Rise.
In my dreams there are fragments of a living nightmare. Sometimes I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my sister's cries reach my ears, sometimes I wake up crying. Whenever I do, I am not alone. He is there with his arms around me, petting my hair, sitting there in silence because he never needs to ask. He has never asked what the nightmares are about, because he was there with me. I am not the only one with scars, nor the only soldier who returned home with memories that will forever haunt me. Memories that will always keep me asking why, or what could I have done?
Yes, I could have made so many other decisions, and maybe more people would be alive then. Cinna, Finnick, Rue, Madge, Boggs, Prim… Prim. My baby sister comes to me in dreams, both waking and sleeping, and at first they were on an entirely different level of torture. Lately they are peaceful – she finds me in the meadow and smiles, her braids bouncing, her blouse untucked, Lady and Buttercup trailing close behind her. She giggles and smothers me with hugs and kisses, and it's during dreams like these that I do not want to wake up.
I rise from my bed anyway, and then I am reminded that life isn't so bad after all. We came back to each other, Gale and I; I broke down and forgave him before going back to Twelve and we took one another back. He quit the fancy government job in Two faster than he had taken it, and we moved back home. Two years after I attempted to maul him in the hospital, I am sleeping comfortably in his arms, and he says that I am doing much better. I sleep through the night three times in a row, and he grins and says this is all his doing. I should have been sleeping beside him from the start.
This morning, I wake up long after him. I roll over and rest my cheek upon his broad chest, both of us naked because we sleep best that way.
"Sleep," Gale would say and wink. "Yeah, that's it."
"Morning," I murmur, and the tweeting chorus of little birds just outside the window confirm the time of day. They are always out there learning to fly in the morning. Their mother is patient and gentle, helping the babies when they fall out of the nest and must learn how to return home.
He smiles; I do not see it, but I feel it. He's so warm and comfortable that I feel my eyelids droop and my body wants to go right back to sleep. "Hey," he whispers and brings me back to the world at hand. He tilts my chin up and kisses me softly, and it's with this simple but wonderful gesture that I feel the heat rise in my belly once more.
Mornings like these are our favorite. We don't think about anything or anyone else. All I care about in these moments is him and how we fit together in every sense. This time I am on top of him and he thinks this is very convenient. He picks me up by my hips and my arms are around his neck in an instant. We disappear into each other like we did some years ago, when I was only seventeen and still so clueless about the world outside of Twelve. He has been by my side for years and I know he isn't going to leave. Not now, after we have suffered through so much. Together we have been struggling children, awkward teenagers, estranged "cousins", confused lovers, arguing hotheads, separated friends, scarred soldiers, and the collective ashes of the greatest love I ever knew.
The thing about ashes, though, is that they are not the end. To most people, ashes signify death and destruction; the ruins of something that was once beautiful, but could not withstand the test of fire and time. And that is true of us, as well. We had every potential and belonged together, but circumstances far beyond the control of two teenagers tore us into fragments and scattered us to the wind.
To others, those people who can look beyond death, ashes are nothing more than a temporary state. These people see the creation that can burst forth from the ruins and defy all else. This beautiful thing has glory and power unrivaled by any other creature on Earth. It is life itself, the resurrection of things that are not meant to die. It is every good memory and emotion that we shared, proving that even a dark and bloody war could not keep us from burning on. We rise from the ashes just as the phoenix does.
And so will our child, whenever she is born. For now, I carry her inside of me, where nothing can hurt her. And Gale carries me in his heart, where no one can hurt me. We protect one another. We always have, and always will.
Greasy Sae sees us on occasion when we bring her game, still a tradition after all this time. All she does is smile and shake her head, and sometimes she'll whisper to anyone who's listening, "See? I told you. I told you it'd be them."
Funny how they knew. They knew before I did that I would be with him.
The boy and the girl from Twelve got married. The children without fathers, the children who had been forced to grow up far too fast. They lost many friends along the way, they even lost each other, but they always came back in the end.
Always.
AN: The end! I hope that you enjoyed my first attempt at a published Galeniss story, even if it was short. Your reviews have made me smile and I appreciate each and every single person who read this, reviewed or not. I plan to write much more Gale and Katniss in the future. If you're looking for something else to read now, might I suggest my own story (shameless plug, sorry), "For Everything a Reason"? Also, my best friend kelsey731 has an excellent collection of work and I highly suggest her ongoing series starring Finnick, Seneca, and a very original character in "Disarm" and its sequel "Undertow". God bless, I hope to read more of your lovely comments and suggestions in the future :)