A/N: Wow so I have no excuses for this immense hiatus, but this came out of nowhere and I had to get this out. Hopefully, there are still some gentle souls out there who remember this story. For what it's worth, this installment is almost double my usual contributions. Please? read and review. Also I couldn't think of a good song to start this off, so it's blank for now. If any of you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Also, also, ghost Prim is fun to write - did not see that one coming!
When Katniss wakes the next morning, Peeta is still asleep. Katniss sighs a breath of relief, thankful that the sleep syrup is still in effect. The more severe flashbacks tend to linger into the next day, but milder attacks seem to pass completely if only Peeta can rest. Still, she doesn't take any chances, rising slowly and walking softly to his side of the bed to check the burn on his right palm.
The flesh is still raised and reddened but Katniss is thankful to see a blister hasn't formed overnight. Hopefully, her quick thinking to soak his hand in cold water halted the worst of the burn its tracks. Still, she thinks, as she carefully pads quietly out of the room, she should probably prepare a salve to dress the wound when Peeta wakes.
The house is a serene kind of quiet in these early hours. Walking through the kitchen to check the stores of dried herbs and plants on hand, Katniss tries not to let her mind see the floor and cabinets streaked with a dark red that thankfully hadn't been blood. The blue kitchen towel is folded and draped neatly over the edge of the sink. The floors gleam in the soft morning light. Everything is tidy and in order, she tells her mind. So you need to stay in order too.
Katniss reaches the cupboard, and retrieves several cans and jars, removing the lids one at a time to check the contents. Half a jar of honey. Full can of comfrey. Less than a quarter jar of willow bark. A mason jar sits in the shadows in the back of the cupboard and Katniss reaches for it, hoping its more willow bark. Three solitary leaves sit in the bottom of the glass, and from their dried and wrinkled edges, they have been there for some time. She studies them for a moment, trying to identify the herb or spice, but the wear of time has changed their appearance so much she can't recognize them. Struggling against the grip of a lid locked in place for too long, she eventually breaks the seal and is instantly greeted by a powerful blast of aromatics.
Mint.
Time may have altered the leaves appearance but the strong scent instantly triggers the name of the plant to her mind. She's reminded of mother's mint teas brewed in her old kitchen, a small luxury afforded around the holidays. She remembers the way Prim threaded mint branches through Lady's rope halter, her younger sister hoping to mask the smell of wet goat during milking chores. She can almost taste the tang in her mouth, soothing her hunger pangs, when she and Gale returned from a hunt empty-handed. One Sunday, after he had started working in the mines, he had awkwardly hugged her good-bye and she intimately remembers the cool freshness of his breath against her cheek.
Katniss starts at the memory, knocking a jar in the process, and it rattles loudly before she recovers enough to stop its precipitous wobbling. The flush of heat rises in her face as she turns the memory over and over. Her palms slick against the glass of the jars as she shoves them back into the cupboard, each placed more viciously than the last.
He can't keep doing this to her, she thinks angrily. She yanks her boots on, fumbles her hair into some semblance of a braid, and collects her jacket roughly from the entrance stand. The front door slams behind her and Katniss hopes it doesn't wake Peeta, though the momentary guilt is gone in a flash as her mind tries to wrestle her wayward emotions.
He can't keep sneaking up on her and having this kind of effect. Who does he think he is? Disappearing for five years and then dropping back into her life, all "Hey, Catnip" and "I'm miserable too, Catnip," and "Please just shoot me, Catnip".
She repeats this mantra all the way to the wooded lake, her rage finally snapping her into action. Grabbing a stone from the water's edge and hurling it against the closest willow tree, she screams, "I can't! I would love to, but I CAN'T!"
A few birds startle from the trees overhead at her cries, Katniss sinks to the ground, reaching absently for the pieces of willow bark that fell from her assault. She squeezes the wood tightly in her fists, hugging her knees and sobbing into her lap. The forest absorbs her pain, surrounding her with an oppressive silence.
It's unusual for Prim to appear again so soon after her last visit. Katniss is used to weeks passing at a time between her sister's arrivals.
But she shows up without warning, settling next to her and mimicking Katniss' hunched position. Prim's blue eyes watch the ripples on the lake for several minutes, her loose golden waves dancing in the early morning summer breeze.
