Remains of the Day
In the aftermath of the Capitol's collapse - or perhaps collapse is too tame a word - they stand alone and ashen in the ruins of what had once been a great city of far lesser a people.
All scarred and freed; once again building a better destiny from a holocaust and rubble. And here, upon these depthless fields she wonders if it all had been worth it, after all. If it had all been worth Prim.
The reminiscence brings a not - unforeseen sting of tears to her eyes, but she does not blink away the burn. In the here and the now, it is a relief to have solitude, away from the Capitol (or whatever it will be later), from the Districts (or whatever they are now) and from Gale (or whatever they were once).
From Peeta.
He had been ... withdrawn, to say the least, in the After. Or that is what they call it now, not daring to quite understand the gravity of it. The sharp, bright flash of what cuts so deep and shines so far, of what is both salvation, and not. To the stranger's eye, he is no more so than usual or than anyone else, but she knows him.
While those grand edifices and that brutal suppression that the Capitol prided itself upon - one in open and one in secret - had stood, they had an impetus. Something to fight for, in the way Gale always had. But in the After they fell, like a pair of puppets whose strings had been cut.
And suddenly, they were diminished to the cautious, hesitant ambling around each other, not knowing how to act their roles. To the Before in the wake of their first victory. Somewhere deep down where the After had cut, they had anticipated how this would end and how long they would last.
It was over. They were over.
She looks up, startled, as Gale's voice intrudes, weary but welcoming.
"Didn't know you could shoot with your eyes. I'd have taken those arrows long ago."
And suddenly, all is forgiven, if only for a moment, and the old familiarity is back. It is comforting in an odd way, especially after the lonely and silent walks in the forests that she had spent searching for something as an anchor.
"Gale," she begins, and allows herself the luxury of savoring how his name sounds on her tongue. Something, somewhere within her, independent and treacherous at once, whispers: And nowhere near as foreign as Peeta's. Nowhere near as arresting. She could not bring herself to truly trick Peeta anymore, not in the After, that something within her imprisoned by weariness and commitment both. Of the helping hands they had lent one another, hers was dwarfed by his. She knows this. Hers is not a fire that can be tamed - extinguished, perhaps, but never, never tamed. This, too she knows. "I don't think you could shoot straight after how you were moving yesterday."
Gale looks at her with wounded eyes and she laughs, the sound dispelling the somber mood. "I was dancing, Catnip."
She grins both at the banter and the sobriquet. "If that's what you call dancing, Gale, I really, really do not want to know how you shoot."
"And there you are again with the shooting," He says, rolling his eyes. "And anyway, I'm going to hunt. You coming?" He says over his shoulder as he turns, and she has to admire the ease with which he does so.
She leaps into the fray, prepared to lose again with fire in her eyes and ashes beneath her feet.
I am ... not so sure about this chapter (yes, more are coming up). But "A" for effort, right? 4 reviews, 5 favorites, 7 follows - for the first chapter. Wow ... huh. Holy shit. Now I feel horribly obligated to be punctual and continue it. Damn you all. This is rated T for the author's filthy potty mouth.