.
I vaguely wave my hands in the direction of the field. "Look at it. Look at the house, the kids…" my voice trails off. Katniss comes out, a tray of cookies in her hands. The kids run to her, and she pulls the little boy into her lap, kisses the girl on the cheek, smiling.
Katniss has only gotten more beautiful as the years went by, still knocks the breath out of me.
I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. "Look at the way you guys live. The person you are—you're good for her. Her fire, it burns on, and all I have is fuel. You—you placate her. You make sure her fire doesn't burn anyone, anything. You keep her… sane. She didn't realize that at the time, but… but I did." My voice drops to a whisper. "I left her for her own good."
Peeta's quiet. We both look over at Katniss and the kids, who are playing some kind of game in the field which involves her running around trying to catch them. I glance up at Peeta, and there's a sad, serene smile on his face. "So she really picked you, huh?" he says.
I stay quiet. "You have her now," I offer after a minute's thought.
And he looks up to me, tears in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you, for giving her—giving this to me. That takes a strength I never had."
And in that moment, whatever we had before turns into grudging respect. All I need to do is nod.
Suddenly, Katniss is running through the field toward us, and Peeta looks at me wildly. I understand, and step back a couple paces until I'm completely in the shadows of the woods. I've learned to hide well in the forest. "Peeta!" she says. "Peeta, let me show you a new game they made up!" she says excitedly.
When she kisses him on the cheek, looks him in the eyes, it's real love I see, and I can read Katniss like a book.
She holds his hand, and they go off in the field, where the kid's happy screams and Peeta and Katniss' laughter ring out through the woods. I smile, watching them for a bit more. I close my eyes, imagine myself in Peeta's place. I can't see it. This isn't my place.
I turn around to leave, but I have a sudden flash of inspiration. I walk a couple paces to the right and carefully pick off the berry, careful not to break the skin. Bright red, beautiful, but deadly. Nightlock. This little fruit, this seemingly simple little berry that sits in my palm, this started the rebellion. But it wasn't just the rebellion it started—no, to me, it marks when Katniss truly started loving him. Loving Peeta. This berry—this berry is represents everything that is between them.
I hold it between my thumb and my fore-finger, taking one last glance at the happy family I'm not a part of, I have no meaning in. Smiling, I whisper to myself. "And may the odds always be ever…" I throw it up. "…In your favor." It falls to the ground, and I crush it with my foot.
I walk away, leaving the crushed berry and everything it means, behind me.
A/N: Did you like it? I hope you guys got the reference to the nightlock... Ah well. Review, please? And read my other story... (I swear this whole thing wasn't just a marketing ploy.) Thanks, guys!
-L