Katniss waits for her to speak, afraid that is she breaks the silence first, Prim will fade, just a figment of her fractured imagination.
Prim sighs heavily, and then looks at her older sister. Her mouth is twisted into a frown, but her eyes are soft and sympathetic. "What are you going to do, Katniss? You can't keep running away into these woods."
"You sound like Peeta. Are you going to tell me to forgive G…" she chokes on his name.
"Just say his name, Katniss. It won't kill you."
Katniss bristles at this mild admonishment. Prim has only been supportive and understanding during these encounters, never annoyed the way she seems to be now.
"Are you going to tell me to forgive Gale, too?" It's harder to get out than Katniss would like to admit, but she did it.
Prim doesn't smile at her like she expects. "Ah look, and the trees are still standing."
Katniss feels anger flare, hot and quick, and she doesn't like that her sister is capable of drawing out this emotion in her. She's never been angry with Prim and she certainly doesn't want to be upset with her sister's ghost. Before she has to answer, Prim continues.
"And yes, I think you should forgive Gale," she says pointedly, staring directly at Katniss when she says his name, "but I don't expect you to do it all at once. That would be unreasonable to ask of you two."
"You think Gale needs to forgive me?" Katniss asks, somewhat stupidly.
"Katniss, come on. You shot him," Prim deadpans, then softly adds, "You broke his heart."
Katniss cringes and shifts uncomfortably, and tries to convince herself she doesn't care that Prim can see how unnerved this turn in conversation has made her.
"Yeah, well he broke mine," she whispers, sullenly.
"Real or unreal?" Prim asks.
"Real," Katniss answers, reflexively. She hears the echo of her words in the jabberjays that pick up this word overhead, and whips her head to look at her sister.
Prim's smile is radiant and Katniss feels her heart lift in her chest and her breaths come a little easier.
"So fix it," Prim says simply. She rises, and brushes off the non-existent dirt that clings to her skirt.
"I can't just 'fix it' Prim," Katniss retorts, but Prim shakes her head.
"Not at all at once, I know that. Broken hearts need time…" She bends down and places a hand over Katniss' clenched fist. Katniss wishes with all her might that she could feel the contact. "… broken skin needs willow bark."
When Katniss looks back up, Prim is gone.
Peeta is up when she arrives at home just before noon. He sits dazedly at the kitchen table, and mumbles, "Good morning" when she walks in.
"How are you feeling?" she asks, emptying her bag on the counter. He watches her sort leaves and bark a moment before answering.
"Sleepy still, but better."
Katniss smiles wistfully, "I may have overdone it with the sleep syrup a little."
Peeta stretches, yawns, and says, "S'ok. I think I needed it." He clasps his hands behind his head and almost immediately winces, sucking in a sharp breath, and studying her burned palm.
"Yeah, I'm working on that," Katniss says in response to his questioning look. "Went out early to get more bark." She shakes the almost empty jar at him for proof.
Peeta nods, studying the jar and the heaping pile of bark next to it.
"Think you got enough?" he teases.
Katniss presses her lips together, thinking harder than Peeta expected. He almost doesn't hear what she says next.
"I shot Gale," she says softly.
Peeta sits upright, leaning forward. "You shot him?! When did you see him? Is he… dead?"
Katniss laughs harshly.
"No Peeta, I didn't kill him," she says, exasperated. "I ran into him at Prim's grave the other day in the woods, and I got so mad, I shot a warning arrow at him. It caught him in the neck, and cut him."
"Oh," Peeta says, because what else is he supposed to say to that?
"I thought…" Katniss starts, gritting her teeth against some kind of emotion or memory she doesn't want to share. "I thought I would make him some salve as an apology… or something."
Peeta's eyebrows raise.
"I just feel a little bad about it," she concludes lamely.
"I think that's good, Katniss," Peeta says, his voice dangerously bordering on hopeful.
That crippling hope of his is more than she can bear, so she doesn't say anything more and silently crumbles willow bark into a warming pot on the stove.
Katniss wishes that it took longer for the bark to reduce than it does. Only an hour or so has passed, and she's running out of things to do to stall her delivery. She's blended the bark with some honey, bottled it in a small jar, stored the excess for their home reserves, and dressed Peeta's hand. He insisted he felt well enough to check in on Delly at the bakery, and left Katniss to her own devices. She's cleaned the kitchen, ordered and filed away the plants that didn't need drying, laid out the ones that did, and now she's stuck staring at the small bottle of salve and rallying her crumbling resolve.
"Come on, Katniss, just fix it," she growls to herself, and sweeps the bottle off the counter and walks out the door before she can lose her grit.
The walk to Gale's house is also shorter than she would like, but Katniss has decided that that is the theme of today – Katniss and what makes her uncomfortable.
She hesitates only a moment, before knocking loudly on the Hawthorne's front door. In another cruel twist of universal karma, the wait until someone answers the door feels impossibly long.
Hazelle answers, quickly replacing her expression of surprise with one of welcoming warmth.
"Katniss!" she exclaims, "come on in!"
"Umm, actually Hazelle, I just wanted to give this to Gale." She thrusts out the bottle, hoping that Hazelle will take it and deliver it to her eldest son for her.
Coward, a voice eerily like Prim says.
"Oh hold on one second, I'll get him for you."
Katniss gapes, about to protest, but Hazelle disappears into the dark cool interior. Katniss tries not fidget, suppressing the urge to bounce on the balls of her feet when Gale appears. He blinks in disbelief when he sees her, and for one painful moment, Katniss thinks he's going to turn her away, but then he steps over the threshold and shuts the door behind him.
He crosses his arms, and leans against the door frame.
"What do you want, Katniss?"
His eyes are cool, his Seam mask entirely in place. Katniss is surprised she feels hurt by this observation.
"I wanted to give you this," she stammers, awkwardly holding out the bottle of salve. "It's for your neck."
Gale doesn't move to take it, leaving her standing with her arm in the air, scrutinizing her. Just when she starts to feel mortified, Katniss sees his mask slip a little, and he takes the offering. He unscrews the lid and sniffs at the contents, eyeing her warily.
A ripple of indignant anger blossoms from no where and Katniss feels the heat rise in her cheeks.
"I didn't poison it," she spits out. "It's only willow bark and honey for the cut."
"Oh, never can be too sure," Gale says, nonchalantly pushing by her to sit on the first step. He spins the bottle in his hand, his back to her as if that's all there is to it.
Katniss prickles at this lackadaisical attitude.
"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have missed when I shot at you," she says.
Gale turns back to look at her, his lower lip pushes up in contemplation at her words.
"So you did miss then?"
That's it!
Katniss stomps down the stops, landing at ground level, and spinning to face Gale. With this change in vantage point, she is able to look him at eye level.
"I missed intentionally! I could have shot you straight through your heart if I had wanted to!"
Gale bites back a comment, and glowers at her. He swallows some kind of emotion.
"Well I guess you want a thank you then," he says darkly.
Katniss wants to scream. She thinks she may even want to shoot him again. How dare he! But then Gale softens, and he holds out the bottle to her. Is he rejecting it?
"Can you do it?" he asks. It sounds like a challenge, and Katniss takes an abrupt step backwards. No, she most definitely will not doctor his cut! He's a grown man, he can apply it himself.
But the gray of his eyes isn't burning with a dare. He holds her gaze steadily, earnestly, like she's a wild animal and he's holding out wanted food.
She nods not trusting her voice, and twists off the top. He pats the step next to him, and she approaches warily, sitting carefully so they don't touch. She dabs her finger into the salve, as he pulls at his shirt collar to give her more access.
His tanned skin is an array of red, blues, and purples, but it looks clean at least. He's unnaturally still as she scoots closer, her fingers hovering his neck, hesitating. She looks to him but his eyes are trained on her hand, his long dark eyelashes shading his gaze from her view. She thinks he may be holding his breath, but her hand doesn't shake as she applies the cream.
He sucks in a sharp hiss of breath, and Katniss jumps about ten feet in the air.
"Just kidding, it doesn't hurt," Gale says, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
"You're an ass!" Katniss says, rising and chucking the bottle at him.
He catches it against his stomach, and his face has erupted into an arrogant grin. She hates his mirth, mocking her bravery so blatantly, that she wipes her hand against the hem of her shirt, and spins on her heel. She can't stay there and take that from him and she won't!
"Oh come on, Katniss!" he calls after her, his voice still dancing with amusement.
She doesn't respond, but continues her brisk pace.
Her boots stomping on the pavement almost drown out his next words.
"Well, thank you. I mean that!"
Almost, but not quite.
~Fin